Rescuing Finley (A Forever Home Novel Book 1) Read online

  One thing for sure, he’d better get the refrigerated things put away before he gave in and plopped down on the couch.

  That only took a few minutes. Somewhere during the task, he got enough energy to heat up his beef-and-cheese burrito and pour himself a glass of Diet Coke. Brought both out to the coffee table and turned on the TV. Had some shows loaded on the DVR, so he turned one on. Picked the show he cared about the least, since he knew after eating this food, he’d be asleep in fifteen minutes.

  And that almost happened.

  Just after finishing the last bite and swigging down the last sip of Coke, just when the slow blinks began to start, the phone rang. He would’ve ignored it, accept for the distinctive ring tone.

  It was Kyle.

  Oh God, he thought, don’t let Kyle be suicidal tonight.

  He picked it up on the third ring. “Hey, Kyle.” He tried to sound more chipper than he felt.

  “Chris, glad I got you. Tried to leave enough time to make sure you were home from work.”

  “You got it just right. I’m home and just finished my supper. Just started watching a TV show.”

  “You want me to call back later, when it’s over?”

  “You’re kidding, right? There’s not a show on television I wouldn’t put on pause when my buddy Kyle calls.”

  Kyle laughed. “You sound like you’re almost in a good mood. Is that for real?”

  Chris sighed. He didn’t have the energy to keep this upbeat façade going much longer.

  “I didn’t think it was,” Kyle said. “How you really doing, Chris? Talk to me.”

  “Not great. Been a tough day for some reason. How about you? You almost sound…I don’t know, normal. Is that real, or are you faking it?”

  “I’m not faking. Seriously, I’m not. That’s really why I’m calling. Not to tell you how good I’m doing—though that’s true—but to tell you why. In fact, I’m looking at her right now. She’s laying right next to me on the couch.”

  How about that? Kyle had found himself a girl. “So what did you do, join one of those internet dating sites, make up a bunch of lies about what kind of catch you are?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Then what? This girl know what kind of mess you’re in? The struggles you’re going through? I mean the PTSD stuff. It wasn’t that long ago that—”

  “She definitely does. In fact, you could say that’s what brought us together.”

  What was she, a nurse or a therapist? “So what’s this girl’s name? When did you guys meet? I want to hear the story.”

  “Her name is Tootsie, but I call her Toots mostly.”

  Was he kidding? What kind of girl would be named Tootsie, or would put up with being called Toots most of the time? Before he could figure out what to say next, he heard Kyle laughing on the other end. “What are you laughing about?”

  “I just realized what you’re thinking. And then I realized how well I just set you up, but I didn’t even know I was doing it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Tootsie.” Kyle paused a moment. “I just thought of a way to string this out a little more.”

  “String what out?”

  “Toots is definitely my girl. You got that part right. And here’s something else, she’s lying next to me and she’s not wearing a thing.”

  “What? Why are you telling me this? I don’t need to hear this.”

  Now Kyle was laughing out loud. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this to you. You just made it so easy.”

  “Alright, now I’m totally lost. What’s going on here?”

  “Tootsie’s not my girlfriend, you idiot. She’s my dog. A hairy, totally lovable dog. A white pit-mix with big gray spots. But she’s more than that. She’s a specially-trained dog. I can’t believe the difference she’s making in my life. And I want to tell you the story of how we met. I think I’ve stumbled onto something that can help you every bit as much as it’s helped me.”

  31

  As Chris pulled into the parking lot of the golf course’s maintenance building, he was still thinking about his conversation with Kyle last night. Kyle was almost insisting that Chris run right out and sign up for one of these dogs. He went on and on, telling Chris story after story of how Tootsie had changed his life. One fact was unmistakable: Kyle was like a different man.

  The last time they had talked Kyle had been borderline suicidal. Now his voice was filled with hope. He talked about the future like a man who planned to be there. He was even thinking about going back to school when the next semester began. Chris had asked him what he’d do with Tootsie while he was in school? Would he have to shut her up in his apartment all day?

  Kyle said no. He said if you got the right dog from a certified program the dog could go with you, pretty much anywhere you went. Like how a seeing eye dog goes everywhere with a blind person. That was the idea. You form this special bond with the dog, because the program picks dogs that are especially loyal. The dog is trained to help you better cope with your PTSD stuff. He said “Toots” could instinctively tell when Kyle was slipping into a panic attack. She would intervene and help him pull out before it got too far. When he slept, she’d wake him up whenever he started having a nightmare. Just having her around helped Kyle stay calmer throughout the day.

  To Kyle, there was no downside to this situation. It was all good. One downside to Chris was getting stuck with a dog named Tootsie. He wasn’t sure he could live with something like that. He closed the car door and walked across the parking lot toward the open garage door. Jed was inside replacing one of the batteries on a golf cart. Chris waved at him then walked over and clocked in.

  He’d always liked dogs. Had one for years as a kid, but when it died, his mom and little sister were so sad they decided not to have any more pets. He grabbed the keys to the big mower off the hook and headed there. If he did get one of these service dogs, he didn’t see any way he could bring it here to work. Where would he keep it all day?

