Magnus

Bottomless Stygian eyes pierce me where I stand barefoot on the grass. Fixated. Intent; never wavering in their appraisal of my next move. I hear skittering to my right but I dare not lose my focus from the figure before me. My peripheral grants a visual of figures colliding on a perch. Peering down at us, conveying excited energy as two more sets of eyes become spectators, separate from us by glass. One, the palest blue, curiously light I can almost see lilac around the iris. The second penetrating green, bryopsida moss and amber create a forced spectral glow. All three gazes are animated, bodies shifting weight, joints hinging with fluidity, flexing their claws in their stance.

The audience does not help, I'm already nervous. I subconsciously register my surrounds, as I've not been here before. Evening light hinders my ability to see details, but I know what is staring back at me. The temperature drops fast, proof by clouds of white billowing and disappearing before my eyes. I'll remember later how cold it feels and realize how little I'm wearing in a t-shirt and jeans once I get back inside to the fire I've already lit.

All I can feel is my body. I'm sweating. Heart and lungs catching as my chest heaves. My breath coming out in puffs, an underlying wheeze in as I catch my breath. Guess this will teach me to be lax in my cardio. I'm bent over slightly, my feet braced as I his next move. I'll never outmatch him physically.

"Nice Magnus," I sooth and try to look as nonthreatening as possible. My hands are out to my sides trying to convey a calming gesture with my palms down. I don't want him to run again.

ears twitch at his name, and he lets out a throat growl as his carnassial teeth clamp on a foreign object. My object. I must have dropped it on my way inside once arriving at my great-uncle's home.

", leave it," I command. I've had dogs before, but the 2 hours since arriving at my great-uncles's home is not enough time to earn this dog's trust. Having to leave him outside while I got my twin terror tabby cats, and , situated hasn't helped. Both of whom seem to be enjoying the view from the front living room window, of a giant dog getting the upper hand on me. I can almost picture them joining in the fun, taking Magnus' side to tilt the odds even greater in his favor. Mischief lights their eyes.

, a German shepherd Siberian husky mix, resembles a wolf more than a dog. I know his enormous size and wild appearance has put people on edge, as from the lawyer's censorious statements. Little attention or fear is all he's had expressed toward him except from my great-uncle. is suspicious of me, coming close to dodge away , so I can't touch him. I don't take it personally as this is our first with all my attention focused to avoid damage to the notebook.

An old tennis ball, half chewed open, the color no longer resembling yellow hides behind a battered bush. I move toward it and Magnus at once shifts his stance into downward dog, the eternal symbol of play.

"What's this? Do you wanna play? Can you fetch? Go fetch." I toss the ball to the edge of the fence, hoping and failing at trying to trick Magnus into dropping the book. Instead, he lays down ready for my next move, eager to out fox me. Too damn smart! He's been waiting for this, I can feel from his eyes as they radiate intelligence and show me the clever mind ready for any gambit.

I'd stopped first at the 's office to get with the will; learn the basics. My great-uncle in his failing health could not care for Magnus after his first heart attack struck more than two years ago. It limited his ability to walk long distances, but he refused to give up his home because of his attachment to his dog. No nursing home would accept a dog of Magnus' size. For Gilbert this meant there was no other choice than to stay home. The estate lawyer, despite knowing Magnus' importance, has done the barest of feeding him once a day, leaving him to trek the enclosed yard and burrow away in the dilapidated dog house alone. ' ranking is so low to the neglectful attorney, he mentions the dog as the last clause, phrasing him as an accessory or book; an addendum not the purpose of the will.

No proper socialization, lax training with nothing to do but pace along the fence edge makes it look more like a prison. The destruction around the patio stairs and former garden prove he has not received the mental stimulation he needs to feel content. Which is why I'm sure he's feeling territorial of the little black book hanging from his mouth. It must have fallen out of his box of effects I'd brought with me from the hospital, my second stop. No wonder Magnus went for it; it smelled of Gilbert.

What if I try a trade? What do I have of high enough value Magnus would drop the notebook? I look around the yard again and spot a tug-o-rope. It's also seen better days, but it's a favorite based on condition.

"Look at this, it sure looks fun. Way more fun than what you have," I say, then continue to yammer innoxquies to keep Magnus' attention and hope he falls for the bait. I've had a lot of experience dealing innoxquieses.

