Work Text:
Late June 2019
It had been a very long day.
Daughter-Finding Day, Ilya had christened it that morning. The day they went out in search of their dog. Which he had decided in advance would be a girl.
“What if you fall in love with one and it’s a boy?” Shane asked him as they got in the car.
“Then it will be Son-Finding Day,” said Ilya, in a tone that suggested this conclusion should be obvious. “But this will not happen. Our baby is a girl, I feel it.”
Shane just shook his head.
Ilya had a list of five animal shelters in the Quebec City area and a detailed plan of attack based on Google reviews, proximity to their house, and to what extent the shelter specialised in dogs. Shane was immensely proud when he saw it, and not a little bit turned on. What Ilya hadn’t planned for—what neither of them had—was not finding her. Or even him. At any of the shelters on the list.
Shane and Ilya both were exhausted by the time they pulled into the parking lot of the final shelter on their list, this one in a rural community south of the St Lawrence. Exhausted in body but also in spirit. This place was literally their last resort. Shane could see the frustration and disappointment on Ilya’s face and in the set of his shoulders, when he’d been so happy as they’d left the house that morning.
He took Ilya’s hand in both of his and kissed the back of his knuckles. “Don’t worry, baby,” he said. “We’ll find her. Maybe not today, but shelters get new dogs all the time. We’ll keep looking.”
Ilya nodded and attempted a smile. “I wish we could take all the ones we met but none of them were the right one. I don’t know why, but—”
“You’ll know her when you see her,” Shane finished for him. “That’s what you said, right?”
“Yes. I will feel it.”
“Okay, then. We’ll keep looking until you do.”
Ilya tugged him closer by their joined hands and leaned across the gearshift to kiss him. “I love you.”
“I love you.” Shane rested their foreheads together for a beat. “Let’s go find our dog.”
They didn’t find her at the final shelter.
Ilya was drooping as they drove away, mouth and shoulders and eyebrows drawn together. “I had such a good feeling about today,” he said, staring moodily out the window as the countryside went by. “I felt like she was out there, waiting for us to find her. I felt—stop!”
“What?”
“Shane!” Ilya grabbed his arm, with his other hand pointing emphatically at something just beyond his window. “Shane, stop the car!”
Shane pulled over then peered in the direction indicated by his husband’s finger to see a handwritten sign. Made from a piece of cardboard that looked like the side of a box, written in permanent marker and taped to a stick, it read:
Chien à vendre (Dog for sale)
Demander à Marion (Ask Marion)
<—-
The arrow pointed down a dirt lane leading to a farmhouse in the distance, with a barn behind it. Shane’s brain immediately produced an itemised and colour-coded list of major doubts about the wisdom of knocking on the door of a random farmhouse based on what was basically a yard sale sign, but Ilya was vibrating with excitement and so he voiced none of them. They were large, muscular hockey players, he reasoned as he turned the car up the lane and headed for the house. They could probably take down a creepy ambush murderer. Right?
Right.
As the farmhouse came closer into view, it became clear that it had seen better days. The grass was overgrown and choked with weeds, the paint peeling. One of the panes in the front door was missing, replaced by taped-over newspaper.
Shane braced himself as he knocked on the door. It was opened a moment later by a woman of about forty, with messy hair and tired eyes. She stiffened at once when she saw them. “Qu-est ce que vous voulez?” ("What do you want?") she demanded.
“Vous êtes Marion?” ("You're Marion?") Shane replied.
“Oui.” ("Yes.")
“Et vous avez un chien à vendre?” ("And you have a dog to sell?")
“Ah, oui.” ("Oh, yes.") Relief softened her posture and her features. “Elle est dans la grange.” ("She's in the barn.")
“Oh.” Shane stepped back as Marion came out the door, gave a brief nod to indicate that they should follow her, and headed for the barn. Shane and Ilya went with her.
Inside, the barn was dim; were it not for a hole in one corner of the roof not much light would get into it at all. There was evidence of fairly recent animal occupation but none remained, save one. In the corner of the barn closest to the door—not the corner with the missing roof—was an upturned box. Likely, Shane thought, the same box whose missing fourth side was now serving as a roadside sign. Inside this box was a pile of straw half-covered by a dirty blanket and on the blanket a tiny puppy, black and white and brown with big eyes and bigger ears.
