Page 53 of Stone
Juliana shook her head. “We have food left on our plates. Let him finish what he has, then see if we can coax him to us.”
“Him?” he asked.
She wiggled an eyebrow and laughed. The pup raised his head. “When he squatted down, I saw some very male parts between his legs. He definitely hasn’t been fixed.”
The dog studied them. He had a blockish head, appeared to be about thirty-five pounds, and had huge feet. His coloring reminded Stone of a Doberman, but his coat was much longer, like that of a retriever, and his ears stood up.
“The size of his feet makes me think he’s young, but he’s big,” he said.
“He is,” she agreed. “Both young and big. I can’t tell what breed he is, maybe a mix of rottweiler and golden retriever?”
That would explain the size, coloring, and coat. An odd mix, but a damn cute one, even though the poor boy was both filthy and scared.
“You want more food?” Juliana called out as she held a piece of bread in her hand for him to see.
He hesitated, then inched forward. When Juliana remained still, he came forward another few feet.
“He needs to get used to both our voices,” she said. “Call out some encouragements.”
And so he did. He was pretty sure that when the US government invested thousands of dollars in his negotiation skills, they’d not imagined them being used in this type of scenario.
Five minutes later, the puppy crouched on his stomach at the top of the stairs, four feet away from where Stone and Juliana sat. “Slowly toss a piece of salmon to him,” Juliana said.
The dog startled when he moved but didn’t dart away, which Stone took as a good sign. When the salmon landed a foot in front of his snout, he wiggled forward and snatched it up.
“That’s a good baby. You’re so hungry, aren’t you?” Juliana said. “Come have this piece of bread and let me give you a little pet. We can see how that goes,” she continued. Slowly,she coaxed the dog forward until, finally, it took the bread from her hand as she reached out with the other and set it between the dog’s ears. His furry head ducked and he stilled, but when Juliana neither removed her hand nor made any other move to touch him, he went back to the bread. As he ate, Juliana began stroking and petting him.
“Um, do we need to worry about rabies?” he asked. The dog’s ears twitched in his direction, but he remained focused on chewing the heel of the bread.
“Probably, but only if he bites us. I don’t think we have to worry about that, though. I don’t think he’s mean, just scared.”
“Scared people lash out. Dogs might be the same.”
“Oh, they’re definitely the same,” Juliana said. “But this dog wants to trust. He just needs encouragement.”
“How can you tell?” Even as he asked, he saw the answer. With every gnaw on the bread, the puppy moved closer and closer to her. When she scratched behind his ears, he practically sighed. And when she reached down to give his shoulders a good rub, his tail wagged.
“Let’s give him a little more food. We don’t know how long it’s been since he’s eaten, so I don’t want to give him too much, but I want him to see us as providing for him,” she said.
When he finished the bread, Stone held out another piece of salmon. Only this time, rather than tossing it, he held it in his hand. To his shock, the puppy didn’t hesitate before scrambling over and taking it gently from his fingers. As he licked his lips, Stone reached out and pet him in the same way Juliana had. A beat later, the puppy flopped onto his side at Stone’s feet, his tail thumping against the wood.
“We should keep talking to him and not make any sudden moves, but I think he’s decided to trust us,” Juliana said, smiling as he rubbed the tangled fur on the dog’s belly.
Dark brown eyes watched him, a hint of wariness lurking there even as his tail swished across the deck.
With his hand still buried in fur in desperate need of a cleaning, Stone looked at Juliana. “I guess the next big question is what do we name him?”
26
The following morning did not go as planned, but Juliana was hard-pressed to care. Rather than meeting Monk, Philly, and Viper at the clubhouse, she and Simon tended to Sherman—their new dog.
First thing in the morning, Simon made a run to the store and picked up essentials—food, bowls, a collar, a leash, a bed, a brush, and flea shampoo. They hadn’t seen any signs of the vermin, but they didn’t want to take any chances. Sherman—named after the size of the tank, not the commander—hadn’t minded sleeping on the bed of blankets in the laundry room, but she suspected he’d prefer to be near them, and they wanted to ensure he was flea-free before they allowed that.
After a messy bath and an even more chaotic combing session, she’d made an appointment with the local vet to scan him for a chip. Both she and Simon believed he’d been dumped, not lost, but if they were wrong, and a family was looking for him, they couldn’t in all good conscience keep him. And if he wasn’t chipped, he’d need a full health workup and likely some vaccines.
They treated him as they had the day before, feeding him treats and talking to him. They also loved up on him. A lot. And when it came time for their appointment, he followed them to Simon’s truck, then into the clinic, where the doctor confirmed he had no chip. After performing a basic exam, she declared him likely a mix of rottweiler and retriever and placed him at about six months old. Other than being a little malnourished, he was otherwise healthy.
By the time they walked into the clubhouse at close to three in the afternoon, Sherman trotted happily alongside them, sporting his new leash and collar. They hadn’t been sure whether to bring him to a new location so soon after officially deciding to call him their own. But he’d given them the sad Yoda eyes when they’d tried to leave, and they’d been suckered.
