“Take it. No, really. You can have it. I won’t need it anymore.”He handed me the worn leather leash I’d been admiring as we stood at the counter — me checking in, he claiming a small wooden box. I knew what it meant and I felt bad for the old man.
My new puppy squirmed in my arms. I hadn’t had time to get him a leash. I accepted it with some hesitation and clipped it to my pup’s collar. “Thanks.”
The old man smiled and petted him.
“What’s his name?”
“Reuben.”
“Well, Reuben, you’re quite a handsome fellow. And that leash will keep you safe,” he assured him.
“I got him from the shelter in town. They still have a few puppies left.”
“Thanks,” he said softly, “but I’m too old for another puppy.”
Gently holding my pup’s head in his hands, he looked at him. “Enjoy each other. Time goes by so fast.”
We shook hands. Then, clutching the box tightly, he turned and quietly walked out the door.
For the next few months, everything was a chew toy. Furniture legs were gnawed to splinters, bed posts were leveled. Electrical cords were strung overhead. Every left shoe I owned had been sampled. But Reuben never bothered the leash. And I wondered what had become of the old man.
Sometime later we were walking in town and I recognized him.
“Hi Reuben!” He reached down and petted him.
“Hey, thanks again for the leash. You sure you don’t want it back?” I asked, hoping he didn’t. “It must have sentimental value.
“Yes, it did. But it’s yours now. Yours and Reuben’s. Besides,” he said with a wink, “I have a new leash.”
He led me to his car. There, with her head thrust out the open window, was a big, gray-muzzled German Shepherd, probably about eight or nine. I immediately recognized her from the shelter. I’d been drawn to her instantly, but for some reason I’d walked out with a puppy. Now I understood why.
She was as beautiful as I remembered and she smiled as we neared the car.
He reached in and stroked her massive head. He’d gone to the shelter some weeks after he’d given us the leash. He didn’t even know why he was there — he’d already decided he was too old for another dog. After all, he had to think about what would happen to a dog should he die.
But then he saw her. Smiling like she was now.
In an instant I knew why I’d left her behind. She wasn’t waiting for me.
He caressed her velvet ears. “She’s gray in the muzzle and so am I. I figure we both have a few more good years left in us. We make a good pair.”
The bond between them was unmistakable.
We stood talking for a few more minutes and I thanked him again for the leash. He got into the car and they drove away, and Reuben and I walked on, the worn leather leash now a comfortable part of our own story.
