We worked through the rounds together. Dogs first, then cats.
“Frank already had his, so don’t let him guilt you with that face, Tova. He does this every time.” I moved to the next bowl. Tova followed, her nails clicking on the concrete. “Princess Whiskers gets the filtered water. Yeah, I know. She’s high-maintenance. But you’re in no place to judge, given how you like to eat tennis balls.”
Tova looked at me as if to say filtered water and tennis balls were not even remotely the same thing.
“What?” I scratched her head. “We all have our guilty pleasures.”
I was scooping guinea pig food and explaining to Tova why Frank couldn’t be trusted around the treat shelf when I turned around and Lark was leaning against the barn door with her arms crossed.
I stopped. The silence was immediate and thorough.
“Don’t stop on my account.” Lark didn’t even try to hide her grin. “I was enjoying the part about the tennis ball.”
“Tova needs to hear it. Repetition is how you learn.”
“You’re narrating feeding rounds to a dog, Logan.”
I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow. “So? She’s a good listener. Much better than Clarence.”
Lark chuckled. Tova sat between us, tail going in wide, lazy arcs across the concrete.
“Don’t act surprised,” I said. “You got her into my cabin on purpose, and we both know it.”
Lark tilted her head, eyes wide in mock surprise. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Tova has a documented fear of thunder.”
“Documented where?”
“In my head.” She tapped her temple. “Where I keep all the important records.”
“She slept through the entire storm without moving.”
“Some dogs internalize.”
“Lark.”
The act crumbled. She didn’t fight it very hard. “Fine. She doesn’t care about storms. She once slept through hail that cracked a window.” Lark uncrossed her arms and then crossed them again. “You wouldn’t have taken her if I told you why.”
“No. I wouldn’t have.”
“And?”
I looked down at Tova. Then back at Lark. “And she’s not going back to her kennel. She’s staying with me.”
Something quieter moved in behind Lark’s expression. The humor stayed, but it wasn’t alone anymore.
“Good,” Lark said. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say. I’m spending today working with Gimbal on the hEDS training. Her new owner will be coming for her soon.”
Hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos syndrome was a connective tissue disorder that affected someone’s joints and skin. Lark had received a request for a service dog for someone with the condition. Gimbal would help brace during falls, retrieve dropped objects, and track changing medical symptoms.
Watching Lark work with Gimbal had been amazing. She turned and walked out of the barn, Gimbal right by her side.
I looked down at Tova. “She’s something, you know that?”
Tova exhaled through her nose, as if I was just catching up on something everyone already knew, and put her chin on my boot.
The back section of the property had a different quality in afternoon light. The ridgeline threw long shadows across the pasture, and the tree line along the south boundary was thick enough that the access road disappeared into it within fifty yards. Tova walked ahead of me along the fence line, nose down, investigating whatever dogs found worth investigating in the grass.
I was checking the fence repairs from two weeks ago. The posts Lark and I had set were holding solid, the new wire taut, the staples seated. She’d been proud of those posts. Had tested every one by grabbing the top and pulling, her boots braced in the dirt, her whole body committed to the effort. She’d grinned when they didn’t budge.
