Happy Tails

It’s Wednesday morning at 9am so that only means one thing. 

Bucky walks passed the tree covered wall and plops down onto the three person, comfy-but-not-so-comfy gray couch in Dr. Raynor’s office. He releases an annoyed sigh as he leans his head back, rolling his eyes, frustrated in how he has to lie his way through yet another hour of this court mandated bullshit. 

“Good morning James,” Dr. Raynor starts, leveling him with raised eyebrows, signaling him to respond. 

Bucky plonks his hands down into his lap as he opens his knees wide, letting each fall against the edge of the couch. He levels a glare, his displeasure firmly coming through. He doesn’t want to be here and he wants her to know it.

“Morning.” He mumbles.

Dr. Raynor crosses her right leg over her left, clasping her hands together neatly in her lap, working to demonstrate patience when inside she knows James is nicking away at it, and quickly.

“Chipper as always I see.” She nods in his direction. “Did you have another nightmare?”

Of course he did. He always does. He can’t get through one night without a nightmare plaguing his mind. But he isn’t sharing that with her. He can’t give the government any more reason to put him in a mental institution. Even if deep down that’s where he thinks he should be.

“No.” The first lie of the morning.

Dr. Raynor fakes a laugh, “Alright, cut the bullshit James. I can see the dark circles under your eyes, the little blood red streaks around your pupils, the haziness in your gaze. You haven’t been sleeping.”

He can’t believe her. “ Jesus , seriously?!”

She doesn’t back down. “You look like shit. ”

He snaps back, “How the hell do you still have your license!”

“Answer me James.” She turns to her small side table and grabs the spiral notebook. She unwraps the band around the notebook cover and opens up to a clean page. She takes her pen and clicks the end once, readying herself to take notes as she stares him down. Not the notebook.

“C’mon! Don’t take notes. You don’t need to take notes--”

“Start talking or you leave me no choice.” She’s not joking around today.

She looks down to the notebook in her lap while shaking her head disapprovingly and puts her pen to paper. Dr. Raynor starts to scribble impatiently on the page. He hates it when she’s like this. She’s impossible to reason with and she knows it. She knows this is the only way to get him to talk. He’ll give her that much.

He knows he can’t get around it today. He’s going to have to talk, so he thinks fast for an excuse. Bucky won’t admit defeat, especially to her. “Too much--” He pinches his nose, trying to think of the word but it doesn’t come to him. He says the next best thing, “Netflix...ing. Too many tv shows and movies to catch up on. Not enough time.” He smirks at her, proud of himself for thinking on the spot. Lie number two.

“Yeah, you don’t even know how to access your Netflix account, let alone know how to stream on your TV. So I call bullshit again. And by the way, it’s called binging. Netflix binging. Which you wouldn’t have the patience for anyways.”

Well now he definitely won’t forget what it’s called. Maybe that’s what he’ll learn to do this afternoon. Figure out that river thing on his TV she just mentioned.  Yeah, that’s what he’ll do. He can figure it out, he fought Nazis. He can do anything.

Dr. Raynor takes him in when he gazes off towards the window as he ponders. She always wonders what really goes on in his head, what he really thinks about, how he’s really doing. He’s making her job that much harder with him stiff-arming her about what’s really going on. But he’s the type of soldier who needs the most help. 

The most impacted, the most traumatized are usually the most lost. The most scared. The most susceptible to addiction, to taking their own life. And she knows he thinks he deserves that type of ending. But she doesn’t. 

She’s read his military file. She’s seen the years of service he gave to his country. She knows how committed he was to fighting alongside Steve, with his Howling Commandos, during World War II. She knows his time as a POW haunts him day in and day out. She understands the sacrifice he gave and she isn’t going to let anything happen to him. She isn’t going to let him off easy because ending everything would be the easy way out. She’s going to fight for him and show him he deserves the life he left behind in ‘43. And that he can have that life.

Which is why she’s trying a new tactic today, and throws him a curve ball.

“Do you like animals James?” She asks him casually.

Bucky whips his head back to her, caught off guard with her random question. “Excuse me?”

She continues on, “Animals. You know, some of them are furry four legged creatures that bark or meow and roam the planet with us--”

Bucky rolls his eyes so hard he feels like he can see out the back of his head, “Cut the horseshit doc. I know what animals are. Who doesn't like ‘em.”

He always looks a tad bit longer at all the dogs when walking in Brooklyn. Those guys have the life if he thinks about it. Owners who give them anything they want, have play dates with other dogs, a safe and warm home to curl up in at night with no worries in the world. The simple life.