My maternal great-uncle Gilbert passed on more than three weeks ago. My mother's name changing three times with each consecutive husband and her self obsession has made it challenging for Uncle Gilbert's demise to trek the family grape vine as he did not leave her anything of value. The significance of my contact was pushed aside for a spur-of-the-moment getaway to some new spa in the mountains, despite the lawyer's specific .

She hates trees and fresh air, so I roll my eyes as she had expounded on the benefits, as I know her return will bring the devastation of her nerves from the great outdoors. I learned long ago the asset of platitudes. What is death and a dog to intrude on her fun. It's of no consequence to pass my number along, as Gilbert had nothing of monetary value to a denizen of couture. Sufficed to say, I as his heir was hard to find.

He's taken the bait. watches intently as I play with the tug-o-rope. When I offer it to him, he drops the book at my feet and settles in to chew to his bliss.

It still seems strange Gilbert made me his heir, and to think of myself as an heir, but that is the word the lawyer used when he contacted me four days ago and used again in his office.

Is it a journal? No, I discover as I start to read. It's a letter. I would later learn one of the nurse's bought it for him since he couldn't walk to the gift shop himself. The amount of wires physically attached to him in his last hours would have made it difficult for anyone to trek the halls of a hospital, let alone someone who'd suffered his third heart attack in two years.

Dear ,

It's been years since I saw you, so I know it will come as a shock I'm giving you everything I hold dear. The house isn't much, and I'm told the land is slightly better. I've been a bachelor through and through, but couldn't find the right side of a hammer if I tried, so it'll need more than it's fair share of repairs.

I'm gone though, and it's of little sentiment as I had no family of my own, no memories shared for yourself. Do with it as you please, and don't fuss what I'd think. I know you have a life elsewhere. Pass it on. Don't let it hold you back.

Now I'm sure you're wondering what any of this has to do with you? Why you? Why would I choose little Miss ? Well, let me tell you a story about a little girl hiding in the back yard of her new step-daddy's fancy house. She was so much the picture of her grandmother it brought and ache to my old heart. There she was wearing a yellow dress I'm sure her mother picked out, as she had a pair of blue jeans underneath, sitting under a tree petting the mangiest dog I'd ever seen.

When I asked you who's dog he was, you informed me he was yours.

Now considering your , I knew this mutt wasn't an approved Deborah pedigree, so I asked where he came from and where he slept? You whispered back so as I'd keep the secret. He slept in the shed. We talked some more and you said as how he'd found you and decided to stay with you. The way you spoke, clear how much you loved this little dog, and you were worried about his health. Buzz, as you'd named him, wasn't as playful as he'd been a days before and you didn't know why.

After some more talking, I convinced you to let me take you both to the vet, and off we went. I'll save you from what was a long boring visit, and tell you the vet figured out how to help Buzz, but that you couldn't keep him as you'd admitted your parents didn't know. The size of your tears brought down my old heart and made me promise I'd take Buzz, and I said you could visit whenever you want. This was back when I lived a blocks away from your step-daddy. And sure enough, you came every day for the next six months until your family moved to a new city. You helped cure that little dog, and I'm happy to tell you he lived a good life because of you.

I'm hoping you can do the same for Magnus. He's no spring chicken, but from what your 's complained you still have a way with animals, so I'm betting his age won't matter. Now I got him before my heart took a turn, back when I still had fight left in me and I got to say, I think he gave me more than I'd ever had. I've had him eight good years before I couldn't take care of him anymore, so I ask that we pull a trade. You found Buzz and helped him find me; I found Magnus and helped him find you.

I know you don't owe me anything, and I'm playing on your heart strings, but you've always had a kind heart, so I'm hoping you have some room for another mangy mutt.

We weren't close after your moved you away, but remember I love you baby girl. You are the best of the bunch.

Old Uncle Gilbert

Magnus has been watching me read my uncle's final words, assessing my mood. I'm not a sentimental person when it comes to family, but I'm moved by his memory of me as it sparks my own. I'm now a little misty, a lone tear falls to wet next to Gilbert's name.

hold out my hand to Magnus, and he moves toward me to sniff. A quiet smile lightens my lips as he lets me pet him for the first time. I think we'll be alright.