Chapter 2 - The Wrong Dog
For several seconds, I simply stared at Arthur.
Behind us, Willow stood at the front of her kennel.
Her ears were lifted higher than I had seen them since Pip left.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “What do you mean, you took the wrong dog?”
Arthur looked embarrassed.
“Probably exactly what it sounds like.”
“Are you returning Pip?”
“No.”
That answer came immediately.
“Absolutely not.”
“Then I’m confused.”
“So am I.”
He looked through the glass again.
“Could I see her?”
I hesitated.
Shelter rules existed for a reason.
Willow was available for adoption, but she was also emotionally fragile. Arthur had already adopted one animal from us, and I had no idea what he intended.
Still, Willow had recognized him before I had.
That mattered.
“All right,” I said. “But slowly.”
Arthur followed me through the lobby.
Tap.
Pause.
Tap.
His cane echoed down the hallway.
Willow tracked every step.
When we reached Kennel Twelve, Arthur stopped several feet away.
He did not reach toward the glass.
He did not call her.
He simply lowered himself onto the bench opposite the kennel.
The same way he had sat with Pip.
Willow remained standing.
Arthur placed the old puppy blanket on the floor.
She saw it.
Her nose lifted.
Then she walked forward.
One step.
Two.
She pressed her nose to the bottom of the kennel door.
Arthur swallowed hard.
“She does that every time she waits for them?”
“How did you know?”
He looked at the five pieces of kibble.
“Because Pip does something similar.”
I frowned.
“What?”
Arthur rested both hands on top of his cane.
“The first two nights, Pip slept beside my bed. He cried some, but that’s normal. I expected it.”
“Right.”
“Then yesterday morning he started carrying food away from his bowl.”
My eyes went automatically to Willow’s kibble.
“Where did he put it?”
“By the back door.”
Something crawled across my skin.
Arthur continued.
“He’d take a few pieces, place them there, and wait.”
“How many?”
Arthur looked at me.
“I didn’t count.”
I didn’t know whether I was relieved or disappointed.
“Then last night he wouldn’t settle.”
Arthur glanced toward Willow.
“I thought he needed to go outside, so I opened the door. He walked into the yard, sat beside the fence, and started crying.”
Willow’s ears shifted.
“It wasn’t loud,” Arthur said. “That almost made it worse. He’d look toward the road and cry, then look at me.”
I sat beside Arthur.
“What happened next?”
“I brought out the blanket.”
The one lying between us.
“Pip climbed onto it. He sniffed it for a long time.”
Arthur paused.
“Then he started licking one corner.”
Willow suddenly lowered herself.
Her nose was still pointed toward the blanket.
Arthur watched her.
“That’s when I remembered something.”
“What?”
“When Rebecca and I were here, Pip chose me.”
I smiled faintly.
“He did.”
“But I kept thinking about why.”
Arthur looked down.
“I assumed he liked my boot. Or my smell. Or maybe I reminded him of somebody. But last night, I wondered if he chose me because Willow didn’t seem afraid of me.”
I considered that.
It wasn’t impossible.
Young puppies constantly read their mother’s reactions.
“If Willow had panicked when you approached,” I said, “Pip might have responded differently.”
Arthur nodded.
“Exactly.”
His voice softened.
“So maybe I thought Pip chose me all by himself. Maybe Willow chose first.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Willow chose first.
I looked at the dog behind the glass.
One cloudy eye.
One clear eye.
Scarred muzzle.
Gentle, exhausted face.
She had spent her life protecting others.
Maybe even Pip’s adoption had begun with her silent approval.
Arthur leaned forward.
“I barely slept.”
“Why?”
“Because I kept thinking about what I said when I left.”
“Thank you?”
His eyebrows rose.
“You heard that?”
“I did.”
Arthur smiled sadly.
“I was thanking her.”
“I wondered.”
“I knew she understood that I was taking her boy.”
His fingers tightened around the cane.
“And I promised myself I’d take care of him.”
“You have.”
“Yes.”
Arthur looked at Willow.
“But nobody promised to take care of her.”
I stopped breathing for a moment.
He continued before I could speak.
“I checked your website at three this morning.”
My heart began beating faster.
“I saw she was still listed.”
“She is.”
“I read everything.”
“Everything?”
“Medical notes you posted. Blind eye. Startle response. Needs patience. Quiet home recommended.”
