For the Love of Pete

"Fifteen . . . I think. He wasn't mine; my dad had him for some time before he came to me," the man answered after a long moment of silence.

"Ah, well, then," Mike said. And then they just remained there in tableau, the two men not moving, the dog breathing hard and whimpering—but guardedly, trying to the last to fool his master—to make him think it was getting better.

"It's getting late," Mike said. "They'll close soon. Do you want to come back on Monday?"

"No. No, I can't. I know he's in too much pain. God, I'm such a failure. This one thing my dad ever asked of me . . . and I can't."

"Would you like for me to take Pete in for you? Then it wouldn't be you. I'd stay with him. he wouldn't be alone. I'd make sure they gave his collar to me, and I'd bring it back to you."

"You'd do that for me? For Pete?"

"Yes, of course. I'd hope someone would do it for me . . . if I needed it. But I'll need your name and address or something to take in with me. Is this your regular vet?"

"Yes," the man whispered. "It's our regular vet." He rummaged around in his back pocket and came up a wallet. He extracted a business card from that and handed it to Mike through the open window with such shaking hands that Mike had to chase the card for a couple of seconds before grasping it.

"So, it's OK? You want me to?"

The man didn't answer—he couldn't speak; he couldn't say the words. But he nodded his head and Mike walked around to the passenger side and scooped the Sheltie, Pete, up into his arms as gently as he could, and started walking toward the entrance to the vet. He looked down and saw that the dog was looking up into his eyes now with that trusting, pained look, but mercifully Mike couldn't maintain eye contact for long. His own eyes were full of tears.

Later, when Mike came out—only briefly stopping in the kennels in back to hug his own dog, Rusty, and whisper that he'd be back to take her home soon—he offered to take the man for coffee and then to drive him home if the man felt like he couldn't manage it.

The man accepted. The coffee and Mike's gentle way with him calmed the man down considerably.

"My name's Mike," Mike said after he'd brought the cups of coffee out to the sidewalk table.

"Oh, sorry, hi, Mike. I'm Rick. And thank you. I feel much better about it now."

"I'm glad," Mike said, "but it's OK if you don't feel better. I can tell what Pete meant to you."

"I hated that dog. And I hated my dad for foisting him off on me. When he did, as he was dying, I thought it was his last hateful dig at me."

Mike didn't respond. He thought Rick was in shock and was overcompensating. He didn't have to see any more evidence than he had that this guy hadn't hated that dog.

Rick, who had been staring down at the surface of the café table when he said that, gave a little nervous laugh and looked up into Mike's eyes, grateful that the man had been sensitive enough not to jump on him for saying that.

"That was just the beginning, just the first couple of days, of course," Rick said. "We actually bonded quickly. But that dog upset my apple cart. He was a ranch dog—he'd spent most of his life on my dad's ranch, herding sheep. That's what Shelties are best for, you know—herding sheep. He'd never been an indoor dog. And here, he was dumped on me with no notice. Me living in a city apartment. An apartment house that didn't allow dogs, and a super from hell. He made my life hell over that dog. I can't even begin to describe what I had to do to keep that dog and me from being tossed out on the street on our tails before my lease was up. It was sheer hell."

Mike said nothing. He just lifted the coffee cup to his lips and took a long, slow sip—providing an excuse for not saying anything.

Rick laughed again. The laugh not as tight this time. No hysterical edge to it. "Best thing that ever happened to me," he muttered. "God, I loved that dog."

Mike grunted—letting Rick know he was listening. Letting him know he wasn't pushing him either way or being judgmental—or, as he almost had mistakenly done at the car, started making any of this to be about himself.

"Soon as I got to the end of that lease and out from under that super, Pete and I headed out here, to the edge of town. Got us a little house with a good-sized yard and nice neighbors willing to help with Pete when I had to work long hours or go off on a business trip."

"Good for Pete, that," Mike now said. "Good for a Sheltie to have plenty of room."

"And good for me too," Rick answered, his voice now stronger, more confident. "He was my freedom too—changed my life a lot. In good ways. Best thing that bastard of a father ever did for me."

Mike sensed that it was time. "Yep, a guy should always have a dog. I've got two now—golden retrievers. A matched set. But a dog is good to have. And they say it's always good to get right back on that wagon."

Rick went silent. Mike didn't push further or try to fill in the silence. He could see Rick working that over in his mind.

"I don't know. I don't know how soon . . . or ever."

