Shared Custody

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A runaway dog brings an older man & widowed woman together
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komrad1156
komrad1156
3,778 Followers

*Author's Note: After saying I was stuck and unable to finish a story, I remembered this one was nearly complete and managed to grind it out. As I reread it, I teared up a couple of times. If you're an emotional reader, grab a tissue!

*****

"Logan! Can you give us a statement? Is it true you're retiring at the end of this season?"

"Logan? Is it true you and your wife have separated? Do you have any comment on that?"

Logan Benson had been a major league baseball player for twelve years. It had taken him ten years to work his way through the minor-league farm system, something no one else he 'came up' with had done. One after the other, he watched his former peers fall by the wayside as they realized they'd never be 'going to the show' (baseball slang for making it to the big leagues.) But Benson had persevered and after a huge year in Triple-A ball in 2005, had been called up to the Seattle Mariners and had stayed with them ever since.

His numbers had fallen off sharply a year ago, and this year they were so dismal he found himself on the bench watching most of the Mariners' games getting into the lineup only as an occasional pinch hitter or when someone was injured. He was in the last year of a reasonably lucrative three-year contract, but he, like his agent, knew there wasn't going to be a renewal—not even for a single season. In fact, the way he'd been playing, he was lucky to be staying with the team. Then again, there were only six more weeks until the end of the season, and there was zero chance Seattle was making the playoffs, so management had no reason to cut him and bring someone new up from the minors.

Benson would spend the rest of his final season 'riding the pine' as players often called sitting on the bench. It was hard enough having to sit there and watch the young turks take his place. It was even harder to admit he'd passed his prime and could no longer compete at the highest levels. He often wondered whether or not he could even compete at the Triple-A level anymore, something he vowed to never do again if the Mariners ever did let him go.

No, he'd mark time until the season ended in September then turn the page on this chapter of his life and try and find some other new passion to give his life meaning. On the surface, that didn't seem so hard. Just go out and find something else; something new. The problem was baseball had been his entire life since his father put a ball in his hand when he was three years old. He'd been the best player on every team he'd played on from sandlot through Little League and then into high school and the minor leagues. From there, the competition was so fierce he wasn't necessarily the best player, but he was always the most dedicated and the hardest working and those ethics had paid off handsomely.

Benson drove himself mentally and physically to his limits and until two years ago, that had always returned huge dividends. Now he was at the point of diminishing returns where no amount of hard work made any difference. His reflexes were a fraction of a second slower now and that meant striking out more often. It meant being slightly slower and getting thrown out on close plays. It meant not quite getting there when a fly ball was hit to his position in left field. In a word, it meant being taken out of the lineup and the end of his career. Like all players, Logan Benson had reached the end of the line.

He couldn't really complain, though. As he knew, most guys never even got called up. Of those who did, very few stayed. Of those who stayed, very few became starting players. And out of that tiny percent that did, even fewer put up the kinds of numbers Benson had that let him stick around for twelve full years. He'd never made the all-star team, but he was a very solid major league player. On top of that, he'd been very lucky never having been seriously injured. All in all, he'd had a pretty good run.

He ignored the reporters and headed into the clubhouse with his team after another disappointing loss at home. He didn't really even need to shower, but old habits were hard to break, so he lathered up and rinsed off before getting dressed and heading home.

In the old days, he'd have spent five or ten minutes patiently answering the press's endless questions, but he was at a point where he had no patience left. Yes, he planned on retiring in six more weeks, and yes, his wife had recently walked out on him. So yes, his life was basically a disaster and the last thing he felt like doing was airing his dirty laundry to a celebrity-crazed bunch of fans who either didn't really know him or no longer even gave a damn how he was doing.

Baseball had afforded him the ability to live a life he'd only dreamed of growing up dirt poor in rural southwest Oregon in the city of Eugene. He had all of the trappings of a relatively successful professional athlete to include a gorgeous home in a gated community, several very expensive cars, and all the toys and gadgets a man could want.