“C'est pas trop de luxe, je sais,” ("It's not exactly luxurious, I know,") said Marion, with what appeared to be an attempt at humour. “C’est mon fils qui a fait ça. Daniel.” Her expression dimmed again, at the mention of his name. “Il veut—mais c’est pas possible ce qu’il veut. Impossible de la garder.” She turned to them with a plea in her voice. “Ça coûte trop cher les chiens, la bouffe, les médicaments. Mon mari s’est fuit l’année dernière, il m’a laissé dans la merde. Ma mère est devenue malade. Moi je bosse de matin jusqu’au soir mais ça suffit jamais. Je suis seule avec trois enfants et un hypothèque, un chien en plus c’est vraiment trop. Mais Daniel l’aime tellement. Il l’a trouvée dans un sac avec ses frères et soeurs, tous morts sauf elle. Il a pleuré, nous avons tous pleuré, et nous avons fait ce qu’on pouvait pour la sauver. Daniel lui a donné à manger de sa propre assiette. C'était pas assez.” Her voice dropped low. “C'est jamais assez.” ("It's my son who did this. Daniel." Her expression dimmed again, at the mention of his name. "He wants--but what he wants isn't possible. We can't keep her. Dogs are too expensive, the food, the vet bills. My husband ran off last year, he left me in the shit. My mother's taken ill. I work from morning to night but it's never enough. I'm on my own with three kids and a mortgage, a dog is a bit too much, you know? But Daniel loves her so much. He found her in a bag with her siblings, all dead except her. He cried, we all cried, and we did what we could to save her. Daniel fed her from his own plate. It wasn't enough. It's never enough.")
Ilya crouched down beside the box and picked up the tiny puppy. In the light from the open barn door her bones were clearly visible through her skin, on which the fur grew in ragged tufts. Fleas, Shane thought. His mind clicked into gear as he recalled everything he’d been reading about dogs and their care. They would have to give her a flea bath before she came inside, he thought. If fleas got into their house it would be war to get them out again. She’d need to see a vet immediately to get her on the right diet to put on weight slowly. Eating too much at once after being so malnourished would just make her sick. She’d been abandoned at such a young age then kept in a barn, she had no socialisation. No house training. Nothing. They’d have to start from scratch with her. It would be a fucking lot of work.
The puppy’s eyes were bright and curious as Ilya held her up to his face. She pumped her little paws through the air and wagged her tiny tail and when he brought her close enough she eagerly licked his chin.
Ilya turned wide, teary eyes on his husband. “Shane…”
“Yes,” Shane said. He held out his hand and the puppy lapped enthusiastically at his fingers. “She’s ours.”
He turned to Marion. “Vous demandez combien?” ("How much do you want?")
“Deux cents dollars,” ("Two hundred dollars,") she replied boldly, then seemed to stumble over her conscience. “Si c’est pas trop?” ("If that's not too much?")
“C’est pas assez,” ("It's not enough,") Ilya said, catching Shane’s eye. “Vous lui avez sauvé la vie. Ça vaut cinq cents, minimum.” ("You saved her life. That's worth at least five hundred.")
“Plutôt six,” ("More like six,") Shane said. He’d offer more but he doubted she would take it.
In Marion’s eyes pride warred with necessity. “Six cents dollars… non, mais—” ("Six hundred dollars... no, but--")
“Oui,” ("Yes,") said Shane firmly. “Pas un sou de moins.” ("Not a penny less.")
“Six cents dollars,” ("Six hundred dollars,") she said again, then nodded slowly as necessity won. “J’accepte. Merci.” ("I accept. Thank you.")
“Non, maman!” ("No, Mom!") A boy came bursting through the barn door. Skinny and rangy, probably about fourteen. “No, tu peux pas!” ("No, you can't!")
“Mon chou, tu peux pas la garder—” ("Sweetie, you can't keep her--")
“Oui, elle est à moi, je l’ai trouvé, je l’ai sauvé—” ("Yes, I can, she's mine, I found her, I saved her--") He stopped in front of Ilya and held out his hands. The puppy yipped in greeting. “S’il vous plaît, monsieur. Ne la prenez pas. Elle est à moi.” ("Please, sir. Don't take her. She's mine.")
“Tu es Daniel?” ("You're Daniel?") Ilya asked.
“Oui.”
“Daniel, je m’appelle Ilya.” ("Daniel, I'm Ilya.") He stood and approached the boy, the puppy held out between them. Daniel scratched her little ears with the tip of his finger and she licked his hand. “T’as très bien fait pour elle, le mieux que tu pouvais,” Ilya said gently. “Mais ta maman a raison. Les chiens coûtent cher. Celle-ci est malade, mal nourrie. Elle ne peut pas rester ici dans un tel état, elle ne s’en sortira pas.” ("You did a great job with her, the best you could have," Ilya said gently. "But your mama is right. Dogs are expensive. This one is sick, malnourished. She can't stay here like this, she won't make it.")
“Non—” ("No--") Daniel protested again, but it was plain that even at such a young age he recognised the truth.
“Mon mari et moi, nous pouvons lui donner une belle vie,” Ilya continued. “Nous allons prendre le meilleur soin d’elle. Et tu peux venir la voir chez nous, quand tu veux.” ("My husband and I can give her a good life," Ilya continued. "We will take the best care of her. And you can come to our house and see her whenever you like.")
Daniel looked up, hope in his eyes. “Je peux venir la voir?” ("I can come see her?")
“Tu seras toujours le bienvenu.” ("You will always be welcome.")
Daniel held Ilya’s gaze for a long moment. “Et vous—vous l’aimerez?” ("And you--you'll love her?")
“Je te le jure,” ("I promise you.") Ilya said.