"Know what you mean," Mike said, "but still . . ."

"A heartbreaker . . . a real heartbreaker . . . when . . ."

"Still. There's heart there. And a lot of good times. Some really good memories that go begging otherwise."

"Yes, I guess, but . . ."

"I saw from your card that we don't live far from each other," Mike said. "Ever take Pete to Penn Park on weekends. They have off-leash days there then. I like to take mine and just let them run. It's good for them. And I enjoy watching all of the dogs myself—seeing the variety and watchin' them play with each other."

"No. I've heard about the park. But never been there."

"I thought not. Don't remember ever seeing you there. It's a lot of fun. Nice for folks who love dogs."

"Yeah, I bet it would be."

"So, maybe I'll see you there then someday."

"I don't know . . ."

"I'd like that," Mike said. "I'd like to see how you're doing . . . as time goes on." And when Mike said that, he realized that he really did want to see Rick again—and that his interest in Rick didn't really have anything to do with dogs.

The two sat there drinking their now-cold coffee down to the bottom of the paper cups. Mike felt contented, and he noticed that Rick wasn't shaking any more.

But he also noticed that he was holding Rick's hand in his. He had wanted to be sensitive and supportive, but he hadn't intended to be forward. He had to admit to himself, though, that he was attracted to Rick. He probably wouldn't even have walked over to his car in the first place if he hadn't been. Rick noticed that they were holding hands at the same moment that Mike did. But he didn't withdraw his hand. He looked into Mike's eyes, and what was conveyed between them in that look wrote volumes of what might be possible in other circumstances.

Suddenly flustered, Rick took back his hand now, and sat back in his chair. He only now realized that both he and Mike had been leaning into toward each other over the table top. "I think I can go back to my car now," Rick said quietly when he had crushed his empty coffee cup and laid it on the table in front of him.

"You'll be OK? Here's my card, by the way . . . in case you'd like to meet up at the park someday and see my golden retrievers. I have yours."

"Yeah, thanks for the card. And I think so. I think I'll be OK . . . if not today, tomorrow or the day after that. But thanks. Thanks. I don't think I would have been OK if you hadn't come along. That was really kind of you."

"Like I said back there, I would hope that someone would do the same for me . . . if I needed it. And I'm glad I met you." Mike lifted his eyes, hoping that he could catch Rick's eyes with his and repeat just how glad he was they had met, regardless of the circumstance. But Rick was still staring at his crushed coffee cup.

Mike parked the car in the vet's lot when they returned, and he forced himself not to look back as Rick walked over to his car. Mike entered the vet's, glad that he'd gotten back a half hour before they closed up office. He suddenly wanted to see his Rusty. He wanted to bury his face in her fur and hug her close. And then he wanted to go right home and do the same with Nail.

Later that evening, Mike already having showered and clad only in a silk lounging robe, heard a knock on his front door.

It was Rick, standing there, hanging his head, and looking like he was about to turn and flee. But when Mike invited him in, he crossed the threshold.

Rick was holding Mike's calling card in his hand like it was a bus ticket and nonsensically said, "Your address was on the card."

"Yes, yes it is," Mike said.

"You were telling me about your dogs, your golden retrievers, and I thought I might—"

"Ah, yes. Nail's closed up in the back bedroom, but you certainly can—"

Rick started to speak, but then he coughed—and cleared his throat. "You wouldn't happen to have a drink of water I could borrow, do you?"

"I think I can spare one you can have. The kitchen is that way. I'll get you a glass."

They moved into kitchen like zombies and Mike opened a cupboard and took out a glass while Rick stood at the sink, his hand on the cold water facet handle, but just resting it there, not turning the water on. Mike came in close behind him and moved the hand holding the glass around to in front of Mike. But Mike didn't take the glass. Mike was close enough behind Rick to know he was trembling. And Mike moved even closer in behind him and carefully set the glass down in the sink. Rick's arms were spread away from his body, the heels of his hands dug into the edge of the kitchen counter at each side.

Mike took Rick's wrists in his hands and pressed his body into Rick's back, receiving a shudder as response and knowing that Rick could feel the urgency of him through the thin fabric of the robe and the nearly as thin fabric of Rick's trousers and briefs. Rick sighed and moved his buttocks back into Mike, who then lowered his lips into the hollow of Rick's neck and kissed him.

