Jasper is almost to the porch when the front door flies open and a man with a long gray ponytail and denim overalls steps out. I’m relieved Jasper won’t have to climb the porch stairs because, like the rest of the house, they don’t look all that sturdy. Jasper says something while gesticulating toward the car; the man, who I’m assuming is Mr. Willis, cranes his neck in our direction and gives a curt jerk of his head. Staying where he is, Jasper turns back and nods at me. I hug the dog in my lap and open the door for him to get out. Maynooth climbs over me, pausing as if for his own hug. I tell him not to run on the highway anymore as I give him a tight squeeze and then let him out to join his friend.
The dogs lope toward the house, their ears flapping around them like wings. Mr. Willis opens the front door and the dogs waddle up the stairs and into the house. With my car door still open a few inches, I can hear Jasper speaking, although I can’t make out what he’s saying. Mr. Willis lets the front door slam and turns back to Jasper, crossing his arms over his chest and grunting out a reply.
Finally, Mr. Willis goes back inside and Jasper picks his way across the grass and down the driveway, keeping his eyes trained on the ground. As he gets closer, I can see his lip is curled and his nose is wrinkled in disgust.
“What happened?” I ask after he’s back in the driver’s seat.
He glances toward the house. The door is still closed, although Mr. Willis’s silhouette is evident behind the screen. He’s watching us. Jasper doesn’t say anything as he starts the car and backs onto the road. Once we’re on the highway, he lets out a long breath and glances briefly in my direction.
“I told him we found the dogs running on the highway. No relief, no gratitude, nothing. I suggested he might want to keep them tied up when they’re outside, and that they should have collars with their information in case they get loose. He told me to mind my own business and said something about fancy big city folk always poking their noses where they don’t belong. I don’t know what came over me, but…” He pauses, glancing at me again, this time with his face scrunched up. “I said yes, Iwasfrom the big city and I was a lawyer who should perhaps get in touch with my friends from animal rights about his mistreatment of those two dogs.”
A bark of surprised laughter escapes me. “What did he say to that?”
“I’m not certain he believed me, but he did say he’d be sure to keep them in the house or tied up when they were outside with him from now on.”
More laughter spills out of me. The ridiculousness of this whole situation catches up to me and now I can’t stop laughing. A quick glance at Jasper shows him chuckling and shaking his head. “Jasper Perry, dog rescuer,” I say around my giggles. “Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
“For all the good it likely did,” he says, still laughing softly.
“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. You did what you could. Who knows how many people passed those dogs on the highway and kept going? Assumed their owner would catch them or someone else would stop to do something?” As the words spill out of me, it hits me—not for the first time—what a good person Jasper is. A genuinely good, kind-hearted person who wants to help, whether it’s people he cares about or random dogs that think a busy highway is their playground. “You’re amazing, Jasper.”
A hint of color touches his cheeks. “Thank you, Willow.” He clears his throat and adjusts his hands on the wheel, his grip tightening then loosening a few times. “I’m still not telling you where we’re going, though.”
My giggles return. This man—this wonderful, kind, enigma of a man—never ceases to surprise and amaze me.