Logan Benson had it all except for the one thing he was beginning to realize really mattered to him—true love. He and his wife, Bridgett, had been married for ten years. Looking back, it was now very clear her interest in him started and stopped with his ability to bring a big, fat paycheck. She'd been a fan but had never been a 'groupie'. He'd met her through a fellow team member and although Benson was good looking enough to have pretty much any woman he wanted (and he'd had plenty of them), he was turning 30 and found himself head-over-heels smitten by this gorgeous woman who said (and did) all the right things. Back then, he'd been so sure she loved him and yet there was always this 'still small voice' in the back of his head that set of warning bells. Until recently, he'd managed to ignore it.

Yes, she'd been materialistic; perhaps even extremely so. But he was making so much money, it didn't matter to him how much or how fast she was spending it. What difference did it make that the house she wanted cost two years worth of his hefty salary? What difference did it make that she had several hundred pairs of designer shoes she may have worn once if at all? It didn't matter that she could drop fifty grand on jewelry and another fifty on designer clothes in a a given month. He still had more than enough to buy the things he wanted and could even put some away.

Now, of course, all that was changing. Bridgett wanted the house even though she couldn't even afford to pay the taxes on it, so he'd have to sell it and divide the profits. She'd take all of her stuff plus half of theirs and he'd be left with whatever remained.

He should have been angry, but he couldn't gin up the emotion. He just felt...drained. He was exhausted and he needed time to find find himself again. Benson didn't even know what life without baseball looked like and having to find out was the one thing that really scared him. No, that wasn't true. Living alone in a world without love scared him, too, and quite possibly even more than not being Logan Benson, left fielder for the Seattle Mariners.

As he pulled into his six-car garage, he was looking forward to the one thing he still had that made him feel alive. The one 'thing' that still loved him unconditionally.

He opened the door and as always, standing in the hallway, was his dog, Rusty, a four-year old yellow Labrador retriever Bridgett had bought from an AKC-registered breeder. Initially, Benson had little interest in the tiny puppy, but as that season ended, he found himself playing with the dog more and more. By the time the following season started, he found it very difficult to go on the road and leave Rusty behind; a lot more difficult than leaving Bridgett, who was already becoming more of a roommate than a wife.

Things went from bad to worse just under two years ago when he was having such a terrible season. By the time it was over, she could see the handwriting was on the wall and the gravy train was about to leave the station.

She hung around until a couple of months ago when she let him know she'd 'found' someone new. This 'someone' just happened to be a younger, new player for the Los Angeles Dodgers who'd just signed a huge two-year contract. Benson didn't even care to ask how she'd gotten to know him let alone well enough to leave her husband to be with him. He'd calmly told her to have her lawyer call his then proceeded to get falling-down drunk that night and barely able to drag himself to the ballpark the next day.

He'd continued doing that until just three days ago when he realized the only person he was hurting with his self-destructive behavior was Logan Benson. He poured all of the booze he had in the house down the drain and vowed never to touch it again.

Bridgett, baseball, and booze were gone. But Rusty was there. Rusty was always there. He was crazy happy to see his owner every time he came home whether he'd been gone for a week-long road trip or a quick ride to the store.

As always, Rusty heard the garage door open and went to the door and waited. The moment Benson walked in, his tail went into overdrive as he wagged, sniffed, and rubbed up against his human friend.

"Oh, Mr. Benson. I didn't hear you come home," his housekeeper said. "I should have known when Rusty bolted for the door it was you. Can I get you anything?"

"No thanks, Corrine," he told her. "I think I'm gonna take the big guy here to the park and just do some thinking."

"Okay. Do you need me to do anything else for you today before I go home?" she asked.

"No. I've got it," he told her. "Thanks for everything."

Benson picked up his iPod then grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator, and loaded Rusty into his 4-wheel drive Jeep. Rusty was standing on the armrest with his front paws while his two rear paws set on the back seat as they headed for their favorite park where they often played fetch or just hung out.

