Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
I’m beginning to think the only way I’ll get him off me is to dive into the still-freezing lake—it’s May, so the water’s only been unfrozen for about a month, but better hypothermia than death by turkey spur—when a sound like a blender full of rocks sounds from the grass by my feet.
I glance down to see a giant rat snarling up at Kyle.
Or maybe it’s a very small, very ugly dog.
Or perhaps some unholy union of a rat and a dog with a pink, hairless tail and an overflowing mouthful of teeth that look like enough for at least three dogs, let alone this one tiny beast.
To say I don’t expect much of the new arrival is an understatement. At best, he’s an annoyance I might trip over on my way to the lake. At worst, he’s going to bite my ankle and give me rabies while Kyle is shredding every inch of flesh, he can get his claws on.
But then, something unexpected happens.
Kyle warbles in alarm and flaps his wings anxiously in the air. A beat later, he lands on the grass a few feet away and makes a beeline for Starling, a playground bully rushing to his mother after learning there are bigger, meaner toddlers on the seesaw today.
Rat Dog chases him for a bit, snarling and making that terrible blender sound that makes me suspect he might not be long for this world. Surely, no creature that sounds that much like a utensil-filled garbage disposal can be in good health.
But the beast does an excellent job of scaring Kyle into submission.
The coward leaps into Starling’s open arms and tucks his quivering wattle under her chin, warbling for comfort.
As soon as Kyle’s off the ground, Rat Dog spins and bounds back toward me. I brace myself for an attack, but the unfortunate creature only rolls onto its back by my feet, offering me its speckled pink belly and a toothy grin.
“Aw, Keanu likes you!” Starling says, adding in a softer voice to the still-trembling turkey, “I know, honey. I know the puppy scared you, but it’s your fault. If you hadn’t attacked Barrett, Keanu wouldn’t have had to step in and save the day.”
Rat Dog—Keanu, evidently—blender barks, his tongue flopping out as his bare tail begins to wag.
I crouch down, giving his belly a gentle rub. He’s so tiny that my hand completely covers his speckled undercarriage. “Thanks, Keanu. You’re a good boy.”
“Actually, he’s a terrible boy,” Christian says. “He pees in volunteers’ shoes and snarls at children and barely tolerates the people who feed him. The only reason he’s here for the fundraising flier photograph is because Kane thinks people love an ugly dog.” He glances toward where the other rescues are still kenneled by the lake. “I have no idea how he got out of his crate, but we’d better get him back in it before he scares the kids.”
My brother takes a step our way. Keanu vibrates a metallic warning low in his throat before turning back to me and starting to wag again. He swipes at my hand with his tongue and flashes his toothy grin, as if assuring me that reports of his terribleness have been greatly exaggerated.
And for some reason, I hear myself ask, “Is he up for adoption?”
“Well, yeah, I guess,” Christian says. “Or fostering until we can sort out if he’s really a dog or some kind of genetically mutated possum with anger management issues, but no one will take him. And you shouldn’t either, Barrett. He’s a menace. Even though he hates people, he also hates being left alone. You’ll come home after work to a house filled with shredded toilet paper and tiny demon dog turds everywhere and pee in your expensive shoes and you’ll lose your shit. Trust me, this isn’t the time to grow a heart and start liking animals.”
“He’s always had a heart,” Wren says, giving me hope only to crush it again as she adds, “He’s just not great at listening when it speaks.”
I glance up, holding her gaze for a beat, wondering if Christian and Starling can feel the tension swelling in the air between us.
“Fostering a dog might be just what he needs,” she continues, “to get him in touch with his softer side.”
Just like that, I know I’m going home with Rat Dog tonight. Not only do I feel a strange affection for my tiny, hideously ugly savior, but I also want to prove to Wren that I can get in touch with my softer side. I’ll never possess the easy charm of Drew or Christian or the devil-may-care attitude of my other younger brothers, Wes and Matty, but I can do better. Be better.
For her.
“I’ll foster him,” I announce. “I’ll come fill out the paperwork as soon as you’re done with the fundraising photos.”