And the cute furry puppies and kittens he sees online he likes the most. Those videos are the funniest and actually get him to smile, but only in the privacy of his own apartment, where no one can see him crack a smile. It’s some website that’s like a clock? He went down a rabbit hole one day while trying to understand the internet and discovered the short videos. When he noticed that three hours passed of him watching puppy videos, he almost chucked the computer out the window. He’s vowed to never go on the clock website again. 

But insects? Yeah, game over. No way he can deal with that. And no way anyone can find out about it.

“Okay, good, glad we established that. Now, have you ever had a pet?”

James squints his eyes, confused at what she’s getting at. He crosses his arms as he straightens up even more in his seat, “Seriously, what is this? Because it feels an awful lot like an interrogation. Pointless one at that.”

Dr. Raynor throws her hands up, exasperated, “Just answer the damn question and this will be over sooner.”

“No.” He replies sharply.

She pushes, “Have you ever wanted one?”

He waits a moment to respond. He’s never given it any thought until now. But when he thinks about it, it seems like it would be pleasant. It would be nice to have a pet. But he isn’t sure he’s ready for it. He can barely take care of himself, how is he supposed to care for another living creature?

So he settles on in-between. “Maybe.” He uncrosses his arms and starts to fidget with his fingers in his lap. He looks down, feeling somewhat guilty for wanting something like a pet. Why would he deserve something like that?

And Dr. Raynor immediately notices the instant change in his demeanor. Progress.

He’s letting her in and she’s going to run with it. “I have a proposition for you James.”

Bucky scoffs, irked at her persistence, “Oh this’ll be great.”

“Just hear me out. This one’s different from the others.”

“...Fine.”

Dr. Raynor doesn’t waste a second before diving into her plan. “Like you, a lot of soldiers can struggle with the adjustment back to civilian life. It’s a transition like no other and most of them come back with PTSD. One way to help cope with that can be to have a dog, or a furry friend, to help keep you company. There’s even an option to get a service dog that is trained to help with PTSD, especially with nightmares and social anxiety. Service dogs especially have been clinically proven to help soldiers with recovery.”

“I don’t have PTSD.” He adamantly denies. 

“Yeah, okay, Dr. Freud .” Dr. Raynor mocks him and flings her pen at his head but Bucky catches it midair right before it connects with his forehead.

He slams the pen down at the edge of the couch and jumps up to stand over her sitting form. “Yup, I’m done for today. I’m not takin’ this shit.”

He makes it to the door in three strides and has his hand on the door handle when she orders him, “Sit your ass back down or I write you up.”

He looks back over his shoulder at her. The scowl sitting on her face isn’t playing around. He despises how she has this hold over him; how her word will always trump his and she has the ability to authorize any type of future she can think of for him. So he has no choice but to listen to her. Today can fuck right off.

He reluctantly makes his way back to his seat and makes a big display of not enjoying any of it. Bucky glowers back at her and sees her scowl turn into a victorious smile.

They stare each other down for a few minutes, both analyzing what might happen next.

Dr. Raynor goes for the jugular, “Since you don’t have any friends and aren’t making any efforts to create new friendships--”

He isn’t going to let her talk to him like this. “I have friends!” He shoots back, defending himself. Another lie.

“Really? Like who? Because the lady at the farmer’s market who you say two words to every week doesn’t count.”

Bucky groans as he wrings his right hand through his hair. “Well, my...neighbor?” He squeaks out hoping she’ll buy it.

“The one who has complained to the landlord about you waking up screaming in the middle of the night? Just stop James.”

“Why do you continue to torment me?” He disputes as he covers his face with both his hands.

“This isn't up for discussion.” Dr. Raynor walks to her desk behind her lounge chair. She ruffles through a rolodex of business cards and plucks three separate cards out.

Before she sits back down, she places the cards next to his lap on the couch. He looks at the cards like they have a disease of some sort. 

“Your homework for this week is to go and talk to each of these three shelters and pet stores. I want you to inquire about adoption or rescuing. Even ask about their service animals.”

“This isn’t middle school, you know. I’m not doing this homework. ”

Dr. Raynor ignores his interruption, “You have no family. No friends. James, you desperately need someone, or something, in your life to keep you grounded. And a dog will do just that. You don’t have to actually take a dog home with you but I want you to just talk to the experts. Educate yourself and maybe play with a few dogs, see if you bond with any of them.”

