He leads me into a back room. On the far end are a row of metal kennels with dog doors that lead to an outdoor pen.
“We got a couple new dogs in this month,” he says. “You looking for a hunting dog? Big? Small?”
“Maybe a hunting dog, I don’t know,” I say, moving closer. A pair of Huskies roll around on the ground in the far kennel. They don’t look up.
“Huskies go fast,” he says. “So do the labs.”
I walk a few doors down then stop and back up. Inside the middle kennel, sitting on a pink dog bed, is the littlest basset puppy I’ve ever seen. It’s a girl, judging from her matching pink collar and flowery tag. She’s sitting on her butt with her legs straight out, staring up at me through droopy eyes. Right away, I’m smitten.
“Hey, girl,” I say, sinking down.
“That’s Daisy,” he says. “She’s been a tough one.”
“How’s that?”
Daisy doesn’t move. She stays right where she’s at, even though I’m holding my hand out.
“Her owners moved unexpectedly and couldn’t take her,” he says. “She’s just real quiet and doesn’t interact with people during adoption hours. It’s made it tough to get her rehomed.”
“Can I take a look at her?”
“Sure,” the man says, unlocking the cage one handed. “Might take a minute to coax her out. I’m gonna drop this little guy off in the intake office, and I’ll be right back.”
I nod, staying right where I am. Most of the dogs are outside, so it’s pretty quiet. I tick my tongue, but Daisy doesn’t move. She’s pretty, two shades of brown, one pale and the other almost black down at the tips of her ears. Those damn ears look like a tripping hazard. I tick my tongue again and hold out my hand. She gets up and waddles out, her stubby legs taking her slowly to me. I let her sniff my palm for a while, check me out.
“You get left behind, sweetheart?” I say.
She sniffs, sneezing. I touch her ears, rubbing the top of her head. She lets me for a few minutes, and then she crawls up beneath my feet and rolls onto her back, paws in the air.
What the hell. I think I might be getting a dog today.
I scratch her belly, and her eyes squeeze shut. The man comes back in, sans his judgmental dog, and puts his hands on his hips.
“Well, damn,” he says. “She’s asleep.”
She’s out, snoring lightly, one eye twitching. Gently, I scoop her up and get to my feet, rolling her so she can drape over my shoulder. She wakes but doesn’t fight to get down. Her body hangs as relaxed as a wet rag, letting me scratch her back.
“Can I get this one?” I say.
His brows rise. “You sure?”
I turn my head, and Daisy looks at me sideways, nose twitching. There’s a look in her eyes that kind of reminds me a bit of myself. She’s calm. I reckon she’d be a good porch-sitting dog. I also reckon she’s quiet and wouldn’t scare up the birds when I sit by the lake. And Janie would like her—that’s the most important thing.
“Yeah, I live out on Ryder Ranch, and I have space for her,” I say. “No other dogs, and I live alone.”
He looks between us both then nods. I follow him out, and less than twenty minutes and a hell of a lot of paperwork later, I’m carrying a leash and collar in one hand and a puppy in the other. The sun hits me hard, taking me back to reality, where I have to get those supplies for Deacon. Pushing the leash into one hand, I drape Daisy around my shoulders and head for the store.
She’s real quiet while I get my things. I get her a bed and some bowls before heading out to bring around the truck. She sits in the driver’s side and tries to see over the edge as I load everything into the bed. I get in, and she scrambles into my lap, laying down while I pull onto the road. I drive one handed, other hand on her back to keep her from flying around when I take the corners, and she sleeps through the whole thing.
It’s kind of nice, not being alone.
Back at the ranch, I put her in the bedroom and shut the door. Then, I unload everything in the barn. By the time it’s all settled and blacksmith shed, it’s pretty late. I’ve got a little food at my house, so I think I’ll skip the mess hall and eat with Daisy. I haven’t seen Janie around, but I’m learning she’s pretty busy. She’ll turn up when she chooses.
Turn up, she does. I never lock my door, and it hangs open when I climb the steps. From inside comes the sound of rattling pans. I push open the interior screen and move down the hall. The clack of toenails sounds, and then Daisy comes dashing around the corner and jumps on my ankles. I scoop her up.
Janie steps into view. My stomach flips. She looks so good, all tan and sun-kissed and pretty in jean shorts that show a little bit of her ass and a cropped Ryder Ranch t-shirt.
“You got a dog?” she says. “Unless you were being robbed by the sweetest little criminal and she got trapped in your room.”