Daniel swallowed hard, then he nodded. Tears were in his eyes but he did not let them fall. He scratched the puppy’s ears once more then kissed her little head. “Okay,” he said. “Elle est à vous.” ("She's yours.")
Ilya stayed with Daniel, Marion, and the puppy while Shane went out to find a bank and a pet supply store. He returned an hour later with a six hundred dollar bank draft and a carload of puppy supplies, including a large plastic tub and some flea shampoo, to find his husband sat in the overgrown grass with Daniel and the puppy and a wadded-up piece of cardboard they were using as a toy, rolling it between them as the puppy did her wobbly best to chase it.
Shane’s heart melted.
“I’ve made an appointment with a vet for late this afternoon,” he said a bit gruffly, as Ilya came over to help unload the tub. “We need advice on what to feed her.”
“Good thinking,” Ilya said. He took the tub and shampoo from the car and Daniel hurried to fill it from the garden hose. Together they gave the puppy a thorough bath, then wrapped her up in the new, clean blanket Shane had bought. Daniel rubbed her face and kissed her head and she licked him everywhere she could reach.
“Do you think maybe we’ve found our dog and our dog sitter?” Shane muttered to Ilya as they watched.
“Yes,” Ilya replied. “The highest paid dog sitter in the world.”
He went to put the puppy in her new crate and secure her in the car as Shane spoke to Marion.
“Il faut qu’on aille,” he said. “Nous avons rendez-vous chez le vétérinaire à seize heures.” ("We have to go," he said. "We have a vet appointment at four.")
Marion nodded.
As Ilya loaded the crate into the car, Daniel said one more goodbye. Shane heard him ask, “Vous avez choisi un prénom?” ("Have you chosen a name?")
“Oui,” Ilya replied. “Elle s’appelle Anya.” ("Yes," Ilya replied. "Her name is Anya.")
“Anya,” Daniel repeated. “C’est très joli.” ("That's very pretty.") He put his face up to the door of the crate to give her a final kiss. “Au revoir, Anya. Je t’aime.” ("Goodbye, Anya. I love you.")
“Voici notre adresse et téléphone.” ("Here's our address and phone number.") Shane took out a piece of paper with their address and Ilya’s cell number scribbled on it. “Si Daniel veut venir la voir, appelez-nous.” ("If Daniel wants to come see her, call us.")
“Merci,” said Marion, as she took the paper. “Pour tout.” ("Thank you," said Marion, as she took the paper. "For everything.")
“Et à vous,” Shane said, “pour notre fille.” ("And you," Shane said. "For our daughter.")
Two months later they were at the cottage, Ilya, Shane, and Anya all sprawled out together on the sofa. Shane sat tucked into the corner with a book in one hand, his other arm draped over Ilya’s shoulder as Ilya leaned back against him, Anya curled up and dozing in his lap.
The fingers of Shane’s free hand sifted through her fur, longer now and growing in curly. “Like her papa’s,” Ilya always said proudly, when he brushed it. Ilya was scrolling on his phone, his other hand gently scritching Anya’s silky, floppy ears. She was flea-free now, her coat growing in thick and soft, her body growing too as they progressed through the vet’s strict diet plan. “Very healthy food only, just like her daddy,” Ilya often teased when they fed her. “You will give her green smoothies next.”
“She’d probably eat one,” Shane always retorted. “Unlike her papa.”
Shane’s phone dinged from the armrest beside him and he picked it up. “Time to take her for a walk,” he said. “Before she gets ideas.”
Anya was almost house-trained.
“Okay.” Ilya gave Anya’s ear a gentle tug and she blinked up at him sleepily. “Want to go for a walk, my princess?” he asked, and immediately she was wide awake, off his lap and dancing by the balcony door, backside wiggling in concert with her tail. Shane and Ilya both laughed.
“I’ll get her leash,” Shane said.
When he returned with it, Ilya was typing on his phone. “Text from Daniel,” he said in response to Shane’s inquiring look. “He can stop by the house after school while we are at camp. That way she can get used to being alone for just a few hours at a time and he can have some time to play with her.”
Shane crouched down to attach Anya’s leash to her collar. “What about when we’re on the road?” he asked.
“We will need to hire a professional dog-sitter for long trips,” Ilya replied. “It is maybe a bit too much responsibility for a fourteen-year-old by himself, though of course he can help.”
“We’ll still pay him, though.” Shane handed the leash to Ilya and opened the balcony door.
“Of course,” was all Ilya had time to say before Anya tugged him through the door and out towards the lake.
“Don’t let her jump in the water!” Shane called after them. He followed at a slower pace, catching up when Anya devoted several minutes to sniffing intently at her favourite tree. Ilya slipped an arm around his waist.
“I love her so much,” he said.
“I know you do. I love her too.”
He’d never wanted a dog or any pet, really, had only agreed to get one because it was so important to Ilya. But Anya held his heart now in her little paws, and seeing how Ilya was with her made Shane wonder if maybe someday, when they were both retired, they might have a daughter of a different species.
But that would be a question for Future Shane to answer. Now he was content with the daughter they had.