For once Bucky agrees with her. This might not be a terrible idea. It’ll be a good excuse to get out of his apartment and distract him from the horrors that linger deep inside his mind. It would be nice to have a cute dog tag along with him, keep him company. 

He contemplates his response. Maybe trying her proposition won’t be so bad after all. “Alright doc, I’ll try. But I can’t promise I’ll like it.”

****

It’s an hour after close on Saturday night while it downpours outside the front windows, and all you want to do is drink away your sorrows. You lean against the counter on your forearms, sighing in defeat, as you scan over the bookkeeping numbers for your business for the 17th time. 

If these numbers are telling you anything, it’s that your animal shelter and pet shop, Happy Tails, won’t last more than three more months at this rate. 

The last three months since the reversal of the snap have been some of the hardest months of your life, on your shelter too. But the hardest on your fur babies. They’ve been surviving on much less than they’re used to and it’s not fair to those poor angels.

You turn to your oldest cat, who is sitting on the counter quietly. An orange tabby with the crabbiest pout. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Purrito? We need to find you a forever home or we won’t have a home anymore. So you have to be on your best behavior now so we can get you adopted.” You coo and reach to pet him under his chin but he turns his head, shying away, not wanting to be touched. “Damn you’re extra grumpy tonight. But don’t blame you. Life’s really shit right now.” 

Mr. Purrito growls lowly at you as he curls his head back into his body and you back away completely. He obviously doesn’t want to be bothered so you’re just going to let him be until you officially close up.

Then you move onto your six month old long haired calico, Princess Diana, who’s wandering around like the little princess she is, still not tuckered out from the day. She’s the sweetest little baby, a total lap sitter, and when you reach for her on the floor, she quickly jumps up onto the counter, and curls into your hand instantly, purring immediately when your fingers find the right spot right behind her ears. 

You continue to scratch behind her ears as you speak gently to your sweet girl, “I was very surprised that mom of two didn’t take you home with her babies today. Those kids were obsessed with you. I thought I was gonna have to say goodbye Di. But alas, you must share another night with lil’ old me.” You kiss her forehead and she purrs harder. She is the biggest sucker for any type of attention. And you love her for it.

You take your phone from your back pocket and snap a quick few portrait shots of your girl. “Maybe if I post your adorable face to social media the mom might reconsider and come back. They would be a good home for you Princess Diana.”

That’s when you feel your hunky two year old German Shepard boy rub up against your legs. Max nudges his nose against your thigh, also begging for attention. You can’t resist the smile spreading across his face, so you bend down to his height, failing to push back your own smile. 

Your voice picks up an octave as your baby voice creeps out, “Who’s a good boy Max? Yes, who’s a good boy?” His eyes close and his tongue drops out of his mouth to the side, panting happily, as you scratch along his jaw and over his neck. “You’re such a good boy Maxy! I love you so much.” You lean and kiss his head. And with that, he falls down onto the floor, showing you his stomach, front legs bent up near his face, pleading for a belly rub. You chuckle at his adorable antics, “And you wonder why you failed out of the police academy, you silly goose.” You continue to rub all over his belly and he wiggles happily along the tiled floor. Max will never fail to make you smile.

But his sudden, loud, somewhat angry bark shakes you out of her stance. He barks twice more towards the front door and then Princess Diana and Mr. Purrito jump away from Max, scurrying away to their cubbies. You follow Max’s line of sight and you finally see what he’s barking at. A large brown, cardboard box.

Regardless of what’s inside, you need to move it out of the way before you open in the morning. Better to do it now and get it over with.

When Max was brought in two weeks ago, you were taught some easy directions that Max had learned at the NYPD K9 academy in case you ever needed to keep him in line. Thinking it might come in handy now, you decide to try it out, now that you’re in a more serious situation. And all alone. At night. On a weekend.

You groan as you stand up, “Max, come. ” His demeanor immediately stiffens as his ears perk up and his head tilts to the side, staring up at you as he awaits his command. It’s a blessing some of his training didn’t go to waste. He scampers over to your side and waits eagerly. “Let’s put your training to use buddy.”

“Max, lead. ” He takes his cue immediately and starts walking next to your hip, putting himself between you and the door. He takes you to the front door and starts scratching at the glass portion of the door with his paw. He barks once more while nodding his head towards the large box sitting at your doorstep.

That large box happens to be placed just outside the awning, which means you’ll get drenched when you retrieve it. Great.

You quickly unlock the door because if your guess is right, you want to get that box and what’s inside it back into your shelter as soon as you can. 