  Halfway across the garage floor, he changed directions and walked over to Jed. “Morning.”

  Jed looked up. “Morning. Heard it’s gonna be a warm one out there today.”

  “Heard that, too,” Chris said. Shouldn’t be too much of problem riding the big mower, since it had an air-conditioned cab. “Wanted to ask you a question. I was talking with a friend of mine who served with me in Afghanistan. He’s got some PTSD issues, too. He recently got hooked up with…I guess you call it a companion dog, or a service dog. He was telling me how much better he’s doing now since getting this dog. You know all the guys that work here better than me. Know if any of them have one of these dogs my friend was talking about?”

  Jed wiped some grease off his fingers. “I don’t think so. I mean, some of them may have dogs. But you’re talking about the kind of dogs people take with them everywhere, right?”

  Chris nodded. “My friend said he takes his dog with him most of the time without getting hassled. She wears an official looking vest that identifies her as a service dog. He said sometimes people do give him looks, because he doesn’t have any…you know, obvious wounds.”

  Jed looked down at Chris’s leg. “That shouldn’t be a problem for you. You thinking of getting one?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Before last night the thought never crossed my mind. But I couldn’t believe how much better my friend is doing from the last time we talked. He said he’s even been able to cut back on his meds.” Chris looked around the garage. “The thing is, if I did get one I don’t know what I’d do with it all day. Not like a dog could ride with me on the mower.”

  He and Jed both looked up at the cab of the big mower. “Then again,” Jed said, “you might be able to fit a buddy next to you when you’re riding around in that. That’s a pretty wide seat.”

  “Maybe. But I’m only in it half the time. Even if it was all the time, I can’t see Tom being okay with me bringing a dog to work every day. And I wouldn’t feel right about locking
a dog up in my apartment all day by itself.”

  “You got a point.” Jed leaned back on the golf cart. “But I wouldn’t give up on the idea completely, not because of Tom. He and the owner have been pretty supportive of all of us guys and our issues. Especially if it’s something that would help that much. Maybe you should look into it a little more. Nail down some of the facts. Like the cost, for one. How much this dog set your friend back? Must be pretty expensive training one of these service dogs.”

  “That’s just it,” Chris said. “He said they didn’t charge him a thing. He just had to agree to go through some training to learn how to work with the dog, and how to take care of it once they gave it to him. But they didn’t charge him anything. He said all kinds of people are starting to get behind these programs that help wounded vets. Supposedly, some senators and congressmen are even trying to get a law passed that would release government funding so dogs like this could be available for a lot more vets. Right now, everything is being paid for by donations.”

  Jed looked like he was thinking about something. “I wonder if they have anything like that around here. Probably have to go to some big city, like Orlando or Jacksonville.”

  “I don’t know. You might be right. Kyle lives near Atlanta.”

  “Maybe you should go online and check,” Jed said.

  “Sounds like you’re getting interested in this.”

  “Maybe I am. I love dogs. Never thought of them being able to help me deal with what I’m going through. But if they can…yeah, I think I could be into that.”

  “Well, I’ll look into it then,” Chris said. “No harm in looking.”

  “Let me know what you find out. If there’s anything to it, I’ll go with you when you pitch it to Tom.”

  32

  Later that afternoon when Chris got off work, he stopped at the apartment complex office. He was wrestling with the idea of parking his car and going inside. Off and on as he mowed throughout the day, he thought through his conversation with Kyle last night, about getting a dog to help with his PTSD issues.

  Even before leaving work, right after he’d clocked out, Jed had brought it up again. “You gonna look into this dog thing, right?”

  Chris said he would.

  Now, sitting there in the apartment parking lot, he tried to work up the nerve to ask the resident manager if they would even allow him to have one. It hadn’t dawned on him before, but he hadn’t seen any dogs in the apartment complex. Anywhere. He looked around at all the various people out and about. Some were getting in and out of their cars, stopping at the mailbox, jogging along the sidewalk…nobody had a dog.

  What if the manager said no? Was it worth the hassle of moving to another place just to have a dog? His first thought was no, it was not. But he couldn’t get over how much better Kyle was doing. By the time Chris had hung up, he was almost jealous. Chris hated being on these meds, but he hated even more how helpless he felt during a panic attack or being awakened by a nightmare in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.

  What if having a dog meant the difference between getting all your groceries in one place on one trip versus having to stop at convenience stores several times a week because you couldn’t stand to be in crowds? Chris pulled the car into a parking place. It wouldn’t hurt to ask.

  Even though he owned a handicap hang tag, he didn’t normally park in handicapped spots. In the beginning, he didn’t have a choice. It just hurt too much to walk that far. For the last several months, now that he was walking so much better, he’d kept the tag in the glove compartment.

  Then he had a thought. Maybe this time he should use it. He had the right to. Maybe if the management saw him coming out of the handicap spot and noticed the slight limp he still had, they’d feel more inclined to let him have a service dog, even if dogs weren’t allowed in the complex. He opened the glove compartment, stared at the blue and white tag, then shut it again.

