It had been Corey’s idea to ask them. He called on an evening, casual, slightly apologetic, and said he had a work trip to Edinburgh for ten days, and the boarding kennels were full. Rex was four years old, house-trained, and “basically calm,” he said. George had said yes before he even checked with Zoe.
Zoe hadn’t objected. She liked dogs in the abstract, in the way people who have never owned one tend to—warmly but from a comfortable distance. George expected Rex to be an easy houseguest. A bit of extra company. Something to talk about over dinner.
Rex arrived on a Friday afternoon in the back of Corey’s Volvo: a large German Shepherd, darker than average, almost black along the spine. He came with a green canvas bag containing a food bowl, a rope toy, a bag of kibble, and a single handwritten sheet of care instructions. Corey said goodbye and drove away. Rex sat in the hallway and watched the car go. Then he turned and looked at Zoe, and held the look for just a beat too long.