“He’ll fit right in,” Caleb says. “He does need structure and routine, though. He eats three times a day—around eight in the morning, again at noon, and then at five. You can have some wiggle room if needed because of your schedules, but it’s very important to feed him three times, maybe even four times. Don’t do big meals at once, just several smaller meals.”
“Why is that?” Keanna asks.
“It’s a way to prevent gastric torsion, where the dog’s stomach fills with air and twists. It’s also called bloat. This is often a fatal condition.”
Keanna gasps. “I’ve heard about that. It sounds awful.”
“It is.” Caleb reaches down and gives Arko a hearty pat on the side. “I’ve spent a lot of time with vets and there’s no super definitive answer here. They don’t know one hundred percent what causes bloat, but they suspect it’s from large meals and too much food on the stomach at once. So we do smaller meals throughout the day instead of one or two big meals. Also keep him calm for an hour before and after he eats. No running around and chasing the ball after a meal.”
“Sounds good,” Keanna says. “We’ll do whatever it takes to keep him safe.”
“Absolutely,” I echo my wife’s words. I’ve heard about bloat before. It’s a condition that mostly happens to big dogs. It’s terrifying.
We’ve walked a little ways from the building with Caleb holding the leash. He stops, unlatching the leash. Arko watches him intently for another command. It’s clear this is the kind of dog who won’t run off and disobey.
“Here’s your new family,” Caleb says. “Ready to say hi?”
Arko walks up to each of us. His tail wags as he smells my hands, and my feet, then moves to Keanna and smells her hands and feet. Then, carefully as if he’s aware that she’s a tiny human, he approaches Harper. He smells her feet, and then her hands. He’s almost as tall as she is, and when his massive head gets close to hers, fear tingles in my chest. This dog is huge and could hurt her.
But instead, he licks her cheek. She bursts into giggles, petting the top of his head. “I love you, Arko!”
Okay—welp. It’s all over for me, too. All the reservations and objections I had to this meeting today are gone, licked off with one swipe off Arko’s tongue across Harper’s cheek.
We’re taking this dog home, even if we don’t quite have our own home. He’s part of the family now.
We’ll just have to figure it out.
Chapter 7
Keanna
This dog is gorgeous. I didn’t know dogs could be so beautiful and majestic, and…intimidating. He’s huge! Caleb says he’s a sable German Shepherd Dog, and sable is the type of coloring on his fur. He’s so much bigger than typical German Shepherds I’ve seen before. Caleb says he’s the Czech line GSD, which was bred for war with bigger bones and a straight back. But luckily for us, he may have been bred for war, but Arko is a little cuddle bug.
He never had “bite” training like some police dogs do. All he did was search for explosive odors, and Caleb gives us a list of his incredible career accomplishments. Because Arko worked in Houston, where a lot of famous people tend to travel, he got to work with the US Secret Service to protect the President and Vice President of two administrations, mayors, foreign dignitaries, and he even worked the Super Bowl and Chevron Marathon. How freaking cool is that?
I take notes on my phone as Caleb tells us all about him. His feeding schedule, his favorite type of ball (the glow in the dark kind), and how he needs a lot of exercise each day. Harper listens intently, like she’s memorizing everything the grownups are talking about. Weeks ago, when we started tossing around the idea of getting a dog, Jett and I talked to her about the importance of caring for a living creature and how it’s a big responsibility. I can see now that those talks paid off.
Caleb kneels down to Harper’s level. “Would you like to try some behavior commands with him?”
She nods, still too shy to talk to this stranger just yet. He hands the leash to her while Arko stands, panting happily, his head nearly as tall as she is.
“Arko speaks German,” Caleb tells her. His voice softens when he speaks to her. He’s really good with kids. I wonder if he has any of his own, even though I don’t see a wedding ring. He’s pretty good-looking, too. Instantly, my mind starts running through all the single women I know, wondering if I could set him up with someone.
“He speaks?” Harper says, eyes wide.
We all laugh.
“No, sorry.” Caleb grins. “I guess what I should have said is that Arko understands German. So the word for sit in German is zitz,” he says.
“Zitz,” Harper says. Arko doesn’t do anything, but she’s looking at Caleb when she says it.
“Perfect! Now look at Arko and when he’s watching you back, tell him to sit.”
“Arko,” she says. The big dog turns to her, tail wagging. “Zitz!”
He sits. She squeals in delight.
“Amazing,” Caleb says, giving her a high five. “You’re going to be a great little sister to Arko.”
