Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

aren’t. I’ve never had another dog come here before, needing help to cross.
I’ve heard stories of ferrymen and women whose job it is to handle certain
animals, but that’s not what I do. I’d love it, though. Animals aren’t as
complicated as people.”
“Then why would he—” Wallace stopped. Then, “He was yours.”
Hugo paused at the bottom of the steps. Apollo stared up at him adoringly,
a goofy smile on his face, whatever had captured his attention in the trees
forgotten. Hugo held his hand toward Apollo’s snout. The dog sniffed his
fingers. “He was,” Hugo said quietly. “He is. He was a service dog. Or at
least he tried to be. Failed most of his training, but that’s okay. I still love
him all the same.”
“Service dog?” Wallace asked. “Like for…” He didn’t know how to
finish.
“Oh, probably not like you’re thinking,” Hugo said. “I’m not a veteran. I
don’t have PTSD.” He shrugged. “When I was younger, things were difficult.
Days I could barely get myself out of bed. Depression, anxiety, a whole
matter of diagnoses I didn’t know how to handle. There were doctors and
medications and ‘Do this, Hugo, do that, Hugo, you’ll feel better if you just
let yourself feel better, Hugo.’” He chuckled. “I was a different person then. I
didn’t know what I know now, though it’ll always be part of me.” He nodded
toward Apollo. “One day, I heard this little yipping outside my window. It
was raining and had been for what felt like weeks. I almost ignored the sound
I heard, wanting to pull the covers over my head and shut everything out. But
something made me get up and go outside. I found this dog shivering under a
bush on the side of my house, so emaciated, I could count his ribs through his
skin. I picked him up and took him inside. I dried him off and fed him. He
never left. Funny, right?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s okay not to know,” Hugo said. “We don’t know most things, and we
never will. I don’t know how he came to be here, or where he came from.
Thought he might make a good service dog. Seemed smart enough. And he
was—is. Didn’t really take, though. He was too distracted by most
everything, but who could blame him? Certainly not me, because he tried his
best, and that’s all that matters. Turned out he was this … this part I didn’t
know I was missing. He wasn’t the answer to everything, but it was a start.
He lived a good life. Not as long as I would’ve liked, but still good.”