I went to Bonalisa to clear my head, which was a joke, because the second I walked through the door and saw Maryjane behind the counter I opened my mouth and what came out was: “He smiled at me. Three times.”
Mary looked up from her paperwork. “Okay?”
“Mary. He has never smiled at me. In two years. And today he did it three times.”
“And this is a problem because?”
“Because now I know what it looks like and I want it to happen again and I’m spiraling.” I dropped into the folding chair and pressed my hands over my face. “His whole face changes, Mary. His eyes do this thing where they go soft and his jaw relaxes and he looks like an actual human being instead of a corporate robot and I wasn’t ready for it.”
Mary and Peter exchanged a look across the room. Peter mouthed something that I couldn’t read but Mary nodded with a grin that told me it was at my expense.
“You’re both terrible friends,” I said.
“We’re your best friends,” Mary corrected. “Which is why I’m going to distract you from your spiral with something useful.” Her face shifted then, the teasing dropping away, and I sat up straighter because I knew that look. That was the look Mary got when something at the shelter had gone badly. “We had a rough intake this morning. German Shepherd, male, badly malnourished. Clearly abused based on the scars on his muzzle and the way he reacts to sudden movement. He’s in the back kennel and he won’t let anyone near him. Peter tried earlier and the dog nearly climbed the wall.”
Peter nodded from where he was stacking food bags. “Not aggressive. Just terrified. Wouldn’t even look at me.”
“We’re overcrowded right now,” Mary continued. “That litter of eight we took in last week is still here and every foster on our list is full. If we can’t find somewhere for him by the end of the week, we’ll have to transfer him to county, and you know what county is like for a dog in his condition.”
I did know. County shelters were loud, fluorescent-lit, packed with barking dogs in small cages. For a traumatized animal, it was the worst possible environment. I was already standing. “Can I see him?”
He was pressed into the far corner of the kennel. Ribs visible through dull, patchy fur. Head low, eyes darting between me and the door behind me like he was calculating escape routes. Hewas shaking, his whole body trembling in these small, constant waves that made my chest hurt just looking at him.
When I knelt in front of the kennel door, he flinched and pushed further into the corner.
“Hey,” I said softly. “It’s okay. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”
I sat cross-legged on the cold concrete floor outside the kennel without reaching in, without trying to coax him out or make eye contact or do anything that might feel like pressure. Just sat there and talked.
“My name is Andrea. I come here a lot. I’m going to sit here for a while and you don’t have to do anything, okay? Don’t have to come over, don’t have to look at me. I’m just going to be here.”
I pulled out my book and started reading aloud. Book four, where I’d left off. I kept my voice low and even, not performing the accents as big as I usually did, just letting the words fill the quiet space between us.
After about twenty minutes, his shaking slowed. His ears perked slightly when I dropped into the Scottish brogue for the hero’s dialogue, and I made a mental note of that because if a terrible fake accent was what this dog responded to, I would do a terrible fake accent for as long as he needed.
I read for another forty minutes. By the end, his head was up and he was watching me. Still pressed into the corner, still scared, but watching. His eyes had stopped darting and were focused on me, and his ears were forward, and that was enough. That was everything.
Mary came to check on me. “You’ve been here an hour.”
“He looked at me, Mary. His ears moved.”
“We really need someone to take him. Just until we clear some space. A week, maybe two. I wouldn’t ask, but we’re out of options and he needs somewhere quiet.”
I looked at the dog. Then back at Mary.
My house was small and my hours were insane. I left before dawn and didn’t get home until close to midnight most nights. Taking on a foster right now was objectively a terrible idea and I already knew what I was going to say before I said it.
“I’ll take him.”
I named him Buddy on the drive home because he sat in the backseat shaking the entire time and I kept reaching back to touch his head and saying “It’s okay, buddy, we’re almost there” and by the third time I said it the name just stuck.
Fin was on the porch when I got home, and when he saw me walking up the path with a leash attached to a strange dog, he stood. His whole body went rigid. Ears forward, shoulders stiff, legs braced like he was about to either charge or bolt.
“Hi, Fin! Look, you might have a new friend!” I crouched down to Buddy’s level, keeping the leash loose. “Buddy here needs a safe place for a week, so you guys can hang out together.”
Buddy was pressed against my leg so hard I could feel him trembling through my skirt. Fin didn’t approach. He stayed at the far end of the porch, stiff in a way I’d never seen fromhim before, watching Buddy with an intensity that bordered on hostile.
“Don’t be jealous,” I told Fin. “There’s plenty of me to go around.”
