Chapter Twelve
Jock
The shelter they went to smelled of antiseptic and wet fur, a sharp tang that hit Jock’s nose with familiarity as he stepped inside.It wasn’t where he volunteered, that was in a different parish from where they lived.The low brick building, tucked behind a row of warehouses, bore a faded sign: “Second Chance Paws.”
Silly walked beside him, her boots scuffing the linoleum with a quick rat-a-tat-tat, her usual fire running even brighter after the morning’s doctor’s visit.The doc’s words still hung between them.The pregnancy was going well.Everything was on target.It still felt like a dream sometimes.She was pregnant,theywere pregnant, and the excitement of it was a quiet storm in their lives.
Jock’s heart swelled at the memory.
He shook himself and captured her hand as they walked up the corridor.He was excited about being here because while this might have been his idea, Silly had latched on and owned it, pushing for it to happen as a way to “do something good,” she’d said.Jock was entirely on board with anything Silly wanted.
Inside, the shelter hummed with low chaos—dogs barking, a cat hissing somewhere, a volunteer sweeping fur off the grooming room floor.The air felt softer than at home or the clubhouse, messier, and Jock shifted, out of place.Something I can see: Silly, beautiful Silly.Something I can touch: also Silly, her fingers trustingly twined with mine.Something I can hear: Dogs barking in excitement.The script grounded him as surely as the sound of his boots striking the floor echoed off the tile.Silly’s hand tightened on his, her green eyes catching the fluorescent light, shadowed but determined.
A shelter worker, a wiry woman with a messy bun and a name tag reading “Clara,” greeted them.“You the fosters?”she asked, sizing them up.
Jock nodded, and Silly gave a small smile, her excitement showing in the way she tucked her hair behind her ear.
“Yeah,” Silly said.“Something small, maybe.A dog that needs a chance.Like I said on the phone, we have two big dogs at home, and I’d like a lap-sized doggo.”
“Refresh my memory.You’ve got a mastiff and a...”
“A ten-year-old Mastiff and a pit bull we rescued several months ago.Maynard’s about two years old.Both dogs are well trained and have no aggression issues.They play nicely at the dog park over on Central.”
“Oh, that’s a nice park.I was glad when they put it in.Our sister clinic over there keeps the records for all dogs registered for the park.”
“Oh yeah, Jock said he provided vaccine proof before they went to the park for the first time.I’d forgotten about that.Are all the dogs here up-to-date on their vaccines?”
“They are by the time they’re adopted or fostered out.”She opened a door and motioned Silly and Jock through.“This way.”Clara led them to a row of kennels, stopping at one where a terrier mix sat, pressed against the back wall.The dog was a patchwork of brown and white, one ear bent, the other ear standing up like a satellite dish, but their eyes were wide and wary.“This is Daisy,” Clara said, crouching.“Found near the warehouses, half starved.Shy, but sweet.No dog aggression.Needs a quiet home to open up.”
Jock knelt, peering through the bars.Daisy’s tail gave a faint wag, but she didn’t move.Something in her, maybe the way that she might be small and scared, but she was tough, hit him like a memory of strays from his childhood, dodging boots and hunger.“Hey, girl,” he said, voice low, like he was coaxing his bike after a breakdown.Daisy’s ears twitched, but she stayed put.
Silly crouched beside him, her shoulder brushing his.“She’s perfect,” she whispered, then glanced at him, a half-smile breaking through.“Like you.All gruff, but soft where it counts.”
Jock snorted, but his chest warmed.“Don’t push it.”He nodded at Clara.“Can we do a meet and greet before we make a decision?”
“I’d be worried if you didn’t,” Clara said.
Jock and Silly sat on the floor of the glass-walled room, the short carpet no cushioning against the chill of the cement.Clara brought Daisy into the room and dropped the leash, stepping to one side.Daisy looked up at her, then over to where they sat.She delicately picked her way across the room, body angled to avoid stepping on the leash.When she was even with Jock’s boots, she stopped and gave them a good sniff.
“Hey, girl,” Silly said brightly.“Who’s a good girl?”
That pulled a half dozen tail wags out of Daisy, and Silly laughed.
Jock said, “She knows she’s a good girl.”
Now the tail kept wagging, and she sidled over to where she could smell Silly’s shoes.
“Smell that?That’s Tank and Maynard.They’ll be excited to meet you.Tank’s the old man, so don’t feel bad if he won’t play every time you want.But Maynard, he’ll be the one to get the zoomies with.You’ll be right at home soon.”Silly bent close, offering a hand, tamping down a squeal when Daisy rested her chin in her palm.
“We’ll take her.”Jock grinned as he looked up at Clara.
