Chapter 1

My buddy Mike made an unusual suggestion: he wanted to give me a pet. I didn't think of Mike as a pet kind of person, but it wasn't like other pets, he said. He wouldn't say more, and being coy wasn't like him either. So I was skeptical, but decided to let him come over.

It's not like I had tons of other things to do. I was 29, lived alone and worked 9 to 5. No family in the area, no girlfriend, not too many friends, not even any kids from a failed marriage. A few hobbies, but mostly I coasted through my weekends without goals, deep thoughts, or accomplishments. It was a pleasant life, without stress. And it meant I had time to invite Mike and his pet to come visit briefly. In the back of my mind brewed a few excuses for how to ease him out the door if he overstayed his welcome.

I'd thought now and then about getting a dog. A dog would be less demanding than a girlfriend, someone who would like me no matter what I did and wouldn't want to talk all the time. But still, a dog seemed like a big responsibility -- a commitment.

Mike arrived at 10am on Saturday, holding by the hand a girl who looked to be about six. And what a gorgeous girl she was! Lovely blond curls, big blue eyes, dimples, and a smile that would melt any man's heart, even if he wasn't into kids. I had no idea Mike had a daughter -- he was pulling one surprise after another on me. Now, one drawback to being a bachelor is you don't get to have any children. Yet children were a messy, whiny, demanding lot on the whole, I had decided. But when a girl like this little one smiled, it made me wonder if I should think about it some more. Still, putting up with a woman just to have a kid who was cute now and then was hardly worth it.

"Hi, Jeremy," he said.

"Hi, Mike. You never told me you had a daughter. I thought you were bringing a pet."

"Now Rover, say hello to Mr. Smith."

"Hi, Mr. Smith," said the little girl, and looked down shyly.

I must have misheard the name, I thought.

"Hello -- what was the name again?"

"Rover."

"I've never heard a girl called Rover before!" Unless...

"Oh, no, this isn't a little girl. This is a gurley, and for the moment I call her Rover. You could call her whatever you like."

"Oh!" I said. "Well, come on in, make yourselves at home," I said, very confused. I should have offered Mike a drink. But should I get something for the pet, too? I bet that a person rarely said, "And what can I get for you, Rover?"

So I sat in the armchair in the living room, while they sat on the sofa. Or at least Mike sat.

Rover tiptoed over to me and leaned against my legs. "Can I sit on your lap?" she asked sweetly.

I looked at Mike.

"It's up to you; gurleys do tend to be rather cuddly."

"Um, OK," I said. The little one gave me a big smile, and in a moment had scooted up onto my lap and leaned against my chest. I naturally spread my arms to accommodate her. "You called her a 'girlie'. You mean a girl?"

"No, a 'gurley'," he said, and spelled it for me. "Of course they look like girls, which is how they get their name."

She gave a sigh of contentment that stirred something in me, tenderness perhaps. Her smell was sweet, her blond hair fell over my chest and tickled my chin. The warmth of her little body was very calming somehow.

"These pets are very easy to take care of. They eat anything, and they're toilet trained and bathe themselves. As you can see, they talk and can tell you what they want, but their wants are pretty simple. They can also clean house, do laundry, dishes and even cook."

"But, um, this um, Rover here, is just like a little girl."

"Not really. Little girls are toilet trained, to be sure, but they require help with baths, generate lots of dirty laundry, whine and complain, and very often don't do what you want. And while they do a few chores now and then, they are nowhere near as helpful as one of these pets."

"Um, how do you happen to have a, um, gurley to spare?" I asked.

"Oh, well," he said, looking away and shifting in his seat, "I have a bunch, including her mother, and that's enough for me."

"I see," I said. "Kind of like giving away puppies from a litter?"

"Yeah, sort of," he said, waving his hands to discourage further questions. "She's yours for free if you want her," said Mike.

"I'm not sure; it seems like a big responsibility."

"I'll tell you what, you can keep her for a few days, and if you don't like her, I'll be happy to take her back and find another owner."