It was dog friendly and it was also a place Benson found relaxing. Yes, he occasionally ran into a fan who knew him and maybe wanted an autograph, but that was happening less and less as the months went by. Today, he just wanted some time to enjoy the nice weather before it turned cold again, and try and figure out where to go from here.

He kept some tennis balls in the Jeep and grabbed one so they could play fetch for a while. Once Rusty was worn out enough, he would lay quietly next to Benson who could zone out or in this case, contemplate what life after baseball might look like.

Thirty minutes later, Rusty was panting hard enough that Benson knew he needed some water and rest. He turned on one of the spigots and let his dog drink before sitting down on a bench and turning on the music as Rusty recovered laying just to his left side.

Benson was so into the tracks from his favorite CD, he sat there with his eyes closed singing along out loud to the music not caring who might be listening. He wasn't sure just how long he'd been sitting there not paying attention, but he when he finally opened his eyes, Rusty was no longer beside him.

At first, he was sure his Lab had wandered off into the small row of trees behind them to do his business, so he pulled out one of the plastic bags he always carried with him and started calling his name. When there was no answer, he got concerned and began jogging around here and there while calling his name even louder. He asked anyone he happened to see if they'd see a yellow Lab that was really almost white in color and to a person all of them said 'no.'

Now panicked, Benson ran out to the parking lot hoping against hope to find his dog next to the Jeep. Not finding him, he got in and started driving around the park and anywhere else he thought made sense. It was dark when he finally gave up, and Benson felt physically ill by the time he got home—alone. All alone.

Had he not tossed out all of the liquor in the house, he'd have gotten shit faced for sure. He hadn't shed a single tear when his wife left him, but he was on the verge of crying at the thought of never seeing his best friend again.

Rather than cry, he sat down and printed off dozens of copies of 'Lost Dog' signs he planned on posting everywhere around the park the following morning. He also got the phone number for every shelter in the area and even called the police to see where they had Animal Control take any dog they found.

The next day was even worse when, after having put up close to a hundred signs, there wasn't a single call in spite of the $1,000 reward he was offering. He personally went to each of the shelters and left posters with them and again, went home alone that night.

The Mariners were starting a three-game, four-day road trip the next day and the thought of leaving without having found Rusty was eating at him constantly. Benson imagined every possible scenario from having been run over to someone having taken him for whatever reason. Regardless of what had happened, Rusty was gone and Benson felt sick.

*****

"Mom? Can we keep him? Please, please, pleeeease?"

"Honey, I told you we can't have a dog. It's too much responsibility with me working full-time. Besides, someone almost certainly owns him. That's not the kind of dog that just runs wild. Look, he's got a very nice collar around his neck, so someone definitely owns this guy."

"But there's no tag with information on it or anything," her daughter said pleading her case. "Maybe they didn't want him anymore. Why else would he just wander into our driveway and walk right up to me?"

She was petting and hugging the dog who was wagging his tail and licking her face.

"Can't we keep him? Pleeeease? I promise I'll feed him and take for walks and I'll clean up all his poop. I promise!"

Her mother sighed then said, "Okay, but only until we find the owner. We'll take care of him until then, but when we find out who he belongs to, we have to give him back. Is that clear?"

"Yes! Yes, it's clear!" she said having only heard the words 'we can keep him' while tuning out the 'give him back' part.

"Mom? Can I call him Angel? Look, he has these white wings on his back just like an angel."

She bent down and looked and sure enough, her daughter was right. "I'll be. Yes, he does. Okay, I suppose that's fine," her mother said not really paying attention. They needed to leave for open house at the school where her daughter would be attending the following week.

"Is Daddy an angel now?" her daughter asked as she played with and petted the dog.

"What, honey?" he mom said trying to remember everything she wanted to ask her daughter's new teacher.

"Daddy. Is he an angel up in heaven now?" she asked again. "Does he have wings, too?"

"Oh. Um...I...I suppose so, honey. Listen, put the dog in the house, okay? We really need to get going."

"Okay," she told her mom.

She turned to the dog and said, "Angel? Come on, boy!" as she lead him into the house.

