Page 9 of Road Refugees

From that day on, Linus followed Ian with zest, annoying the inmates who had harassed him. He had just made headway on training Linus without the use of the pool when he received shocking news. He’d been approved for parole. Ian collapsed sobbing, and Linus was back on the same well-trodden path, aimless and lonely. Other inmates tried to take over, but it was pointless. Linus was despondent without Ian.

Doll told me he’d perked up since being here. Still, I clenched my hands until my nails were embedded in my palms as Gunther went through his steps with his new dog.

This has to work. It has to.

I clung to a thought that gave me a shred of relief from the pain, both physical and psychic. I can help Linus instead of the other way around. If I could see it as a joint effort, instead of placing the burden of service on Linus, maybe his failures wouldn’t be such a disappointment. I thought I’d read that training a dog could be just as rewarding for the trainer as for the dog. Or . . . should I choose a different dog?

“Amazing! Isn’t she, Town?”

What? Oh, Gunther was talking to me. I looked down, and his yellow lab was sitting obediently at his side. “Yeah. Yeah! Amazing!” I bent to scratch the dog’s ears, but my entire being was focused on the door my dog would come through. Where is Linus?

I was about to rupture like one of those steam-driven heads in cartoons by the time Linus appeared. The first thing that hit me was his deep grief. His shiny black button eyes were on alert, scanning the arena. His soft, curly paws looked like the legs of a couch, his clipped torso a seat. Above all, his ears seemed so soft I could feel them feathering my face.

Come with me, Linus. I will help you.

And it struck me. Helping others would heal me faster than accepting help.

I’d never been happier to see a living soul in my life. Not even when Stony, our mascot in Syria, had come running after a deadly ambush.

I couldn’t stop it then. I squatted, involving much wrangling of my spine. I held out my arms and shouted, “Linus!”

His ears puffed, and he paused for only a split second. It seemed as though everyone around me froze—my brothers in arms, their dogs, Doll and her trainers. Linus only had eyes for me. It was like seeing your beloved in the middle of a crowded airport. Everyone else faded away, and Linus beelined right for me. My arms were open and I braced my feet to accept his crash.

“Linus!”

He was on me, slathering my face with his tongue, huffing and puffing against me. I heard someone laugh, and realized it was me. His paws didn’t hurt me—they shoved me gently as he squirmed his body around mine. I fell down on my butt and didn’t care. The oxytocin flooding my brain prevented me from feeling any pain. Together we were one bundle of utter joy. I made stupid, growling animal sounds against his face. I knew he was mine.

Now I could get on with my life.

“That’s incredible!” said Doll, somewhere above me. “It’s almost as though he thinks you’re Ian.”

“Way to go!” shouted Eloise with glee. Her dog came over to join in the fun, swatting Linus on the shoulder as if to say “me, too.”

Gunther said, “I’ve never seen anything like that, man. I think you found your dog.”

I knew Doll would want to encourage training, and this was just play. But play was important because she didn’t tell us to knock it off. Being a determined, type A personality had nearly killed me, doing so many tours when I was injured. In Syria there was never time for play, no matter how many people around me were jumping off a cliff. I had to change myself. It was time for me to learn how to play.

“Linus,” I said, over and over, imprinting him with my voice. And sometimes I said, “Good boy.”

Eventually Doll had to separate us. A definite sadness came over Linus then as the trainer led him to the other side of the room. His entire being hollowed out as happiness ebbed. I wasn’t just imagining that he already missed me.

Eloise said, “That’s so amazing, Captain. Our dogs weren’t nearly as happy as yours.”

Because they knew they were service dogs, born and bred. Linus was a companion animal. Sure, he could pick stuff up for me when it hurt to bend down. He wasn’t perfect in any way, shape, or form. But he was perfect for me.

We spent the afternoon training. I knew this was of the utmost importance. But I allowed Linus time to be ridiculous. He loved to romp with the other two dogs, who welcomed it. When Doll proudly showed me how Linus would retrieve something and bring it to me, Linus would taunt me by waving the toy around, leaping like a kangaroo. This ninety-pound dog seemed to think he was still a puppy. I needed to re-learn how to be young again, too. I was only twenty-fucking-eight and I acted like a hundred.

We had dinner outdoors at a picnic table with the dogs nearby on a stay down.

Doll said, “We’ve been sending them out every few days with foster parents. Linus’ last one took him to church.”

We all guffawed. “No!” I declared. “Did he tear ass down the aisle?” Unlike my parents from Sicily, I was not a churchgoer.

“Actually, no. He sat nicely at her feet, and when it came time to receive communion, he just went down to the front. He sat next to her with his paws on the altar rail!”

“No.” I really couldn’t imagine that. Linus? My Linus? A devout sort of guy?

“He watched the priest go by with the wafers. She said he only looked sad because he didn’t get one too. The priest returned and blessed him.”