Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
I laughed. “What do you need me to pick up?”
“Some wine. Red.”
“You hate wine.”
“Well, I’m hankering for some, and I don’t know my way around the wine section of a liquor store.”
“No problem. I’ll pick you up something on the way.”
“See you this afternoon.”
Since I was up early, I figured Etta was right. There were things I would’ve given anything to be able to do over the last three years. Yet now that I could, I hadn’t made any attempt to appreciate the opportunity I had. So I dragged my lazy ass out of my comfy new bed and started my day with a long run through Central Park. Then I went to the animal shelter. I’d had to give my dog up for adoption when Max moved in because she was allergic.
I still felt guilty about it, even though I’d thoroughly vetted the couple who’d adopted him. In hindsight, I should have gotten rid of Max and kept my dog.
***
“Yeah, buddy. I know how you feel.” I stuck my fingers through the cage to pet an odd mix of Basset Hound and…something.
“Sir, please do not put your hands into the cage. Some of the dogs get aggressive when they’re in cages. If you’d like to meet one of our adoptees, just let one of our volunteers in the blue shirts know.”
“Okay. Sorry.”
I slipped my fingers from the cage. Aggressive when you’re locked up, huh? I hear that. Looks like you guys don’t have a gym around to burn it off. No bocce court either.
I continued my walk. There were a shitload of cages, each with an information card hanging from the top.
Polly. Age: Two. Breed: Terrier mix. She hovered in the back of the cage. I said hello and moved on.
Buster. Age: Twelve. Pug/Pekingese mix.
“Hey, buddy,” I said. He looked unimpressed by my greeting.
Snowy. Age: Eight weeks. Staffie mix.
“You’re fucking adorable. Some little girl is going to sucker her dad into bringing you home within days. You don’t need me.”
Snowy lifted her nose into the air like she knew it.
I walked two more rows of cages, looking for my dog. No one jumped out at me, until I hit the last cage on the bottom of the last row. Unlike all the others, there was no information sign hanging from the cage. When I crouched down to look inside, the dirtiest face greeted me. He was lying on a shoe and lifted his chin in the universal bro language that said what’s up.
I reciprocated. “What the hell happened to you, buddy?” I thought there might be a springer spaniel underneath all that matted mud.
I stopped a volunteer as she walked by. “What happened to this guy?”
“He just came in today. That’s what he looks like after the bath. Sad story. He was the pet of an older gentleman who lived alone. He died in the house while he was working on transplanting a bunch of plants, and this little guy couldn’t get anyone to listen to his barks for days. Had no food, so he chewed into a bottle of glue and somehow got himself covered in it and then apparently rolled around in some potter’s dirt, making mud. It’s all caked to his skin and hair now. We didn’t want to bother him too much today, since he just came in. Tomorrow we’ll shave him and try to get the rest out.”
“Can you take him out of the cage for me?”
The woman’s brows drew down. “You want me to put that dirty boy into a visitor pen?”
I smiled. “Why not? I just came back from a run. He might be just as put off by what I look and smell like.”
Me and Mudface headed to one of the small private rooms where people looking to adopt could play with the dogs and get to know them. The volunteer brought the shoe and set it down beside him.
“What’s up with the old shoe?”
“It was his owner’s. He growls if any of us try to take it away. But other than that, he’s really lovable. We think he’s just attached because he misses his owner.”
I crouched down and offered my hand for him to sniff. Mudface took one step and leaned in to smell me. Not wanting to scare him, I thought I’d let him take his time. Only Mudface had other thoughts. After about twenty seconds of sniffing, he pulled his head back and tilted it, studying me. Then he suddenly charged at me, knocking me back on my ass, and began to lick my face.
I laughed. “Jesus, dog. Your breath is almost as bad as you look.” He continued standing on his hind legs, with one paw on each of my shoulders, to keep licking.
“No.” The volunteer who’d brought us in stood and walked over from where she’d been sitting nearby, playing with her phone. She tugged at the dog’s collar. “No, Freckles.”