“What if you get bitten? What if you let the wrong dog out at the wrong time, and you’re chasing the runaway with a flashlight at midnight? What if your favorite gets adopted?” He merged onto the highway, then looked at me briefly. “Those are all things that’ll happen—I can guarantee it.”
“Is this my ‘get ready for greatness’ speech? Because it’s starting out a little strange,” I said, handing back his coffee. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” He sipped, then set it in the cup holder. “My point is, all of those what-ifs are out there, but so are these: What if you get to throw tennis balls for two hours one day, and that’s your job? What if you get to be there when one of these females has a litter of pups? What if you meet the dog of your dreams?” He smiled, and reached out to steady my knee, which was still tap-tap-tapping away. “What if you fall in love with this new life? And it all starts with getting this first dog?” He pointed to the sign that said Salinas.
“You’re good,” I allowed, sipping my coffee.
“I’ve been told.”
“Shush.”
We arrived at the local animal shelter to a riot of yips and barks. After checking us in, a female tech led us back to a hallway lined with rows and rows of cages. All full of beautiful animals that just needed a chance. I gulped down the lump that had immediately risen in the back of my throat as I took in all those wagging tails, those hopeful eyes, those “play with me” paws.
This is why I worked with therapy dogs. I’d never worked on the shelter side; it had always been too tough for me to handle. To see all these gorgeous animals that just needed a home, when I knew what happened to most of these dogs . . .
“Oh my God,” I murmured, my breath catching as I realized how many of them were pit bulls. Lucas’ hand was on my shoulder, soothing me, grounding me. We continued along the hallway and came to the last pen.
Huddled in the corner, facing away from us, was the guy we were here to get. Rescued from a fighting ring awhile back, he was scheduled to be put down because he’d simply run out of time. He hadn’t been adopted.
“He’s super sweet once you get to know him, but a little shy at first,” the woman who was showing us around said. She opened the gate, and at the noise, he turned around. The first thing I saw were the saddest golden eyes I’d ever seen. Rising to his feet, he stood a little unsteadily. He seemed to be favoring his right side, and as he turned to walk toward us, I noticed the scarring on his left flank. It made sense why he was unsteady, and my blood began to boil at what he’d obviously been through.
Muzzled, he chuffed out a warning when he saw Lucas.
“Might want to hang back a bit,” the tech said, nodding to Lucas. “Many of these guys come out of rings, which are mostly run by men, so he’s standoffish with males.”
“I don’t blame him,” I murmured, sinking down to my knees at the front of the cage. He approached, head down, but curious. I didn’t look at him too closely, letting him come to me, allowing the dog to get used to my scent.
“You good, Chloe?” Lucas asked, and I smiled, especially when I felt the dog sniffing at my hair. I resisted the urge to pet him, knowing that right now I just needed him calm enough for me to get a sense of what he was like. After a moment, I looked at the dog now sitting next to me. Head, wide and regal. Chest, barreled and strong. Beautifully brindled with brown and white, his tail thumping against the floor. His golden eyes weren’t so sad now; they were inquisitive.
“You wanna come hang with me, mister?” I asked, reaching out with my hand, fingers curled in like a paw, for him to sniff. He sniffed, then he licked through the muzzle, and my eyes filled with tears. I looked up at Lucas, who was nodding.
Standing slowly, I took hold of his leash. Curious, with tail wagging, he walked with me out of the cage. Stalling a bit when he saw Lucas, he steered clear but remained at my heel, still limping but tail up. And wagging.
As I signed the paperwork, the woman behind the desk pointed to it and said, “The guys on the night crew gave him that name, but he hasn’t had it very long. You could change it if you wanted.”
Lucas leaned over my shoulder to read the paper, and we both saw it at the same time.
“Oh my God,” I breathed.
Lucas clapped me on the back with a laugh. “That’s fantastic, chickie baby.”
I looked down at the dog. “Come on, Sammy Davis Jr. I’ve got some records by your boys at home.” Chuckling, I headed out to the truck with the dog in tow.
Lucas wanted to do a thorough exam before bringing him to the ranch, so we stopped by the clinic on the way home. He’d called ahead, and when we pulled in, Miguel, one of the wonderful vet techs I’d gotten to know, was waiting outside for us.
“Hey guys, heard you’ve got a new boy for us to take a look at!” he called out. I gestured toward the back of the truck.
“He’s in the back; I’ll get him.”
I hopped out and ran around to the back, ignoring the amused looks Lucas and Miguel shot at each other. I wanted to do this; this was my job now. Lucas had put the cab on the truck so the dog wouldn’t be whipped by the wind on the highway, instead resting comfortably inside his large pet carrier. I climbed up into the back of the truck, talking to him the entire time.
“Hey boy, how ya doin’? Have a good ride back here?” I asked, slowly and quietly unlocking the gate, not wanting to startle him. He’d gotten a bit skittish when we had to lift him into the truck, and I was hoping he’d jump down on his own. Not wanting to further injure the leg he was limping on, I’d asked Miguel to bring out the PetStep, a kind of portable step stool for dogs for instances exactly like this.
Once it was in position, I reached in and got hold of his leash, gently tugging him forward. Once he understood what I wanted him to do he came willingly, albeit a little slowly. Once more, he stalled when he saw the two men, but after sniffing the air for a moment, he came down the steps one at a time. And when he’d reached the asphalt, that tail was wagging again.
“Well, look at you!” I was amazed at the resilience of this dog. “Come on, Sammy Davis Jr. Let’s get you checked out so I can get you home. I’ve got a bucket of tennis balls with your name on it.”
Marge took one look at the dog when we came in and put her hand on her heart. “Well bless my soul, look at this pretty boy!” she squealed, leaning over the counter to see him as we went back to the exam rooms. While she cooed, I took a moment to compliment her on the very festive hot pink vest paired with a pair of lemon-colored slacks. I say slacks because they just couldn’t rightly be referred to as pants. They were from a decidedly slacks-type era.