Page 52 of The Way Back Home

AT THE SHELTER, LIVintroduces me to Sallyann Anderson, a trainer she taught several years ago. She’s bubbly, and she talks a mile a minute. She also stares at my leg. It makes me uncomfortable, so I fall into step behind Liv and wish I could just melt away into the background. Truth is, I’m used to people staring. I’m even used to people firing stupid questions at me as if they were rounds, one after the other.POP. POP. POP.But I ain't used to women looking at me like I’m some damn prized pig.

Sallyann leads us back to the kennels. We walk through a door housing twice as many cages as Liv’s shelter in Magnolia Springs. They’re near empty, which I guess is a good thing. It means they’re actually making a difference here. We’re led through another door, and I know the second I step inside what I’m about to find. I can’t explain it, but I know what sits in the kennel at the end of the room. I know that frenetic energy, equal parts excitement and fear. Liv hasn’t brought me here on a whim, and this is no ordinary dog.

“Zora was great with the kids at first,” Sallyann says. “But the widow started to see small changes in her behavior. She went off her food. They’d take her for a walk, and she’d hit on a scent, wouldn’t budge for hours. She doesn't like men much either, which is odd, considering her former handler was one, and the widow never could get her under control.”

I tune out the incessant chatter. The blood whooshes in my ears as I move toward the kennel on autopilot, and there she is—Zora. A sleek German Shepherd standing at her full height, hackles raised, shiny white teeth exposed. Glorious and savage. Beautiful. Her coat is dull, possibly because of anxiety, but it could be that no one’s gotten close enough to groom her. This dog should be put down; it should have happened the moment she returned home to U.S. soil. Logically, I know this. Sallyann and Liv likely know this too, but as I stare into those knowing tawny eyes, the idea breaks my heart. I don’t know how Zora got cleared for civilian life, but here she is, glaring at me like she wants to rip my damn throat out. I crouch down in front of the cage and hook my fingers through the wire mesh separating us.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Sallyann says. But I hold up a hand for her to wait, and she promptly shuts up.

Zora edges toward the door of her cage, her head bent low, her hackles raised, and a sneer on her muzzle. I look into her eyes and see her bravado, but I have her number. This dog may be acting tough and ruling the roost because they’ve let her, but her bark is definitely worse than her bite.

“Zora’s the name the Corps gave her?” I ask, never once taking my eyes from that proud canine face. She straightens and cocks her head to the side as if she’s hanging on every word I say.

“Far as I know,” Sallyann says.

“Zora, sit,” I command, following the words with a hand gesture she’d know well. She whines and sits. She’s panting, and though it’s warm in here, I know it’s not from the heat. “Zora, lay down.”

Another whine, but she does as I instructed. She even rolls onto her back as if playing, but she keeps two eyes firmly fixed on me as she rubs her spine along the concrete floor. Sallyann laughs, and Zora barks and sits up on alert again. “You got a KONG?”

“Yeah.” She points to a collection of used toys sitting nearby.

“Does she have her own?”

“No.”

I sigh. “You got any that haven’t been used, ma’am?”

This would probably go better with her own KONG, but if her handler died in the field, I’d say it’s long gone. “I don’t know how much you know about MWDs, but they don’t work for food or treats. They work for their toys; they work for praise.”

“A bit like men then,” Sallyann jokes, and I level her with a hard gaze. “I’ll go get her a new toy.”

“Thanks, Sallyann,” Liv says.

“Zora,” I say, mimicking the high-pitched, excited tone we’re taught to use in training. She cocks her head again. Her ears prick up and her tail flicks, once, twice, and then a third time. “You ready to get nice and friendly with me, mamma?”

Sallyann comes back into the room, and Zora’s defenses go up again, snarling and snapping at the intrusion.

“Zora. Sit,” I command. She doesn’t sit. Instead, she lunges for the chain-link fence between us, almost knocking me off balance. “SIT!”

She abruptly skitters back from the door and whines. I breathe a little easier because her listening just now, whimpering and hanging her head, means she doesn’t want to disappoint me. It means I’ve already won. I’m the alpha. “Good girl.”

I hold my hand out for the KONG. It isn’t Sallyann who passes it to me; it’s Liv. I know this without looking because she has a way about her that both calms me and sends me reeling all at once.

Zora gives a strange, disgruntled bark, and I can’t tell if it’s because she’s jealous that I’m distracted by Olivia or just desperate to get her jaws around the new chew toy. She whines.

“Oh, you want this, huh?” I show it to her, dangle it by the rope in front of her cage. Her gaze darts between the toy and my face, and once I know I have her undivided attention, I tuck it into my pocket. I’m not teasing or being cruel, but I won’t reward her for bad behavior. She’ll need to work for it.

“Alright, mamma,” I say, using the fence for support as I stand. “I’m coming in there. Try not to chew my face off, okay?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Sallyann asks. “She has to be muzzled before we can touch her bedding and food bowls, and even then she’ll only let Helena in.”

“She don’t need no muzzle; she just needs an alpha to follow.” I slide the lock back and she growls. When I push open the door a fraction, she snarls at me, baring wickedly sharp teeth. “Hey, that’s enough.”

Zora backs up several paces, and I step across the threshold of her kennel. This dog could bring me down easily. I know this, and she knows this, but she doesn’t attempt it, and I don’t try to get close to her. I ease myself down onto the concrete floor.

“Oh God, please don’t chew his face off,” Sallyann says. “It’s far too pretty, and I can’t afford a law suit.”

“Hey Sallyann,” Olivia says. “Why don’t you head on out of the room, and I’ll sit with them a bit? August knows what he’s doing.”

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