Mike moved his pelvis, raising it and lowering it, his erection sliding up and down between Rick's butt cheeks, leaving no doubt what he'd like from Rick. Rick moaned and turned his face and Mike raised his lips to meet trembling lips.

But then Mike broke away and moved down the counter, opening a cupboard to keep his hands in check and pulling out a couple of wine glasses. It shouldn't be easy like this. Rick was vulnerable and in shock. It would be taking advantage of him to do it like this, here, and now.

"Ummm. I think we both need a drink. White or red."

"What?" Rick was still standing at the sink, quaking.

"Wine. White or red. Go on into the living room and get comfortable. I'll bring out the wine."

Mike wasn't rejecting the idea of sex, but he thought it best to give Rick more time, more room—and an escape, if he wanted it.

"Oh. Uh, red, I guess." Rick turned, and the rapidity with which he fled the kitchen told Mike that he must be having second thoughts. It was good that he had stopped.

But when Rick entered the living room, it was empty. He looked over at the door. It was closed, but that didn't mean that Rick hadn't recovered himself and left the house. But then he looked around and saw that the door to his bedroom was wide open. He always kept that door closed. The dogs had visitation rights in his room, but not free access.

Rick was stretched out on the bed, on his belly, and naked. Mike pulled at sash of his robe and it fell to the carpet. And then he was on the bed, his body stretched out full length on top of Rick, who was trembling but who murmured an "Oh, god, yes. Please," as Rick began to move his hands and body on Rick's back. Within minutes, Rick dug his knees into the bed spread and raised his hips into Mike's moving pelvis.

"Please. Like a dog. Please." Mike was whimpering.

He was ready—more than ready—and Mike slid right into him and they were transported into the rhythm of the fuck almost immediately. Mike was crying and thrusting his hips back hard with each dig of Mike's cock.

"I'm sorry. Am I hurting you?"

"No, no. Please don't stop. Please . . . don't . . . stop."

Rick never did see Nail that evening.

* * * *

Mike scanned the edges of the field over to where the three-tiered section of bleachers was positioned next to the little league baseball field. He wasn't there. And he certainly wasn't over to Mike's right where the dog owners had gathered this Saturday morning to sip their coffee and chat while they kept one eye on their dogs cavorting out in the center of the Penn Park field.

It had been two Saturdays since he'd met Rick at the vet's and Rick had come to him at his apartment. Rick hadn't called him, and Mike didn't think he should push it. He could completely understand if Mike wanted it to be a single encounter. It hadn't been the best of circumstances—most certainly not from Rick's perspective—and Mike hoped that hadn't blotted out his chances altogether. He'd been attracted to Rick. Rick's display of emotion over the loss of his dog might have been a turn off for most guys, but it had been a turn on for Mike. Anyone who could feel that way about his dog was OK with Mike. More than OK.

And he was such a good fuck.

Mike wondered, not for the first time in those two weeks, if Rick was actively gay—or whether he had just been overwhelmed by circumstances. It wasn't usually this hard for Mike to figure out what another guy wanted. But he hadn't been in a relationship since Eddie. And that hadn't ended well. Mike had almost given up hope of finding someone else—someone sensitive and giving. Someone who could feel about his dog the way Rick showed that he felt about his Pete. Someone who could be vulnerable and open up with another man the way Rick had been with him.

Mike just didn't know how to approach this with Rick. Of course, if Rick just didn't show up—as clearly as Mike had tried to extend the invitation to visit the park on Saturday mornings—the opportunity wouldn't even come up.

Mike looked out over the field, searching for and finding, in turn, his golden retrievers, Rusty and Nail. Ah, if only life was as simple for him as it was for them.

* * * *

"Peggy, Peggy Collins. Certainly, Mike told me about you—and about your dog. I'm so sorry."

Rick was standing at the door to Mike's neat little house, with the large fenced yard behind it—nearly a twin of his just eight blocks away. He almost didn't recognize it when he pulled up to the front. He'd just been here, of course, but it was dark then and he had been confused. He hadn't even known why he was there—until Mike's body showed him in no uncertain terms why he had sought him out.

He was trying not to show his disappointment. Not because Mike Collins hadn't come to his door. But because Peggy Collins had. Rick thought he had gotten a clear demonstration of how Mike was and what he wanted. But here he was, standing at Mike's door. And there was a Peggy Collins.

He fumbled around, not knowing now whether to hold the boxes out—one of chocolates and the other of gourmet dog biscuits—or hide them behind his back.

