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“Do you have a home?” I ask, fully expecting an answer.
He barks back, genius dog that he is, and I can’t help but smile.
Even without further invitation, he continues along beside me until we pass another street and step under an especially bright lamp post. I stop and use the light to bend down and search for a collar. He whirls around in excitement, barking and lapping at my hand as I pat his head. I start to part some of the fur at his throat, expecting to find a collar under the matted mess, but he releases a low warning growl right as I spot a dark angry wound, barely scabbed over. No collar in sight.
“Oh, you’re hurt,” I say, moving my hands away so I don’t irritate his cut.
He licks my palm, as if in apology for the growl, and I stand up, patting my thigh for him to come along. He’s very dutiful, never wandering far, even as we pass through the busy streets with tourists flooding out of restaurants. One especially tall man crosses into my path and the dog jumps in front of me, growling low and menacing.
“It’s okay, c’mon.”
He listens, but not before issuing another growl in the stranger’s direction.
When we arrive home, I tell him to wait on the other side of the gate for me and then pass by Neal. I make it halfway to the house before I realize the dog snuck in after me, looking very proud of himself.
He issues another bark and I shush him. “You’re going to get yourself caught. Now, you need to stay outside. I’ll go in to get you something to eat and something to clean that wound with. It looks close to getting infected, I think.”
I tell him to sit when I reach the kitchen door and he stays standing, tipping his head to the side as if confused. I roll my eyes and slip through the door, closing it quickly behind me just in case he gets the idea to come into the house after me. He barks once and I wince, hoping no one heard it.
Patricia is in the kitchen tidying up.
“Oh, Maren. Barrett called while you were out, a few hours ago.”
I nod, not really caring. “Thanks.”
“Are you hungry? Chef made a light dinner. I could heat something up for you?”
Her kindness feels like too much to bear on a day like today.
“No. Thank you, Patricia. I’m just going to get some water and a snack.”
“All right. Good night,” she says, giving me a warm smile before she grabs a load of dirty dish towels to carry off toward the laundry room.
I wait a beat to be sure she’s gone then start to raid the refrigerator, looking for something a dog could eat. Chef keeps everything perfectly organized, so it isn’t hard to hunt down some sliced chicken and cooked sweet potato mash. I search around desperately for a paper plate and find nothing. In the end, I settle for the most worn-looking pot I can find and scoop a little of the chicken and potatoes into it. Then I add some dish soap and water into a mixing bowl and toss a towel over my shoulder on my way back outside.
The dog isn’t there when I open the door and my heart immediately sinks, but then I see him out on the grass rolling out and having a jolly ol’ time.
“Dog,” I hiss under my breath.
He leaps to his feet and trots back over, and I lead us toward a corner of the house with the fewest windows. I put the pot of food down for him and he immediately goes to town on it. While he’s distracted, I pour a little of the soapy water onto his neck. He doesn’t even notice as I work the towel into the matted hair, carrying away dried blood so I can properly clean the wound. He licks at the pot, trying to get every last morsel of food while I continue my work, and when we’re both done, I sit back on my heels, unsure of what to do now.
“You have to go back home,” I tell him. “You have a home, don’t you?”
He doesn’t look like it, and if he does have owners, they weren’t taking very good care of him. He really is a scruffy little thing. There’s a little chunk missing from the tip of his right ear, and when I reach out to feel his side, his ribs stick out, further proving my suspicions.
“Okay. Fine. You can stay here, but you can’t come inside. I know I’d get in trouble.”
He scratches at his back for a second then turns in a circle a few times and snuggles up in front of my knees.
I pat his head reassuringly. “I doubt I’m supposed to keep you here, but well…I’m a stray too, you know. Maybe we were supposed to find each other.”
