We walked in silence, the air between us heavy with unspoken things. A bend in the trail opened up like a curtain pulling back on a stage—and there it was.
The K9 training center.
A full-blown, no-nonsense facility tucked between the trees, right on the edge of the riverbank. Sweat beaded under my collar as I took in the scene: an elaborate obstacle course dotted with ramps, stacked barrels, tubes, balls, hurdles, and metal hoops glinting in the sun. A pair of full-sized boxing dummies stood in the center, scarred and battle-worn, chunks of rubber torn from their forearms. One of them was missing half a cheek, as if a dog had tried to rip the face clean off.
Rough day at the office.
Beyond the course, a line of industrial-grade kennels sat in the shade. Behind the chain-link, a black dog—massive and muscled—watched me in absolute stillness. Muzzled,yet menacing. Its eyes followed my every step, intelligent and unblinking.
I turned back to the obstacle course.
“Impressive.”
A wet snout nudged the back of my hand. The biggest dog had taken an interest in me. Its sable hair was now flat against its back, so I considered that progress. I flicked my wrist at the snotty nose then wiped my hand on my pants.
“Hup!”Sunny snapped at another dog, who promptly leapt through the air, landing nimbly on one of the platforms. I watched as he bolted through the course, quick, agile, flawless.
“Impressive,” I repeated, referring now to the dog instead of the course.
“It’s easy to train a willing mind.”
“And those who aren’t willing?”
“Hard work and pointed effort.”
“Precious commodities.”
“More like deficiencies these days.”
I couldn’t agree more.
She continued, “It’s not just time and effort, its perseverance. Not giving up on them. That’s the tipping point. That’s what makes a good or bad dog great. Or anyone, for that matter.”
We watched the dog finish the course, then jog up, its tongue hanging out of a big toothy smile. She kneeled down and ruffled its ears, smiling and praising with full attention.
I was in awe of the different woman I was seeing from the night before. Not five hours earlier, Sunny Harper had been holding a nine millimeter over a dead body. Now, there was a hint of softness to her. A loving, nurturing side. A contentment, with her dogs, in the middle of the woods.
Her sanctuary, I guessed.
I zeroed in on the bandage on her arm again, my stomach clenching. As I reached out to help her up, the dog lunged at me.
“Christ,”I jumped back, flashing my palms.
“Enough.” She scolded the dog, sending its tail between its legs, while I made a mental note to pack an extra pair of boxers for my next visit. Sunny nodded to the river in some nonverbal cue and the dogs took off like bullets into the water.
“Thank God you don’t need in-home care,” I muttered, heart still in my throat.
“Sorry about that. They’re protective.”
“Understatement of the century.” I reached for her again. “Let me…” I helped her to a stance. I was shocked that she let me touch her. That’s when I realized Sunny Harper’s attitude, or resistance, I should say, was very impacted by her environment. I wondered if her house was the only place she let her guard down.
“How are you really doing?”
She took a deep breath. “I’m fine.”
“That wince you gave when you inhaled says otherwise.”
She looked at me, her eyes squinting in suspicion as if to figure me out.
