Chloe pulled a face, looking as if she’d bitten into an extremely rotten lemon.“Why is it so hard to adopt a dog, seriously?And we be running outta time.If we do no’ find a dog t’bury in the cemetery soon—”
The pieces snapped together so fast, it felt like air vacuumed in their wake.Ross had never in his life experienced a hot rush of temper as quickly as he did in this moment.He snarled at them, “You arenotkilling some innocent dog to serve your own ends!”
All three werewolves looked at him in surprise.
Chloe reacted first, her hands up and warding him off.“No, no, no!Ross, you misunderstood.We’re not going to kill a dog.”
“You just said you wanted to bury a dog at the cemetery!”
“No, we will do that, but we’re not killing the dog to do it.”
Dunham pitched in, trying to straighten him out with an earnest air, “We want to adopt a senior dog, let him live his natural life, then bury him in peace.Ye canna make a good church grim if ye kill the dog in violence.It willna hold any affection for ye.”
Ross’s anger screeched to a halt, suspended.Eyeing them all suspiciously, Ross clarified, “So, what you’re actually attempting to do is adopt a senior dog, give him a nice home to die in, andthengo bury him.Do I have that straight?”
“Right,” Chloe assured him, relieved he apparently now understood.“And he’ll be thoroughly pampered, I promise.You need to have a good relationship with the dog, otherwise it won’t help you protect the cemetery.A church grim not loyal to you is a nightmare, let me tell you.”
Fyffe let out a huff in dark amusement.“I saw that play out once.Someone tried to speed the matter along and shot the dog before burying.The church grim tore the cemetery to shreds.Not much left afterward.It was a good lesson for them to learn.But see, Ross, that’s our issue.We need a senior dog who doesn’t have much life left.We can’t spend years waiting for the dog to die.”
Shoulders slumping, Dunham relayed, “But every dog rescue we speak to, they willna even consider lettin’ a senior dog go.Says there be no point to it, to let the wee dog be.And they keep askin’ if we have fenced in yards and such.Why would we need a fenced in yard?”
To them it probably didn’t make sense.Werewolves were close enough to their canine cousins that they could speak readily with dogs and communicate just fine.It wasn’t a matter of them needing to train the dog to human commands or set up physical boundaries like a fence.Any dog who came near the werewolves ended up as a playmate and best buddy in thirty seconds or less.Ross had seen it in action.
But he did see where the stumbling block lay.Most rescues were very, very careful on how they placed their dogs.Sometimes their care bordered on the paranoid side.If these three had walked in and asked the questions Ross suspected they asked, no rescue in the world would give them a dog.
Actually, just envisioning that gave him a headache.Ross was so glad he’d missed that scene.He mentally shouldered the responsibility.Apparently, it would fall to him to find them a dog.
Ross eyed them all and asked, already knowing the answer, “Did you try the pound?”
He got three blank looks in response.
“But the pounds don’t take in old dogs, do they?”Chloe trailed off uncertainly.“I don’t think?”
“Dogs of all ages land at the pound, trust me.”Shaking his head, Ross glanced at his wristwatch and made a few calculations.Because the clan had both nocturnal and day creatures, he had fallen into a more early-morning sleep schedule, where he slept until mid-morning and stayed up until past midnight.It worked well to meet everyone’s needs generally, but for this he’d need to wake up a little earlier.He had other appointments in the afternoon.Which was fine, he didn’t mind.Better this sleep schedule than the graveyard shift he’d been on before.“Meet me back here after breakfast tomorrow.They’re closed by this time of the evening.We’ll go to the pound and see if they have a suitable dog.If the city pound doesn’t have one, there’s a county pound to search through as well.”
The animal shelter was one of those buildings meant to have a cool, modern look that came off as odd instead.It was white and long with steeples that popped up over the doorway and a round jut-out for the main door.It looked like a Lego house gone wrong, in Ross’s opinion.
Inside, however, was nice and clean.The cats were housed to the left, clearly visible through glass walls, the dogs barking away in the kennel off to the right.Ross stopped long enough to get his bearings, then headed toward the kennel.
He didn’t get far before a petite blonde intercepted him, coming around the U-shaped counter in the main foyer with a smile.“Hi, I’m Maggie.Are you looking to adopt a dog?”
Maggie was a young college student by the looks of her.Someone volunteering and helping out—or at least, that was his impression.She greeted Ross, Dunham, and Chloe with a winsome smile and a ready attitude.
Ross gave her a smile in return and phrased his request carefully.“Hi.Yes, we are.Well, specifically Dunham and Chloe here are.I’m here for moral support.They’ve never rescued from a pound before.They’re specifically interested in adopting an older dog?One that needs a home for its golden years.”
It was the right thing to say.Maggie’s eyes went heart-shaped.“That’s so sweet!So often we have trouble finding good homes for the seniors.People always go for the puppies.Just one?”
Alarm bells sounded distantly in Ross’s head.He didn’t even need to look at Dunham and Chloe to sense their interest perking.He shot a warning glare at the two werewolves.
“Ye can adopt more than one?”Dunham asked in curiosity, his tone rising with interest.
“Yes, of course,” Maggie assured him.“Bonded pairs, for instance, we try to adopt out together.You can adopt up to three per person.”
Ross managed to get his glare target-locked, and Dunham subsided.“Let’s see what you have for now.”
“Of course.”Maggie turned and led the way into the kennel section.Kennels lined either side, chain-link affairs that stretched out in narrow alleys, with a dog per kennel.The floor was cement and the smell of feces and urine lingered from where the dogs hadn’t been escorted outside in time.Or cleaned up after yet.The dogs barked out a welcome, sometimes climbing up the fences as they neared.
Maggie was apparently used to the noise and odor.She talked over her shoulder, not fazed by it.“So, we have two seniors at this point.Zen, he’s nine years old—which I know doesn’t sound that old, but he’s a pit bull-terrier mix and their average life spans are somewhere between ten to twelve.He’s a great dog, very sweet and gentle.His owner passed away, and no one else in the family would take him, so he ended up here.Then we have Bunker.He’s a boxer-pit bull mix, and he’s not a small boy, but he’s very sweet too.He’s eight years old, and very well trained.Knows his commands like a trooper.His family had to move overseas and couldn’t rehome him in time.They’re very anxious to know he’s going to a good place.”
