“The structure worked for me. I knew where I was supposed to be, what I was supposed to do, and nobody expected me to make small talk about it.”
“And then K9s.”
“And then K9s.” The words came easier now, the way they always did when I talked about the dogs. “I watched a handler demonstration during training, and that was it. I knew. The bond between that dog and his handler was the most honest thing I’d ever seen. No performance. No politics. Just trust, trained into muscle memory.”
“You were good at it.”
“I was good at the dogs. The people part took longer.”
“Two tours in Afghanistan.” She said it carefully, not like a question but like she was setting the words down gently to see how much weight they could hold.
“Two tours. Donovan was there for both. That’s where we became close.” I didn’t elaborate on what the tours had contained. Not because I was protecting her, but because the details lived in a place I didn’t open casually, and she seemed to understand that. “After the Army, Ethan Cross recruited me for Citadel. Private security, K9 operations, contracts all over the map. It suited me. No permanent address, no long-term anything. Just the next job and Jolly.”
“When did Jolly come along?”
“Seven years ago. He was eighteen months when we were matched.”
“Love at first sight?” The corner of her mouth lifted.
“I don’t know about love. But I knew within the first hour that he was different. Most working dogs are driven. Jolly’s driven and happy about it. The tail, that grin. He does the hardest work I’ve ever asked of a dog, and he looks like he’s having the time of his life.”
“He is having the time of his life,” Kayla said. “You can see it.”
“He’s the longest relationship I’ve had.” I said it plainly, because it was true and because the humor in it didn’t require decoration. “Seven years. No one else comes close.”
She smiled, but it was the kind that carried something heavier underneath. “Is that why you took this contract? Training instead of fieldwork?”
I nodded. “Jolly’s almost nine. That’s getting up there for a Malinois-shepherd mix. Working dogs have a window, and his is starting to close. He’s still sharp. Still loves the work. But I can see the edges of it. He’s half a step slower on the sprints than he was two years ago. Takes longer to bounce back after a hard day. A year from now, maybe less, a vet is going to tell me it’s time to retire him.”
She’d gone still beside me. I could feel the shift in her energy, the careful way she was holding the next question.
“What happens to him then?” Her voice was quiet. “When he retires, do they…” She stopped. Her hand tightened on the edge of the counter.
The look on her face told me exactly where her mind had gone.
“No.” I said it immediately, firmly. “Absolutely not. Retired K9s live out the rest of their lives as regular dogs. The harness comes off, and they’re done. They get a yard and a couch and someone who spoils them rotten. That’s it.”
Her shoulders dropped. She exhaled like she’d been bracing for something she couldn’t bear to hear.
“Okay. Good. Because I was about to lose it.”
“Jolly’s going to be fine. He’s going to have a great retirement. That’s the easy part.” I paused. Turned my water glass on the counter, a slow rotation. “The hard part is what comes after.”
“After retirement?”
“For me. If I want to keep doing K9 work, I need a new partner. A young dog. Training takes months, usually at a facility somewhere else. Then the contracts start again. Travel, deployments, the whole cycle. And a retired dog can’t come along for that. He needs stability. A home. Someone who’s there every day.”
I heard what I was saying. Heard the weight of it land in the quiet kitchen.
“Most handlers in my position either stop doing K9 work altogether, or they find the right home for the retired dog. Someone who’ll give him the life he’s earned.”
The silence that followed was the loudest thing in the room.
I didn’t look at the Lego fortress on the living room floor. Didn’t look at the crayon drawing on the fridge. Didn’t look at Kayla, because I knew what I’d find on her face, and I wasn’t ready for it. The thought of handing Jolly to anyone, even someone who’d love him with everything they had, was the thing I’d been circling for months without letting myself land on it.
Kayla was quiet for a long time. I could feel her thinking, feel the restraint it cost her not to say the thing that was sitting between us like a third person in the room.
“He’s a good dog,” she said. Simply. Like that covered it.
