After a few minutes of Matt quietly humming while organizing his supplies, the border collie’s curiosity got the better of him. The dog inched forward, nose twitching.
“That’s it,” Matt murmured. “I’m just a boring old vet. Nothing to be afraid of.”
He slowly removed a dog treat from his pocket and placed it on the floor between them. The border collie eyed it suspiciously but took another step forward.
The sound of the shelter’s front door opening made the dog retreat to his corner. Matt sighed. So much for progress.
“Hello?” a familiar voice called out. “Matt? Are you here?”
Something in Matt’s chest lightened at the sound of Lynda’s voice.
“In the isolation room,” he called back.
Footsteps approached, and then Lynda appeared in the doorway, her silver hair pulled into a neat bun. She wore jeans and a blue sweater that matched her eyes, and she was carrying two take-out coffee cups.
“I was on my way to work and saw your truck outside,” she explained, holding up the coffee. “I thought you might need this if you’re starting this early.”
Matt smiled, genuinely touched by the gesture. “You’re a lifesaver. Carol texted about this guy last night, and I wanted to check him out before the shelter got busy.”
Lynda glanced at the border collie, who was watching them with alert eyes. “Poor thing looks scared to death. Have you been able to examine him yet?”
“Not even close. He won’t let me near him.” As Matt took the coffee Lynda handed to him, their fingers brushed against each other. “Thanks for this. I’ve been up since five, dealing with Mrs. Peterson’s horse. He has colic again.”
“Is Butterscotch okay?” Lynda asked, kneeling down to get a better look at the dog while staying at a respectful distance.
“He’ll be fine. Mrs. Peterson panics every time he so much as sneezes.”
Lynda’s smile started in her eyes and lit her entire face. “Mind if I try?” she asked, nodding toward the border collie.
“Be my guest,” Matt said, taking a sip of his coffee. “But he’s pretty spooked.”
Lynda sat cross-legged on the floor, repeating his trick of completely ignoring the dog. She began talking in a low, soothing voice—not to the dog, but to Matt.
“Isabel has some new animal books that she wants me to arrange at the bookstore. I told her most of them would collect dust, but she insists that every bookstore needs books about Amazonian Rainforest monkeys.” She continued chatting casually, her voice calm and even.
Matt watched the border collie gradually relax, his ears perking up at Lynda’s voice. After a few minutes, the dog inched forward again, his nose twitching with curiosity.
“You’ve got a gift,” Matt said softly, not wanting to break the spell.
Lynda shrugged. “It comes from years of working with abused animals at my practice in Denver.” She continued her casual conversation, and slowly, the dog moved closer.
Fifteen minutes later, through Lynda’s patience and a handful of treats from Matt, the border collie was letting them both touch him. Matt was able to check his teeth and paws, and listen to his heart.
“No microchip that I can feel,” Matt said, carefully running his hands along the dog’s neck and shoulders. “Looks like he’s about two years old. No obvious injuries, but he’s undernourished.”
“He’s beautiful,” Lynda said, gently working a burr out of the dog’s fur. “Smart, too. Look at those eyes. He’s calculating his next three moves.”
The dog had ended up sitting calmly between them, occasionally nudging Lynda’s hands for more petting.
They worked together to give the dog a basic exam, clean his ears, and apply flea treatment. The easy way they moved around each other, anticipating what the other needed, reminded Matt of the times his wife had helped him in the clinic.
The thought stopped him cold.
“I should get going,” Lynda said, standing up and brushing dog hair from her jeans. “I promised Isabel I’d be at the bookstore by nine.”
“Thanks for the help,” Matt said, suddenly feeling awkward. “And the coffee.”
“Anytime,” Lynda replied with a smile. “What are you going to call him?”