  I’m not going to play the sympathy card. If they said no, they said no. He would deal with that when the time came.

  He walked down the sidewalk toward the office door trying even harder to strike a normal-looking stride. A mom pushing a stroller was coming out as he was going in. He smiled and held the door for her. On the other side of the foyer he saw a nice-looking girl with reddish hair at a reception desk typing on a keyboard. Chris didn’t know if she was new, because he normally didn’t come in here. He paid his rent each month online.

  She looked up as he stood by her desk. “Hi, can I help you?”

  “Uh, yeah. My name’s Chris Seger. I live in apartment 152, Building C. Could I please speak with the manager?”

  “She’s not in right now.”

  “Know when she’ll be back?”

  “In about an hour or two. Is there anything I can help you with?”

  Chris didn’t want to get into this with her. “Maybe I’ll just come back another time.”

  “That’s fine. You want to leave a message? Have her call you when she gets back?”

  “Sure. I guess we could do that.”

  The girl took out a pad and wrote his first name on the top of page. “You said your name was Chris, right? How do you spell your last name?”

  Chris told her, then repeated his apartment address again.

  “What do you want me to tell her it’s about? If you don’t want to say, I can leave it blank.”

  “I just want to talk to her about your dog policies.”

  “Oh, that’s easy. I can tell you that. We don’t allow them.”

  “I thought so. I haven’t seen any around. Do they ever make any…exceptions?”

  The girl thought a moment. “I don’t think so. What kind of dog are you wanting to get?”

  “I don’t even know yet. I’m not sure what kind of dogs they have, or if I can even get one around here.”

  “Who are they?”

  “They?” Chris said. “Oh, I’m talking about getting a service dog. I don’t know who they is either, at this point. I’m just starting to look into it. A friend of mine called last night. We served in Afghanistan together, and we both have…well, he recently got one, and he was telling me how much it was helping him.” He really didn’t want to start pouring his heart out to this total stranger, especially one so young.

  “First of all…thank you for your service.” It looked as if her eyes were welling up with tears. She started blinking fast.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “And speaking of service, I didn’t know you were talking about a service dog. I don’t think we have any in the complex right now, but I’m pretty sure my manager showed me a document about them, in case someone ever asked.” She rolled her chair back to another drawer and opened it, then started thumbing through some files. “Yes, here it is.” She pulled out a sheet of paper, pulled back to the desk and set it down.

  “That’s something, that you remembered it,” Chris said. “I mean, I’m guessing you’ve never had anyone ask about it before.”

  She stopped reading a moment and looked up. “I guess you could say I have a special interest in this.” Those eyes, they were welling up with tears again. “Excuse me.” She reached for a tissue from a box on the corner of her desk.

  “Do you know anything about service dogs?” he asked.

  “No, but I wish I did.”

  Chris had no idea what she was talking about.

  She finished dabbing her eyes. “One of my cousins served in Iraq. He came home a few years ago. He was all in one piece, but he was pretty messed up. He never could make the adjustment to living back home. We knew he had PTSD and was on a lot of pills. But nothing ever seemed to help. He killed himself about a year ago.” The tears returned.

  “I’m so sorry,” Chris said.

  “Thanks.” She held up the piece of paper she had pulled from the drawer. “I remembered seeing a news story about this program that trains dogs to help veterans with PTSD. They were interviewing all these vets who’d gotten one of these dogs, and
several of them said they had been suicidal, but these dogs saved their lives. I remember wishing like crazy my cousin could have heard about this before. Maybe he wouldn’t have…done what he did.”

  Chris could hardly believe what she was telling him. First Kyle, and now her. It was almost as if God was shouting at him: Get one of these dogs. “Do you remember, was it a local news story, or the national news?”

  “It was definitely local. They were training the dogs at a woman’s prison just a few miles outside of town. I bet you could find it online pretty easy.”

  “That’s great. I’ll definitely check it out.” He looked down at the paper she’d pulled out of the drawer. “Does that say anything about whether service dogs are an exception to your no-dog policy?”

  “It definitely does. And it’s not just our policy, it’s the law. You have to get qualified to own a service dog, and the dog has to be certified as a service dog, but if both of those things are true, you can definitely have a service dog here. Really, you can have one anywhere. Have you been diagnosed with PTSD? Oh my gosh, forget I said that. I have no right to ask you that.”

  “That’s all right. Yes, I have. And I’ve also lost a leg, my left one. Stepped on a mine about two years ago.”

  “Then you definitely qualify for a service dog. Just the PTSD alone qualifies you. Look what this last line says: ‘…calming a person with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) during an anxiety attack.’ Your leg injury only strengthens your case. Look what it says a few bullets above that: ‘…providing physical support and assistance with balance and stability to individuals with mobility disabilities.’ A certified service dog can help you with both of those things. I don’t remember from the news story if the dogs they train out at the prison are certified, but if they are, you’re all set.”