Free Hound Dog & Bean by B.G. Thomas Page B

doing?” she asked, giving him a funny look.
    “Ah.” Just be real , he commanded himself. Tell the truth. Oh, what tangled webs we weave when first we practice to deceive. And all that shit. “Saw the picture of the dog,” he said. “I have a thing for them.”
    “Oh.” Poindexter got a far-off look on her face. Then: “That makes sense, doesn’t it? Considering what you do….” She touched the picture. “Bean lost him a long time ago. He was, like, twenty-five or something. Bean, that is. Not the dog. Moses. He loved that dog so much he hasn’t had one since.”
    “Ah.” H.D. looked at the picture again. “I understand.” And he did. Isn’t that exactly why he hadn’t taken a dog on since Ramses? Some people ran right out and got a new dog. Then half the time (more than that?) were disappointed their new dog wasn’t just like the last one.
    “You do?” Poindexter asked.
    “I do,” he stated—no nonsense.
    She gave him a sad smile. “I’m a cat person myself. But it’s the same thing, I suppose. I haven’t had a cat since Calico passed into the Summerlands.”
    Summerlands…. He liked Poindexter better already.
    “I suppose,” H.D. said. He thought it over for a moment; found himself going someplace way too serious and decided to make a joke of it. “After all. You’re a dyke. Dyke equals cats. Gay boys like dogs.”
    “You’re gay?” she asked.
    He gave her an oh-please, let’s-be-real look. “You didn’t know?”
    “I never assume. It makes an…”
    “… ass out of you and me,” he chorused with her.
    They smiled at each other in a nice little and immediate camaraderie. H.D. liked this girl/woman better every minute. He was very suddenly happy Elaine seemed to like her. His friend had been alone for as long as he’d known her. She was not, in H.D.’s experience at least, a typical lesbian—meeting a woman and calling U-Haul the next day. And if she liked Poindexter, who gave a shit that they were a good twenty years apart in age?
    Speaking of age. H.D. looked down at the picture of Bean. He did look a lot younger in that photograph. Maybe it was time for the man to take on a new canine companion. After all, was there a better connection for a man than man’s best friend?
    No.
    There wasn’t.
    Not even close.
    “Although lately…,” Poindexter started.
    “Lately?” H.D. asked.
    “Well, I’m wondering if it’s time.”
    H.D. titled his head. Time for what?
    “I think Bean needs someone in his life,” she replied. “And if he’s too afraid to look for a man, then why not a dog?”
    “Bean is gay?”
    She gave him an oh-please, let’s-be-real look. “You didn’t know?” she asked.
    I hoped , he thought, and was surprised at the thought.
    Now what the fuck had made that thought pop up in his head?
    Poindexter walked to the sink and nudged the papaya peelings and the dozens of black seeds on the counter. “What’s this?” she asked
    “Papaya,” he answered, maybe a little too quickly. “I sliced some for him to eat and mashed some for his eye.”
    Her brows came together. “You’re gonna put papaya on his eye?”
    “Yeah,” he all but snapped. He took a breath. He was acting silly.
    Be real. Stop acting like you’ve done something wrong .
    But you did do something wrong. You snooped. Poked around in shit that was none of your fucking business .
    So what? When had that ever bothered him before? How else were you supposed to know if a person was lying or not? People weren’t like dogs after all. You could trust a dog. At least your dog.
    “Papaya’s got a lot of antioxidants that help speed up the healing process of bruises and stuff,” H.D. explained. “And it has some kind of enzyme that helps the blood from a bruise soak back into your body.”
    “Oh!” She studied the peelings. “ Really? ” She picked up a peeling. “That’s good. And it tastes pretty good too.” She winked. “A plus.”
    “I saved him some to eat,” he said.