🐾 Part 6 — Father, Son, and the Dog That Waited
Ethan arrived on a Tuesday, just after noon.
The sun was high and hot, making mirages shimmer on the gravel road as the silver Toyota pulled into the driveway. Danny stood at the porch steps, wiping his hands on an old rag, pretending he hadn’t been watching for the last ten minutes.
Charlie was already at attention, tail still, ears perked—not tense, just curious.
When Ethan stepped out, he looked older than Danny remembered. Not in the worn-down, life-has-hit-you kind of way, but matured. Solid. A man now, not the lanky teen who once refused to hug him at the airport.
“Hey, Dad,” he said.
Danny nodded. “You made good time.”
“Speed limit’s just a suggestion in southern Georgia, right?”
Danny cracked a half-smile. “You sound like your mother.”
They stood a beat too long, then closed the gap in a brief but firm hug—awkward, unsure, but enough.
Charlie circled Ethan once, then sniffed his shoes, his jeans, and finally looked up.
“I remember you,” Ethan said quietly, crouching. “You used to sit by my door when I cried after Mom left.”
Charlie leaned forward and nudged Ethan’s shoulder with his nose. Then, in one clean motion, he sat and leaned his weight against him.
Ethan smiled.
“He’s always done that,” Danny said. “Even before I noticed something was wrong.”
They ate lunch on the porch—grilled sandwiches, iced tea, and a bag of potato chips they didn’t finish.
Ethan told stories from college. Danny mostly listened, nodding at the right places. Charlie lay stretched out between them, eyes drifting shut, but never fully asleep.
Later that afternoon, they went fishing at the lake behind the cabin.
Ethan cast first, the line arcing like a memory across the water.
Danny followed, slower, his hands steady at first—but midway through the second cast, a sudden weakness crept in. A fuzziness in his chest. His vision blurred, then cleared just as fast.
He felt cold sweat beading at the back of his neck, even though the sun was brutal overhead.
Charlie stood.
Not quickly—but deliberately. He walked over and sat beside Danny’s left leg.
Ethan looked over. “You okay?”
Danny nodded too quickly.
“Yeah. Just haven’t fished in a while. Back’s stiff.”
But Charlie didn’t move.
He stared up at him, tail low, ears shifting forward.
Danny dropped the pole and sat down on the cooler.
He reached into his pocket, fished out the test meter, and pricked his finger without a word.
58.
Too low again.
He took a glucose tab from his back pocket and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly.
Ethan was watching now. Frowning.
“Dad?”
Danny sighed.
“Diabetes. Type 2. Been off the wagon a while. Didn’t want to make a big deal of it.”
Ethan sat down beside him.
“Is this why Charlie won’t let you out of his sight?”
“Yeah. I think he knows before I do. Smells it, maybe. Or just… senses it.”
Ethan looked at the dog.
“Did he used to do that over there?”
Danny nodded. “Before the IEDs. Before the booby-trapped houses. Before Lopez…”
His voice drifted off.
Ethan didn’t press.
They sat there in silence, the water lapping gently against the shore, the rods forgotten, the shadows lengthening.
That night, they grilled steaks. Charlie got a whole one, no seasoning, because Ethan said “he’s earned it.”
Danny laughed, really laughed. Deep and slow.
They ate on the porch again, under a sky smeared with purple and fire.
After dinner, Ethan stood and held up an old picture he found on the fridge. One of Danny in uniform, Charlie beside him in full tactical harness.
“You ever think about writing it all down?” Ethan asked.
Danny shook his head.
“I’m not a writer.”
“You’ve lived a story worth telling.”
Charlie thumped his tail once.
Danny glanced at the dog.
“Maybe someday,” he said. “But I think the story’s not done yet.”
Later, after Ethan went to bed in the guest room and the cabin went quiet, Danny stepped outside barefoot, a beer in one hand, meter in the other.
He tested again.
81.
Safe. For now.
Charlie sat beside him, watching the woods.
“I know you’re still on duty,” Danny said softly. “But you can rest, buddy. Just a little.”
Charlie didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Just leaned in.
That night, Danny slept through the dark without waking once.
No bombs.
No blood.
Just dreams of soft fields and a dog running free.