[for Chase]

[learnfromthem]

It's kind of the default response, isn't it?

'What do you want for your birthday?'

'A pony.'

Wren is a bit more impressive than a pony. We're still getting used to each other, if I'm being honest. I don't know where the island shops for its annual New Year's gifts, but I guess anything that's brought to Tabula Rasa needs an adjustment period. So we have a routine -- when she's groomed, when she's fed, when I take her out for a run.

Lucky's sitting on the steps in front of my cottage, watching as I run a brush through Wren's mane. He's been quiet all afternoon, but I turn when I hear the beginnings of a bark sit low in his throat. It's not until he bolts away that I realize we have company.

"Hey, Chase," I call out, shaking my head in amusement as Lucky jumps up to greet him.

Comments

[apoorupbringing]

Chase caught Lucky and dragged him down the sand as he knelt, getting big fistfuls of shaggy golden fur in hand and scratching. It was all of four seconds before the one eyed retriever was on its back and Chase was doing tummy-rubbing duties, not that he ever objected.

"Best dog," he told Luck, then looked up through his own increasingly shaggy gold locks to squint a grin at Kate.

"Hey, Hawkeye and pony friend."