Rover raised her head and looked at me with an open, trusting smile. She got up and stood in front of me. "I like you," she said, looking down shyly, and with that my resistance fell away completely.

"OK, what do I need to take care of her?"

"I have a few changes of clothing here," he said, indicating a small suitcase he was carrying that I hadn't noticed before. "Otherwise, nothing! Just feed her, and tell her what you'd like her to do, and that's all there is to it. I was really surprised how much I liked having her mother -- I bet you'll like Rover."

The door shut and Mike hurried away, leaving the girl standing in front of me, hands clasped behind her back, looking down shyly and twisting back and forth like a washing machine agitator.

"So!" I said. "Um, do you like the name 'Rover'?"

"No," she said with a hint of emotion, looking at me. "That's a dog's name! I'm not a dog."

"I can see that," I said quickly.

"I'd like to have a girl's name," she said.

"Oh, hmmmm," I said, thinking of girls' names.

After a moment, she said, "I have a few ideas, if you don't have any right away."

"OK," I said.

"What about 'Millicent'?"

"Millicent?"

"Yeah."

"That's a pretty old-fashioned name," I said.

"You could call me 'Millie' for short."

I shook my head.

"What about 'Patience'? 'Prudence'? 'Esther'?"

She paused after each candidate, looking for a sign of enthusiasm from me. I was trying to think of nicknames for them. Pashie? Prudy? Stirry?

"'Constance'?"

I smiled. "OK, if I can call you 'Connie' for short."

"OK, that's fine with me," she said. But then she grew serious, and said, "It's your choice, though. I'm just a gurley and you're my owner, so you can pick whatever you want."

"No, 'Connie' will do just fine."

It was by then 10:30. "So," I said. "What now?" I was a little uncomfortable. With a dog or cat, you just did what you wanted and they adapted. But it felt harder just turning away and ignoring a being that seemed indistinguishable from a charming young girl.

"Well, you could give me a quick tour, and then go back to whatever you were doing."

That suited me fine. In preparation for Mike's visit, I'd cleaned up the worst of my disasters. I'd washed the sinkful of dishes, stuffed my dirty clothes in the closet, and pulled up the covers on my bed. So the house wasn't a total mess. I showed her the place: living room with an attached dining room forming an 'ell' shape and a kitchen off the dining room. Off a short corridor was a large bedroom, a smaller one I used as a study, and a bathroom.

As I was showing her the second bedroom, I wondered where she would sleep. There was a bed in there, but it was piled high with my things. I certainly hadn't planned on giving up my study to her. But she was a pet, not a girl, right? That was the deal. The image of a doghouse in the back yard flashed through my mind and made me smile. I then thought of a wire dog crate, but that seemed nearly as silly. I imagined the sort of round "rug with a rim" I'd seen people use for a big dog. Maybe I could put it in a corner of the dining room?

"Um, where are you used to sleeping?" I asked.

She hesitated one brief moment. "Well, if it's OK with you," she sang in her sweet voice, "I'd like to sleep in bed with YOU," with a child's emphasis on that final word. "I don't take up much room, and I don't flop around and bonk people or anything."

It made sense. People's dogs and cats slept on their beds with them.

"And I can keep my suitcase in a corner." She then said quietly, as if asking for a big favor, "Or maybe I could put my things in part of a drawer, if there's a little extra space."

It was a little girl's voice and personality, but she approached the subject matter in a very practical and almost adult manner.

"How old are you, anyway?"

"How old do you think I am?" she asked, eyes bright.

"Eight?" I asked.

"A real girl who looks like me would be about six," she said, "but we gurleys grow differently." She followed it with a dismissive wave that suggested she'd rather not talk about it, and it didn't seem that important.

"So!" I said, when the tour was complete.

"So what were you going to do today?" she asked.

I hadn't decided yet, so now I decided to pick one of the more respectable options. "I was going to put on some Mozart and read my novel," I said.

"OK, that's fine!"