Well, this is what happens when Wally posts a selfie with Amy ……
(I remember reading a post on tumblr (or is it twitter?) a long time ago, an idea about root and shaw in their happy life and shaw teaching their dog to always walk on root’s right side. Sorry I don’t remember the name of the person who came up with this wonderful idea.)
You wanted a Belgian Malinois, same as Bear. Well, actually you just wanted Bear, all for yourself, but Root asked:
“Don’t you think Bear would get jealous? Seeing you happily playing with a Malinois puppy?”
You scowled at her. “Bear and I don’t do jealous. Not like you.”
She made yet another failed attempt at winking at you. “You do jealous just fine, Sweetie. But, Harold really needs Bear now.”
You couldn’t argue with that. Without that best dog in the world, Finch would have burned the house down at least twice in the past few months. Poor Grace needed help.
You wanted a Belgian Malinois. But Root set her eyes on this puppy goldendoodle at the shelter and couldn’t move her legs.
“She is so adorable.” She cradled the puppy in her arms and beamed at you. “Let’s take her home.”
“That’s a boy,” you corrected her, although, you had to admit, he was adorable. But you wanted a Belgian Malinois, damn it. It was so unfair, that Root got to have everything as she liked it, because she was shot and almost died (as far as you were concerned, she was indeed dead, for a few months) and came back with that damn ear of hers completely gone.
She grasped holding that “I died” thing over your head real fast. She stuffed your home with lava lamps and bean bags and purple sheets. She took the ugly doll into your bed and held it tight to her injured side every night, making it hard for you to kiss her scar when she was asleep (it was too sappy for you to do when she was awake). That black ice bat was human sized, larger than the one destroyed with the subway station, even larger than you. You had to purchase it for her and carry it all the way back home, suffering quite a few weird looks from passers-by, since Finch could not be trusted with shopping these days even with a clearly specified list and John was still unable to leave his wheelchair to stand on his own.
You had to do everything. Root was barely strong enough to walk around the block.
The puppy was kissing her nose now. It would be gross if Bear (and you) didn’t enjoy doing it too. “See? We connected. I want to take her hiking. She can protect me when you cannot join us.”
She really shouldn’t be thinking about hiking, not when she couldn’t make it upstairs on her own to your bedroom without help. Occasionally she still needed you to carry her around the house like a sack of potato. Not that you were complaining. She was not a heavy sack after all.
A Malinois puppy would be so big and strong in just a few months. It could be too much for her to handle.
And, it’s a boy.
“I’m training him.” There were things that you wouldn’t just let go. Not even when she was pleading with those heart eyes of hers that could make you do anything.
“Training is all yours, I promise.” She started to turn and walk toward the entrance. With the puppy happily nestled in her palms, her steps seemed more secure already.
Maybe a puppy was a good idea. That “I sacrificed myself and rose up from the dead” bravado hadn’t been enough. Maybe she needed some creature, even feebler than she was now, to protect.
First things first, you thought as you followed her on the way to the adoption office. You needed to train him to walk slow and steady. And always, always on her right side, as you do.
bonus: more evidence of "a puppy walking on root's right side"