From his seat on the dining table, John stared at the pup, hiding behind his fiancé's legs, as she prepared dinner.
"It's like he doesn't know how to," he remarked yesterday, after a failed attempt of playing Frisbee with the new puppy at their backyard, in front of the lake. "And we've barely interacted."
"Like you said, he doesn't know how to," she had replied.
Now, John threw the tennis ball in his hand in the air. It was an old thing he found deep in his closet last night in the midst of searching for good pyjamas. He's unsure how he got it, but he's sure he's had it for some time now, with its yellowing and dusty fur. It retained its rough texture, however.
He watched Schoep, whose attention he's undoubtedly managed to grab. Sitting with his legs close together, he rolled the ball, between hands and knees. He could see the puppy's eyes, following the ball, ears perked.
A half-hour later, with tireless ball rolling and eyes following, Schoep finally stepped out from behind the legs of John's fiancé, who has paused in her cooking to watch the scene.
He gradually approached John, eyes never leaving the rolling ball, and soon, he sat right in front of him, head visibly moving to follow the ball's movement. Until John stopped mid-roll.
Schoep's eyes immediately met his, head tilted back as if startled.
John didn't look away, the edge of his lips twitching up.
His fiancé barely shifted, eyes glancing between the two.
Silence settled in the scene.
And then, a tiny, piercing bark came from the Shepherd-mix puppy.
John and his fiancé locked eyes. They beamed.
He resumed his ball rolling. Schoep never looked away.