"I'm sorry. Mike's not here. He's off with the dogs somewhere. But would you like to come in and wait for him?"

She was a nice looking woman. Maybe a little younger than Mike appeared to be—but also a little older than Rick. She had a pleasant smile. They probably were great together. Mike was a lucky guy, Rick thought. So, why did he feel a little deflated with a touch of miserable? It must be Pete. It had been two weeks and he still got weepy over the loss of Pete.

"No, it's fine, I just stopped by to give him these," Rick said, holding the two boxes out to Peggy, who was standing in the door. He was on the second step of the stoop leading up to the square of concrete at the door. He had to hand the boxes up to her. "It's just a gesture of thanks—for what he did for me a couple of weeks ago . . . at the vet's. He went way out of his way for me. Just a box of chocolates for you two and some biscuits for the dogs. He told me about the dogs. Two golden retrievers. Not anything like he deserves, of course, but I did want to say thanks somehow. No, not the retrievers being what he didn't deserve. The . . . um, sorry."

Rick could kick himself. He was standing there and babbling. Suddenly embarrassed. He hadn't thought it out. He let hope push away common sense. Of course Mike was married and had a regular life. Oh, god, wouldn't it have been awkward if she'd been home or had walked in on them the other night. Mike was that sort of nice guy who certainly would be married. Rick just wasn't thinking straight—hadn't thought straight since he no longer could deny that Pete was sinking fast.

"He'll be pleased," Peggy said, with a smile. "And I'm sure he would tell you that he didn't do anything special, that anyone would offer the help he did. I wouldn't say that about him, of course, but I know that's what he would say."

"Yes, he did say that," Rick answered. "He's really a nice guy."

"Yes, yes, he is. I'll be sure to tell him that you dropped by."

"Thanks," Rick said as he backed down the steps. "And it sure was nice meeting you." He could say it was nice meeting her, Rick was thinking as he retreated to his car—but he couldn't say it was all the nice knowing about her.

The phone rang as Peggy closed the door, thinking that Rick looked like a very nice guy—and then laughing at how many times she'd heard the word "nice" in the last five minutes. Kind of goofy, but in a nice way. She laughed again. Whatever. She liked Rick. She hoped he and Mike would become friends. Then the telephone rang again, insistently. Peggy put the two boxes down on the table next to the door, where they slid toward the wall as she hurried for the telephone in the kitchen and where they promptly disappeared into the space between the table and the wall with a clatter that Peggy couldn't heard from the kitchen.

The telephone call sent her to the hospital to meet one of her girlfriends who had gone into labor prematurely and who wanted someone there for support. Her husband was off in Iraq and she'd lost her first baby by not carrying it full term and she was scared and panicked. It was a long, but successful delivery, and Peggy was at the hospital into the next day. And the trauma of this pushed all thoughts of Rick's visit out of her mind.

When Mike returned home, he found her message and went into his bedroom to change his clothes and call Peggy at the hospital on his cell phone.

When he came back into the living room from a long discussion on the phone with Peggy, he found Rusty and Nail sitting in the middle of the living room, two boxes of messily unwrapped and half-eaten chocolates and dog biscuits strewn about them. They had the good sense to give him apologetic stares, and he stared hard back to the them and stooped to gather up the debris.

"Now, where did you two find this stuff?" he scolded. "Can't leave you two alone for three minutes."

* * * *

Rick was restless. He needed to snap out of this funk. It had been three weeks and the house was becoming oppressive. He still woke up wondering why Pete wasn't on the bed. He still went to the kitchen door at the unusual times, on the point of whistling to Pete to be let out into the fenced backyard, only to realize that there was no Pete. He had slipped into the three-year relationship with Pete, making him so central to his life, without realizing that the slice of his life that Pete had taken.

Worse, when he went to the kitchen, his mind wandered back to the one-night stand with Mike, and he shuddered and withdrew from the room.

He'd stopped going out at night as he had before Pete had come into his life. He'd given up that scene altogether. Consequently, there hadn't been a man in his life since Pete crept in to fill that gap. Not that they were the same thing, of course. But in time and attention required they were. And in the room they took up in his heart, there was a similarity. Pete had slowly nuzzled his way into Rick's heart and expanded his claim in there to the point that Pete had been more than enough to fill Rick's life. Rick had stopped seeking. Hadn't looked for an alter ego or a close relationship—or even any more one-night stands. Pete had been enough.