Page 25 of Damascus & The Wildfire
It was true. Zen, a new prospect, trailed us from a respectful distance, far enough away that he couldn’t eavesdrop, but close enough that he could protect us if needed. Sweat streamed down his brow, and for a moment I felt bad making the poor guy jog behind us in his boots.
I stopped as an idea tickled my mind. “What if the club hosted a self-defense class for women?” Hawk pressed against his collar again, and I handed his leash to Eva.
She raised a brow. “Good idea. Not every woman in Houston has bikers shadowing their every move.” She glanced back at Zen with a grin.
“Exactly. And the guys know how to fight. Merrick told me that’s how he used to make money.”
Eva raised a brow but didn’t comment on this revelation. “I bet there would be a lot of interest with the uptick in crime downtown. I’ll run it by Thane tonight when he and Rhetta come over for dinner.”
I smiled as a flicker of hope sparked in my chest.
I couldn’t control the world, but I could do something to help others—and maybe, in the process, ignite strength within myself.
Within hours of submitting my adoption application to the shelter, my phone rang.
“Good afternoon. This is Jolene from the animal shelter. The dog you were interested in just got adopted, but we have another that’s about the same age and size. Would you like to meet him?”
I jolted to attention. “Yeah, of course. I’m definitely interested.”
“He’s a lovely Dutch Shepherd. About nine months old. This breed doesn’t do well in shelters, so we’d like to place him as soon as possible. He doesn’t seem to have any behavioral issues. The owner surrendered him because the new place she’s moving to doesn’t allow dogs.”
“I can be there in about an hour.”
I hung up the phone and rushed to my vehicle with a grin. The idea of not being alone at night, of having a dog to keep the nightmares at bay, eased my anxiety and filled my heart with hope.
After a quick stop at the pet store—where I filled a cart with plush toys, treats, and a soft bed—I pulled into the shelter parking lot. Barking echoed from inside the building, and I could smell the faint scent of industrial cleaner mixed with an undercurrent of wet fur and feces.
The disinterested receptionist barely looked up at me as I walked in. “Are you here to adopt or surrender?”
“Adopt. I just spoke to Jolene.”
“Take a seat. She’ll be out shortly.”
I waited on the edge of a plastic chair, flipping through pamphlets about kennel cough and the importance of crate training.
Finally, the door swung open, and a leggy brindle-coated dog bounded toward me with a wagging tail.
“You must be Kenna,” the petite blonde said. “I’m Jolene, and this is the dog we just got in. We haven’t even named him yet.”
I ran my hands over his thin, wiggling body. He tried to lick me and then nibbled on my arm.
“He’s a big boy. Is he going to grow more?” I asked, laughing as he pawed at my knee.
Jolene chuckled. “He’ll probably fill out a bit more as he matures, but he shouldn’t get much bigger. If he does, you might need to name him Clifford.” She handed me a clipboard. “Once you fill out this paperwork, you can spend a bit of time with him in the yard to make sure he’s a good fit. Then you’re good to take him home.”
As I signed the forms, Jolene explained what to expect with a shelter dog. “The first three days, he’ll need space and time to decompress. During the first three weeks, you’ll want to focus on building a routine and starting basic training. And it could take up to three months for him to trust you and feel fully comfortable in your home.”
I nodded. The responsibility felt daunting but also exhilarating. I’d never had a dog. My mother had insisted that their claws woulddestroy her furniture. And, before moving to Texas, I’d spent too much time at the office to have a pet at home.
On the drive, my dog lay on the back seat like a gentleman. He rested his head on his paws as he watched the world go by and then supervised me as I assembled his crate in the living room. His ears perked up at every sound, but he’d yet to bark. When I handed him a squeaky toy, he took it gently before flopping onto his new bed.
As I watched him, a sense of calm settled over me. For the first time, the house didn’t feel empty. Maybe I wouldn’t be so afraid of the dark anymore.
I snapped a picture of him flopped on his back, paws in the air, inviting belly rubs. I sent it to Eva.
Me:
What should I name him?
