Now I’m the one chewing on my lip. I don’t like hurting her but this feels like a bad idea. Plus I’d need to ask my parents and get them on board with having a dog around.
“I don’t know, babe… this is a lot.”
Keanna’s lips press together like she’s holding back tears. “Can we at least go see him tomorrow?”
“Sure,” I say. Because I can’t stand the idea of disappointing her any more in this moment.
Harper wiggles and claps in the backseat of my truck, singing a made up song about her new dog Arko. She’s a happy kid in general, but I have never seen a kid so freaking happy before. We are driving across town to the Alden Brothers K9 facility for our three p.m. appointment to meet Arko. My parents were surprisingly chill about the whole thing. They said we could keep a dog upstairs while we live there until our house is rebuilt. I’ll admit, a small part of me thought they might have said no. Then we wouldn’t be taking on such a huge responsibility during all of this mess.
But they said yes. So here we are.
Alden Brothers K9 is located on what used to be a large farm on the outskirts of town near the county line. A red barn reflects the sunlight in the distance as we drive up the long gravel driveway toward the facility. I almost missed the turn off, thanks to the smallest little hand painted sign on the side of the road, like someone decided to name the business as an afterthought and painted a random scrap of wood they found in the garage.
As we reach the end of the driveway, there’s a white house off to the side and several smaller buildings in front of the red barn.
“Wow, look at that Victorian house,” Keanna says. “It’s gorgeous. Three stories, too! It kind of looks like my parents’ house.”
“Might have been the same architect as your parents’ house,” I say, rolling to a stop next to a couple of trucks parked near the biggest building. “There aren’t many old Victorians out in this part of Texas.”
“I can’t wait to meet my dog,” Harper says. She pops off her car seat buckle as soon as I park the truck. It’s wild how quickly this kid learns to do new things. Seems like just yesterday we had to cradle her in our arms and gently set her little body into the car seat. Now she climbs right on in all by herself. She puts her hands on each of our seats and leans forward. “He’s going to be my best friend!”
“Yes he will!” Keanna says, beaming at her.
We specifically asked for a dog that’s good with children, not one of the dogs used for patrol work that like to bite people. Caleb had said Arko fit the bill perfectly. And now we’re here to find out.
Caleb meets us outside as soon as we get out of the truck. He’s about my age, with brown hair and a love of flannel shirts. At least that’s what he wore the only two times I’ve seen him.
“Hey, guys!” he says, shaking my hand and hugging Keanna. “I’m so glad to have you here today.” He leans forward, hands on his knees as he gets to Harper’s level. “You must be Miss Harper?”
She nods, suddenly shy despite the last twenty minute car ride of singing at the top of her lungs.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he says, standing back up. “Are you ready to go meet K9 Arko?”
“Yes!” My daughter and wife say at the same time.
“Awesome,” Caleb says. “He got a bath yesterday so he’s fresh and clean and ready to meet his new family.”
We follow him into the building, which is a large open room filled with kennels. They’re nice kennels though, made of black fencing that looks indestructible. They’re each about the area of a queen-sized bed, so the dogs have room to walk around and relax in each one. There’s maybe a dozen kennels in here, but only four dogs. Caleb walks us to the first kennel, where a gorgeous German Shepherd sits, tail wagging as he watches us.
“Bleiben,” Caleb tells the dog—whatever that means. He opens the kennel door and Arko sits there patiently waiting for another command. “Here.”
Arko launches out of the kennel, tail wagging happily.
“Zits,” Caleb says. It kind of sounds like “zitz” in the language he’s using. Arko sits.
“This is retired HCSO K9 Arko,” Caleb says, holding out his hand to the dog. “Arko, meet your new family.”
“Can I pet him?” Harper asks. Her hands are clenched into eager fists in front of her chest and she bounces on her toes.
“Yes, ma’am,” Caleb says. “Let’s take him outside first. Get him away from the other dogs so they don’t get jealous.”
He clips a leash onto Arko’s collar and we walk outside. This dog looks so badass. His fur is black with some tan fur around his face, neck, and paws. He’s not like a typical German Shepherd dog; his fur is much darker and his back is straight, not sloped downward. His paws seem huge, too. Bigger than normal dogs.
“Arko was a single purpose scent detection K9, which means he wasn’t used for patrol work. No means bite work or anything aggressive. He’s a happy dog and very friendly with kids and other pets. You guys don’t have any other pets, right?”
“Nope,” I say.
Caleb pats Arko on the side. He watches the dog with admiration, and I know the dogs here are being well taken care of.