Your hand quickly unlocks the front door and you command Max again, “Max, search.”

Max jumps out in front of you to the box. All it takes is three sniffs before he turns to you with a happy smile, his tongue falling out in front as he pants. He barks once as his tail starts wagging and starts pawing at the top of the box, working to push the top down. This causes the box to jiggle in place and in turn you hear the quietest chorus of meows.

You rush to his side, petting his head and scratching his ears. “Good boy Max! Such a good boy!” 

You lift the top of the box off and what you see hurts your heart. Four precious, wet, dirty, and most likely malnourished kittens curled up together, shivering from the rain. 

You sigh sadly, at how someone could throw these precious kittens away. But this isn't the first time this has happened. In fact it's happening almost once a week.

“You poor babies! You must be freezing. Let’s get you inside, I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry your pretty little minds.”

~~

Bucky watches you tend to the box that was left at your doorstep unceremoniously as your dog waits enthusiastically at your side. He has to admit, that’s a beautiful dog. The brown and black colors, mixing perfectly. The breed looks familiar but he can't place the name. And the dog takes your commands easily. That’s encouraging. 

Makes Bucky think maybe the dog could take his commands well too. 

He saw the douchebag practically throw the box onto the sidewalk outside your shelter and it almost made him want to run after the guy, but Bucky secretly wanted to find out what was inside. And what you would do. And maybe get a closer look at your pretty face. 

Bucky had been posting up in a coffee shop across the street from your shelter for the last hour and was trying to muster up the courage to walk inside. He saw the gentle and tender way you interacted with the cats and dogs and it gave him hope that maybe this outrageous idea of Dr. Raynor’s might work. That you might be the reason it could work.

The other two places she recommended were...not his cup of tea. He had visited them both over the past two days and it made him almost give up on the entire assignment all together. The first place was just pure chaos. Animals roaming freely, music blasting, and dog shit piles stinking up the place. He didn't need to take a step inside to know he couldn’t handle that environment. And the second place was nice, but he wasn’t sure he liked the owner. She was this stingy old lady who had these obscene and strict rules about how the process works and on top of that he wouldn’t be able to even pick the animal he wanted. It made him think why Dr. Raynor even suggested those places at all...

But for some reason, even after the disappointment of the previous recommendations, he found himself wanting to check out the third recommendation, Happy Tails. He was immediately drawn by just the clever name and wanted to see if, in fact, the animals had happy tails. It didn’t hurt that it was located about three blocks away from his apartment.

For that hour, he sat observing while nursing a cinnamon dulce latte, he found nothing but happy tails. Dogs and cats alike seemed to genuinely be as happy as they could, whether it was interacting with you or with the other animals. And maybe it was because of the bright ray of sunshine that was the owner. Your timeless beauty and inviting smile gave him this enduring hope that he could find a dog. That he could find a friend and that maybe it wouldn’t be that tough of a process.

That he wouldn’t be alone much longer.

But when he saw your effortless smile and bright eyes shining at the few customers that straggled in before closing, he lost his nerve, and couldn’t move his foot from his position before closing time. You took the breath out of him. How could someone so beautiful be so graceful and poised and exude kindness? He didn’t think people like you existed anymore.

Now when he sees you reach inside and hold a white kitten tenderly in the palm of your hand, he thinks his heart might explode. You nuzzle your nose against the kitten’s snout and you smile adoringly at the small four legged baby as you coo the creature in your hand with tender strokes of your hand along its spine. And as if the kitten can sense Bucky looking on, the kitten turns its head and those bright blue eyes lock onto his. They shine brighter than the downpour of rain, beaming through the layers of gray that are overtaking the dark sky. The kitten’s eyes bore into Bucky’s and it feels like the kitten is communicating something to him, especially when he sees the tips of the kitten’s mouth turn up into a half smile.

Bucky freezes in place and just gazes back at the precious kitten. Yeah he has to go back just to see those blue eyes, that soft pink nose, and those tiny whiskers. 

He might not have the guts to go knock on your door now, but he knows he will, eventually. He stealthily leaves the coffee shop with the first smile he’s felt in months. He watches you pick up the box gently, trying to not rustle the poor souls inside. You prop the door open with your foot as you command the dog inside. 

Even with your sopping wet hair drenching your shirt around your shoulders, your beauty glows as you quickly work to care for the kitten. He can’t take his eyes off you. 

But now, as he rounds the corner heading back to his apartment, he thinks about how he has two reasons to go back, and that will get him through the night.