Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
The disappointment was instantaneous and absolutely ludicrous.
“Absolutely,” I agreed, even if some part of me was wondering if the best decision I could make was grabbing his hand, and telling him to take me back to his place, and the two of us getting lost in each other for a few hours.
But since that was insane, we moved into the lobby of the pound, speaking to the woman behind the counter, and filling out the adoption paperwork, so things would go quickly if I found my new furry friend while doing a walk-through.
“Try not to be too sad,” Wells said as we walked through a row of pens. Sure, they each had beds and even a toy or two, but it was so sparse and cold. “This is a no-kill shelter. Everyone here will find a home eventually.”
That did make me feel a little better as I passed by small dogs and puppies who were cute as buttons, but wouldn’t work for protection purposes.
“‘Wary of male strangers,’” Wells read on the little laminated sheet on the dog’s run.
“You and me both,” I said, turning away from a cute, but small, pitty mix to see what kind of dog he was looking at.
There, sitting on her bed with a stuffed chicken toy resting between her feet, was some sort of shepherd mix. But big. Way bigger than the typical German Shepherd.
“What else does it say?” I asked.
“They think she’s a German Shepherd and Anatolian Shepherd mix.”
“Is that a good thing?” I asked, noting her lighter coloring and darling little curled upward tail.
“Both breeds are great guardian dogs. Germans are easier to train. Anatolians are more stubborn. But that doesn’t mean difficult necessarily, just that they have good instincts and want to follow them.”
“How old is she?” I asked.
“She’s three. And she’s been here one-hundred-and-fifteen days,” he said.
My heart clutched at that. It was way longer than all the other dogs I’d passed by so far.
“People see the word ‘wary,’ and think it’s a synonym for ‘bad,’” Wells said. “I would say my dog is wary as well. Though he’s ancient now, so he’s really gotta think something is wrong to drag himself up off his bed. What do you think?” he asked as she climbed off the bed, feigning complete disinterest as she did a deep stretch, but kept her curious gaze on us.
“I think I’d like to see her in the playroom,” I said.
“I’ll go get someone,” he said, but even as he was turning to do so, one of the shelter workers moved down the row.
“Taking an interest in Matilda?” she asked, giving us a big smile. “I will warn you that we do think she would benefit from a more experienced handler,” she said as she came up to the cage.
“I used to train police dogs,” Wells said.
“Oh, well then, no need for a lecture from me, then,” she said, beaming as she reached for her keys. “Would you two like to spend some time getting to know her?”
“Definitely,” I said, already half in love with the girl.
“Great. Let me grab her for you,” she said, unlocking the cage, and reaching for the leash hanging between her run and the one next to it. “Come here, pretty girl,” she said, and the dog came happily forward, tail wagging, excited to get some time out of her run.
I watched as she let the woman slip the leash right on, then fell into step with her, leaving us to follow.
“What do you think, Matilda?” she asked when we were in a closed room all together, and Matilda was sniffing me all over. Then, a little more coyly, sniffing Wells too.
Wells moved over to the toy box, finding something stuffed, and handing it to me to use to coax Matilda into play.
“She is a bit of a barker,” the woman warned as she took Matilda off the leash, so she could walk around freely.
“I kind of prefer that,” I admitted, running my hands over her soft coat.
“But she walks on a leash like a dream, and she’s not picky about her food.”
I lowered myself to the ground to be able to pet her better, and she surprised me by turning and licking the heck out of my face.
“Well, it seems like she’s got her mind made up,” the woman said, tone hopeful.
Wells moved over, and while Matilda did seem a little wary at first, she let Wells pet her and even started wagging for him too.
“What do you think?” I asked, petting her with both hands now as she sat down, so she could rapidly tap her leg on the floor. “You’re the expert,” I added as Matilda slowly slid to the floor, showing me her belly, silently begging for more.
“It seems like you two are already head-over,” Wells said. “I like her,” he decided with a nod.