She was petting him as she told the dog, "We have to go to my school for a while, but then I'll come home, okay? Please don't go poo-poo in the house because it will make my mom mad and I want you to stay with us. So be a good boy and I'll be back later, okay?"

The dog was still wagging his tail like crazy as she told him, "Bye, Angel!"

She skipped all the way to the back door then stepped into the garage and got in the car where her mother was waiting for her.

"Okay, you ready to start fifth grade?" he mother asked.

"I guess," she said suddenly sullen and morose again.

Since the death of her father, 10-year old Jodie Gallagher had stopped being her normal, happy self. Overnight, she became quiet and withdrawn and even after having seen a therapist for six months, she still rarely smiled. Finding this dog had been the first thing that had made her smile since losing her dad a year and a half ago.

Her 32-year old mother, Whitney, had had to bottle up her own grief in front of her daughter the entire time knowing the impact it would have on her little girl were she to break down in front of her. It was hard enough to see Jodie cry herself to sleep for weeks after her husband's death, but not being able to cry herself until she was sure she alone had been unbearable. And yet that's exactly what she'd done night after night for six solid months and then periodically for another six.

Now, just over 19 months later, Whitney was finally able to start thinking about moving on with her life—whatever 'moving on' meant. She'd even given in to the unrelenting pressure from her mother to finally go out with an old friend from high school who'd lost his wife about a year before the death of her late husband, Joel, who'd been killed on the job.

Joel Gallagher was an experienced certified electrician who was as careful as anyone his co-workers knew, and none of them could believe it when they'd heard that he, of all people, had been electrocuted while wiring a large commercial building in the downtown Seattle area.

Even after a lengthy investigation involving OSHA and detectives from the police department, the exact reason still wasn't known. The experts' best guess was Joel had simply forgotten that he'd 'gone hot' by flipping a breaker then forgotten when he went to splice two lines together. As bad as that was, the final finding had hurt her beyond words.

Because she and Joel had been fighting for the two days prior, and because three of his closets friends testified he'd seemed 'down' prior to his death, it had been ruled a suicide. Whitney didn't know what happened, but she knew that just wasn't possible.

She still couldn't accept their findings as Joel was just so overly cautious about the very real dangers of an open circuit. He often worked with and mentored new electricians and drilled safety into their heads over and over, day in and day out. And yet, short of foul play, what other reason could there be? It had to be accidental, something she couldn't imagine, or intentional, a thought that still sent chills down her spine.

As far as her one and only 'date' had gone, it had been pleasant enough, but there just wasn't any spark. She and this friend from high school simply didn't have much in common other than having lost the person they loved the most. Well, that and the fact that he also had a young child, a five-year son named Brandon. Beyond that, it had been forced and uncomfortable and in the end, both of them admitted they were glad when it was over. There were no hard feelings, just an understanding that they were most definitely not 'birds of a feather.'

She shelved the endless mental debate as they pulled into her daughter's elementary school and found a parking spot. Whitney grabbed her purse checking to make sure her phone was there as she had all of the questions she wanted to be sure to ask in the 'Notes' app of her phone.

"Mom? What if nobody comes for Angel? Can we keep him?"

"Honey, I don't want you to get your hopes up, okay?"

Her daughter looked so hopeful it was hard to look at her.

"Tell you what. Whenever the owner does come for him, I guess we could go look for a puppy. How does that sound?" she said in a cheerful voice.

"But I don't want a puppy, Mom. I want Angel."

"Come on. Let's go inside and meet your teacher," Whitney said wanting to change the subject.

After patiently waiting her turn, Whitney got five minutes with Mrs. Carroll. She quickly worked through her list of questions then asked Jodie to say hello. Not surprisingly, she responded with just one word—hello.

Mrs. Carroll knew Jodie had lost her father so she tried a different approach.

"What do you enjoy doing, Jodie?" she asked her.

To her mother's great delight, her daughter smiled and said, "I like playing with my new dog. His name is Angel and he's very beautiful. I call him that because he has angel wings. Just like my daddy."

komrad1156
komrad1156
3,778 Followers