I waited.
Arthur took a breath.
“Then I read the part that said she’d do best with someone who understands older dogs.”
I was beginning to understand.
But I didn’t want to assume.
“Arthur…”
He looked directly at me.
“I want to adopt Willow.”
There it was.
Simple.
Quiet.
Completely impossible.
Or maybe not.
“You already have an eleven-week-old puppy.”
“I’m aware.”
“You’re seventy-six.”
“Also aware.”
“Two dogs are a lot of work.”
“Yes.”
“One of them is a puppy. The other has special needs.”
Arthur sighed.
“Hannah, I didn’t come here expecting you to hand me a dog because I showed up dramatically in the rain.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
“Good.”
“I came to ask whether you would consider me.”
Before I could answer, a voice came from behind us.
“Dad?”
Rebecca stood in the hallway.
Her coat was unbuttoned, her hair damp from rain.
Arthur closed his eyes.
“Oh.”
Rebecca walked toward us.
“I woke up and saw your text.”
Arthur said nothing.
“You said, ‘Gone to fix a mistake.’”
“It was concise.”
“It sounded like a farewell note!”
“I put a smiley face at the end.”
“That made it worse.”
She turned to me.
“I’m sorry. Is everything okay?”
I glanced at Arthur.
“You tell her.”
Rebecca narrowed her eyes.
“Tell me what?”
Arthur pointed toward Willow.
“I want to bring her home.”
Rebecca stared at him.
Then at Willow.
Then back at him.
“No.”
The word hit the hallway like a slammed door.
Arthur’s shoulders stiffened.
“Rebecca—”
“No. Absolutely not.”
Willow stepped backward.
Rebecca noticed and immediately lowered her voice.
“I’m sorry.”
She looked through the glass.
“This isn’t about her.”
Arthur’s jaw tightened.
“It sounds very much like it’s about her.”
“It’s about you.”
“I’m fine.”
“You fell in March.”
“I slipped on ice.”
“You forgot to tell me.”
“I knew you’d react exactly like this.”
Rebecca looked at me.
“My father lives alone.”
“Seven minutes from you,” Arthur reminded her.
“Dad.”
“I have a fenced yard.”
“You have arthritis.”
“I have a cane.”
“You are training a puppy!”
“Badly, apparently.”
Rebecca pressed her fingers against her forehead.
“This is emotional. Charlie died six months ago. You were lonely. I understood Pip because you wanted a dog again.”
Arthur’s expression changed at Charlie’s name.
“But two?”
“It isn’t about wanting two.”
“What is it about?”
Arthur looked toward Willow.
“Not leaving her behind.”
Rebecca’s anger disappeared for half a second.
Then fear replaced it.
That was when I understood.
She wasn’t trying to punish him.
She was scared.
“Arthur,” I said carefully, “Rebecca has valid concerns.”
He looked disappointed.
“I know.”
“We’d need another home assessment.”
“I expected that.”
“We’d need to see how Pip and Willow interact now.”
“Yes.”
“And we need to be certain you’re not making this decision because you feel guilty.”
Arthur nodded slowly.
“That’s fair.”
Rebecca crossed her arms.
“And if the answer is no?”
Arthur looked at Willow.
For the first time, he did not answer immediately.
That worried me.
Then Willow moved.
She picked up one piece of kibble.
Carried it to the gap beneath the door.
Dropped it beside the others.
Arthur stared.
Rebecca stared.
I looked down.
There were now six pieces.
I counted twice.
Six.
Willow had always left five.
For five puppies.
Now there were six.
Arthur whispered, “What does that mean?”
I didn’t know.
Maybe nothing.
Maybe everything.
Before I could answer, the shelter phone rang from the front desk.
A volunteer picked it up.
Seconds later, she hurried toward me.
“Hannah?”
Her face had gone pale.
“What?”
“It’s animal control.”
My stomach tightened.
“They found another dog beneath the same collapsed porch where Willow was rescued.”
Arthur turned.
Rebecca uncrossed her arms.
“What kind of dog?” I asked.
The volunteer swallowed.
“A Golden Retriever.”
Behind the glass, Willow suddenly began to tremble.
And for the first time since I had met her, she barked.
One sharp, desperate bark.
May you like
Then another.
As if she knew exactly who had been found.
