Jasper makes a sound of agreement. He turns in a slow circle, shading his eyes from the early afternoon sun. “No houses on this stretch, unless they’re set way back from the road. I suppose we could put him in the car and drive until we find a house, see if they know where this guy belongs.”
“And if they don’t know?” I ask.
Jasper shrugs. “We’ll figure that out if the time comes.” He goes around to the back door on the passenger side and opens it. I expect the dog to hesitate or maybe make a run for it, but he follows Jasper and clambers into the backseat. Jasper closes the door, murmuring something about dog hair all over his nice clean car and hoping the animal doesn’t have fleas. He opens my door and waits for me to get in before going around to his side.
Since the highway is currently deserted, Jasper drives at about half the speed limit, scanning the wooded area for hidden driveways or houses peeking through the trees. Despite attempting to help, I’m distracted by the dog, who has stuck his giant head between our seats and is alternately snuffling in my ear and trying to lick my face.
“Looks like Maynooth has a friend,” Jasper says.
“Who? What?” The dog has scrambled into the front seat and is now attempting to settle in my lap. I peer around him to see Jasper squinting at the road as he pulls the car over again.
“Since the dog doesn’t have a nametag and we’re currently in Maynooth, I thought it was a fitting name for him. And the ‘what’ is up ahead.”
I wrap my arms around the dog and make him sit so I can see over his head. And what I see is a nearly-identical dog bounding toward us. “Did I fall asleep after we left Tim Hortons and slip into the most bizarre dream ever?”
“I’m afraid not.” Jasper winces when a truck whizzes by us, causing the car to rock slightly. “Can you open your door? The traffic is picking up and I don’t think I can open mine safely.”
Gripping Maynooth tightly so he won’t leap out of the car, I open the door. The other dog is already waiting on the shoulder. He gives me a doggy smile and, without any prompting, hops into the space at my feet, settling on my boots and greeting me and his pup pal enthusiastically.
“No tags on this one either,” I tell Jasper.
The traffic is much heavier as we pull out onto the road once more. I give both dogs lots of pets and affirmations of love, trying not to think about the fate they might have suffered if we hadn’t found them. This highway is full of twists and bends, and it would be easy to miss a dog running in the road until it was too late.
Jasper points ahead at a break in the trees where there’s a barely-visible gravel driveway. He flips on his turn signal and slows the car, pulling into the lane and creeping along the tree-lined path. Once we’re past the thickest part of the trees, we can see a bungalow up ahead. There’s a man in the front yard chopping wood; he turns at the sound of the car approaching. With awhackthat makes me jump, he embeds the ax in the tree stump he was using to cut logs and strides toward the car, wiping his forehead on the sleeve of his plaid flannel shirt.
“Neither of the dogs is reacting, so I’m guessing this isn’t their home,” I whisper. Jasper nods in agreement as he lowers his window.
“Can I help you folks?”
“Yes, good afternoon,” Jasper says, ever Mr. Manners. “We found these two dogs running down the highway just now. We were wondering if you might happen to know where they belong?”
The man bends to peer into the car, squinting at the dogs. “Oh yeah, those are Al Willis’s dogs. They’re always runnin’ around.”
Jasper’s jaw clenches. I have a feeling he wants to ask the same thing I do: ‘Near a busy highway? With no tags?’ He clears his throat and I imagine him literally swallowing the words. “Would you be willing to share Mr. Willis’s address so we can return his dogs safely?”
The man gives us directions to head left when we leave here—back in the direction we came from—and drive about a kilometer until we come to Beaver Creek Lane. “There are only houses on the north side of the street and Al’s is the second one in,” he tells us. “Can’t miss it. Looks like a big ol’ junkyard.”
After thanking him, he directs us further up his driveway where we can turn around in a large grassy area so we won’t have to back onto the busy highway. Jasper’s jaw remains clenched as he performs the u-turn and we bump along the gravel path to the highway.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re contemplating a dognapping?” I ask.
One side of his mouth curves up. Maynooth leans over and nudges Jasper’s arm with his nose. Since cars are still whizzing by and there’s no hope of us pulling out yet, Jasper turns to the dog and gives him a thorough scratch behind both ears. To me, he says, “Don’t tempt me. It would be far too easy.”
At the first break in traffic, we get back on the highway. The car is quiet except for the panting and snuffling of the dogs. As we turn onto Beaver Creek Lane, I realize the man wasn’t kidding about Mr. Willis’s place being impossible to miss. We can see the junk in the yard from the turnoff, despite his house being the second one on the street.
Several vehicles are parked on the lawn, ranging from rusted shells to newer cars missing half their parts. Toward the back, there are a couple of what appear to be derby cars; they’re so riddled with dents and holes, it’s impossible to tell what was once painted on them. Tools are scattered across the brown grass and there are various bits of garbage—pop cans, chip bags, blown-out tires, and, most noticeably, a toilet lying on its side under a tree.
“I bet Mr. Willis’s neighbors justlovehim,” I murmur.
Jasper makes a sound of distress as he eases the car into the gravel driveway. The dogs’ ears perk up and their panting increases, with Maynooth letting out a quiet ‘woof’ as he gets to his feet in my lap. My poor thighs are going to be covered in paw-shaped bruises from this plump hound that mistakenly thinks he’s a lapdog.
Jasper eases the car to a stop and turns it off. He leaves the keys dangling in the ignition and sits back, staring at the house. I’m about to ask what he’s waiting for when he releases a gusty sigh. “I was hoping he’d hear the car and come out. I’d prefer if you wait here while I go to the door. The bent nails and other detritus in the driveway lead me to believe a tetanus shot might be required, and there’s no need for both of us to suffer.”
When he shoots me a wry look, I press my lips together to hold in a laugh. “Are you sure? This looks like the house of someone who might own a shotgun or two.”
“The thoughthadcrossed my mind,” Jasper says. “But I’m sure. I’ll leave the keys in the ignition in case you need to make a quick getaway.”
Now I do laugh as he opens the door and climbs out. Maynooth hops off my lap and into the driver’s seat. His pal takes the opportunity to scramble into my lap, nearly knocking the air from my lungs in his excitement at the change of position.
