Our only real problem today is an adorable black Lab named Queenie whom we’re boarding. She’s a gorgeous girl, so friendly and loving.
Only, just this morning we got a call telling us her mom died from an untimely heart attack while she was away on a business trip.
The relative on the phone was panicked, saying they couldn’t take the dog, not even for a little bit, with a special needs child and an elderly cat in the house.
My heart twists like a rag in my chest.
I know better than anyone how deeply animals feel sudden changes, dogs especially. How deeply they canhurt.
To think poor innocent Queenie no longer has a home as she scampers around madly at the sight of us almost breaks me.
She’s ten years old, too—not that you’d know it with her dynamo energy.
“Hey, old gal. How are you feeling today?” Dr. Ezzie holds out her hand for Queenie to lick enthusiastically.
The Lab whines with excitement, her thick tail wagging like mad.
“Poor girl,” I murmur, stroking behind her ears.
She really is a sweetheart.
There’s grey around her muzzle. I wonder who would pick her over a younger, sprier dog, even if Queenie can wag with the best of them.
“We’ll figure something out,” I vow.
Dr. Ezzie glances at me. “I know you will, Lena. You don’t let up.”
I also feel too much.
The hum of an engine reaches our ears then, and even though it’s only been a week, my heart lurches.
Brady.
Simmer down.
It’s becoming a thing, where Brady picks me up after work to whisk me back home or off to his condo.
Oh, Gran can’t get enough of seeing us disappear into my house. I caught her smiling and laughing a few times from her front porch. I know she’s not out there every day that late just for a little sunset gardening.
The car pulls up, then Brady climbs out of the driver’s side.
Screw you, heart.
I hate that he’s putting it through acrobatics.
But it’s determined to remind me that I have a thing for my fake fiancé, and it’s devastating.
When he sees me, he waves and walks over.
“Hey, Lena.” He steals a kiss before he glances at Dr. Ezzie, whose hand is still being loved on by Queenie. “Who’s this?”
“Our latest crisis.” Dr. Ezzie scratches the old girl behind her ears, and Queenie groans happily, her tail smacking Dr. Ezzie’s legs. “Her owner died and nobody can take her, I’m afraid. So, we’re currently looking for another solution.”
“Oh shit. I hate to hear it.” Brady slides an arm around my waist as he thinks.
“We don’t want to send her to a shelter at her age,” I say.
“No way.” There’s a gruffness in his voice even as he holds out his hand for the curious Lab to sniff. Her bright brown eyes fix on him. “Damn, well, why don’t we take her? She can stay at my place.”
