Free The Art of Floating by Kristin Bair O’Keeffe

parents’ house.”
    â€œHe’s home.”
    â€œNo,” Jack insisted, “he’s not.”
    They stayed like that—hands on hips, chins jutting out—until Gumper stood and walked toward them. He took his time, and when he finally reached the spot where they stood, he halted between them, shook hard, and lay down so that his weight was spread evenly across their feet—half on Sia’s, half on Jackson’s.
    â€œSee?” Sia said.
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    After Jackson went into the house, Sia leaned down to talk to Gumper. “Hey, handsome,” she whispered in his ear.
    He tilted his head.
    â€œYou’re here to stay, right?”
    He leaned forward and licked her chin.
    â€œUgh. Jackson’s right about one thing. You are stinky,” she said, and she buried her face in his fur. “Let’s go inside.”
    From behind, Gumper looked more like a bear than a dog. His great hind end undulated back and forth, and his enormous balls protruded from the thicket of fur, advertising his worth. Once he’d explored the house from mudroom to attic, he padded to the bathroom and climbed into the tub as if he were just plain sick and tired of being dirty. The tub was a snug fit, but with a little give and take, Jackson and Sia managed to lather him up a few times and get him rinsed. Afterward Sia brushed him with an old hairbrush, and once clean, he lumbered into the kitchen and ate a giant bowl of beef stew. That night, he stretched out along the end of their bed and slept until morning.
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    A few days later, Sia acquiesced to Jackson’s quiet moral press and wrote the following ad:
    FOUND
    Big dog. Black. Furry. Giant head.
    Does not answer to Moose or Grover.
    Likes salmon and bagels. Loves beach. Loves people.
    Now loves me.
    Then she drew a sketch of Gumper’s head and copied the sign fifteen times on light blue paper at the copy shop.
    When Mrs. Snyder, who ran the cash register, pointed at the sketch and said, “What’s this?” Sia huffed. “It’s a picture of the dog,” she said.
    â€œReally?” Mrs. Snyder said. “It looks more like a dragon.” She held it up to see it better.
    â€œWell, he’s as big as a dragon,” Sia said. “And I’m a writer, Mrs. Snyder, not an artist.”
    â€œYou should have had Jackson draw it. He’s a wonderful artist.”
    Sia rolled her eyes. “Yes,” she said, “I know. Saint Jackson would have done a better job.”
    Later that day she tacked the signs on fifteen flagpoles around town, placed the ad in the daily paper, and returned home to wait.
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    For three weeks, nothing. No calls about the ad. No e-mails. Not a word. But then, just as Jackson was beginning to consider Gumper a part of the family, the doorbell rang. Sia peeked through the window.
    It was the Dogcatcher.
    â€œYes?” Sia said through the closed door. “Can I help you?”
    â€œI must speak to you,” the Dogcatcher pipped.
    When Sia didn’t open the door, the Dogcatcher began to knock.
    And knock.
    And knock.
    A light, insistent rapping.
    Sia peeked out again. As always, the Dogcatcher was a mess. She looked like an old, overused mop, and in the hand that wasn’t knocking, she gripped one of Sia’s blue signs about Gumper.
    Sia opened the door a crack. “You need to speak to me?” she asked, trying not to let the woman’s sadness send her heart into empathetic spasms. “About what?”
    The woman raised her hand and shook the sign harder. “About this.”
    Sia turned to see if Gumper was behind her, but he was nowhere to be seen.
    â€œOkay, how can I help you?” Sia wished Jackson were still home, but he’d left for work before sunrise.
    The Dogcatcher held up the sign higher. “You found this dog?”
    Sia looked up at the sign and