“What?”
His fingers tightened in the dog’s hair. “If I can’t find him a home, when does he go to the shelter?” he repeated, unable to hide the tremor in his voice.
Jesus. Cash might be the one who didn’t talk, but apparently I was the one who couldn’t communicate worth a damn. I’d assumed he’d figure out I was keeping the dog—but how could he, when I’d only just decided myself?
I rubbed the back of my neck and gave him a shrug. “Funny story. Bobby just called him my dog, and he’s right. He’s staying here with me.”
“With you?” Cash’s expression wavered for a moment and then settled on a shaky smile. He raised his eyebrows. “For real?”
I nodded. “I—I like him. Wouldn’t put up with his snoring if I didn’t.”
Cash swallowed, nodding.
I cleared my throat. “When I was a kid, Uncle Jim had this three-legged dog. It was sweet as hell and ugly as sin. It had a whole bunch of issues apart from the missing leg. There wasn’t a condition this dog didn’t have, it seemed like. Uncle Jim always said it was put together wrong at the dog factory.” I rubbed the dog’s forehead right between the eyes, in the spot that never failed to make his eyes half close in bliss. “Someone had dumped it on Uncle Jim, like this guy here.”
Cash gave a guilty start.
“Anyway, the dog just never left.” I gently tugged the dog’s uninjured ear and he let out a contented sigh. “Uncle Jim always said he’d never trust a vet who didn’t have at least one broken animal. I guess this one might be mine.”
I hadn’t spent much time in Goose Run as a kid, but when Uncle Jim had made his occasional visits to Cincinnati, he’d brought Trip—short for Tripod—with him. I’d taken Trip for a walk around the neighborhood one afternoon, and some kid had yelled, “Is that supposed to be a dog?” And for reasons I still had no explanation for, apart from kid logic, I’d decided in that moment that I was going to be a vet. The fantasy of helping every animal, especially the ugly ones, had been a powerful one. The reality had turned out to be a lot different. To begin with I’d had to face up to the fact that I couldn’t help every animal. After that came the slow realization that doing worthwhile work wasn’t always satisfying or sustainable, and that sometimes it was just sad and demoralizing. And that was even before you did your taxes and saw your parents’ point about how you should have gotten your real estate license instead of a two-hundred-and-forty-thousand-dollar student debt.
But try telling that to the dog’s big brown eyes. Or Cash’s.
No, this moment here made me feel as though I’d made the right choice in becoming a vet, however much it sucked the rest of the time.
“Obviously if I’m keeping him, you’re not paying for his surgery,” I said. “I’ll pay you in actual money for the hours you’ve already worked.” I scratched the dog behind his good ear, and Cash’s smile ticked up a degree.
“What are you gonna call him?” he asked softly. His eyes were still bright with unshed tears, and his gaze dipped and his fingers edged close to mine as he stroked the back of the dog’s neck.
“You heard what those guys called him?”
The line of his mouth tightened and he gave a sharp nod. Our fingers brushed as we both petted Dog. Cash’s hand froze for a second; then his pinkie nudged mine again.
“Pair of assholes,” I said. “But he’s not their dog, so that’s not his name.”
Another sharp nod.
“I haven’t thought much about what to name him,” I said. “But he already answers to Dog.”
Cash lifted his head and showed me a dubious expression.
“I mean, unless you can think of something else. But it’s what you use when you talk to him,” I pointed out. “And he listens to you and comes when you call him. I think he already thinks it’s his name. Don’t you, Dog?”
Dog’s ears perked up and he panted happily.
“Looks like he’s made the decision for us,” I said.
Cash paused in his petting of the dog and whispered, “Us?”
“I mean, he loves you, and I’m kind of assuming you’re going to keep visiting him. So yeah. Us.”
Cash gave me a shy smile, then turned his attention back to Dog. “You hear that, Dog?” he murmured. “Mason’s going to keep you, but I’ll still come and see you.” He shot me an uncertain look, like he couldn’t quite believe he’d be allowed to visit.
“As often as you like,” I said and hesitated a beat before adding, “Dog’s not the only one who likes your company.”
Cash looked away, his mouth curving up into a smile, and his cheeks flushed pink. I guessed he wasn’t used to people saying nice things about him. But I meant every word. Cash’s visits had become a bright spot in my days, his quiet delight in every animal he saw cutting through the frustration and self-doubt of running the practice and helping me remember why I’d chosen this career in the first place. If only there was a way to bottle that feeling for when I woke up in the middle of the night and reviewed every diagnostic error I’d ever made.
I shook the dark thoughts off. Today was agoodday.
