“Morning,” Leon says, nodding at us.
“Hey, Leon.”
“Morning, all,” the other guy echoes. He’s in his sixties, tall and broad shouldered, and his hair and beard are completely silver. He toes off his shoes, then walks barefoot toward us, swapping the briefcase he’s carrying to his left hand, and extends his right. “Archer,” he says. “Good to see you.”
“You, too.”
“And you must be Cullen. I’m Brock King.”
I shake his hand. “Good to meet you at last.”
“Likewise. I’ve heard a lot about you. Doing wonders with the dogs in the Forever Home, I hear.”
Somewhat surprised that he knows who I am, I give what I hope is a modest shrug. “It’s a great place to work.”
“Yeah, Noah’s created a fantastic community over there.”
“Oh, it wasn’t my doing,” Noah says, steaming some milk. “I just had the seed of an idea. It’s everyone else who’s brought it to life.”
“Such modesty.” Brock goes up to him and claps him on the shoulder. “We all know the Ark wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for you.”
“Eh…” Noah just smiles. “Coffee?”
“Please,” they both say.
He makes another two cups of espresso, then pours the steamed milk over it. He pushes them over to us and gestures at the conservatory on the other side of the living room. “Abby’s put out some slices of her lemon drizzle cake. I know I’m biased, but it’s superb.”
“Definitely up for a bit of that,” Archer says.
The five of us take our coffees over to the conservatory, which is an octagonal room overlooking the garden, with wicker chairs and lots of hanging plants. We sit and all help ourselves to a piece of cake.
“Fantastic,” Archer says, munching into his slice. “So moist.”
“She knows it’s my favorite.” Noah pats his stomach. “It’s terrible being married to a cook.”
“It’s just your age.” Brock looks down at his own belly. “My Santa cosplay is coming along in leaps and bounds.” We all chuckle, and he grins. “Okay,” he says, “so we’ve all read your report.”
Archer looks startled. “Wow, that was quick. I only sent it through this morning. I was going to go through it with you.”
“You’re very welcome to expand on any areas, but we wanted to look intelligent and not just stare blankly at you,” Noah says.
Archer gives a short laugh. “Fair enough.”
“There are some fascinating facts in there.” Brock opens his briefcase and takes out a manila folder. He opens it, and I see Archer’s report there, with the logo at the top that he designed himself—a pawprint in blue and green, surrounded by a gold circle containing the words PAWS Animal-Assisted Therapy Center.
“I like the name,” Noah says. “What does PAWS stand for?”
“We’ve toyed with Petting Animals Works, Seriously,” Archer says, making them chuckle. “But we’re thinking theofficial name could be the People’s and Animals’ Wellness Society. Something like that, anyway, that reflects the fact that it’s a two-way street. The healing goes both ways.”
“Where hearts and minds are healed, one paw at a time,” I add.
“Aw,” Noah says. “That’s terrific.”
“I can’t claim that. It was Isla’s idea.”
“She’s a vet nurse,” Leon tells Brock. “She’s here over the Christmas period.”
“It’s a great tagline,” Brock says. He leans back and sips his coffee. “I think we were all obviously aware of the healing power of animals, but this paper has laid it all out in black and white. It would be an amazing service to offer the local community. But obviously it has to be self-sustainable. I hope you don’t mind that I asked Leon to be here today, but I thought he’d have an insight into funding as he’s managed to get the Ark into such a great place over five years.”
