“Yes, ma’am.” Each building looks like a tiny house, painted gray with a real shingle roof and air conditioning. The buildings are set up with one dog space on the left side, one dog space on the ride side, and the other side of the room is the caretaker space. A metal enclosure wall separates the kennels from the caretaker space. I open the door for her.
“You don’t have to call me ma’am,” she says, pausing at the open door.
“I can’t help that I was raised right,” I say with a wink.
“You promised no more flirting, and that wink was flirting.”
“You technically haven’t seen Rex yet,” I say, motioning for her to step into the kennel. “Which means I have a few more seconds of flirting opportunity.”
She rolls her eyes.
“You’re seriously the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” I say quickly. I’m messing with her, but it’s the truth, too, which makes an awkward knot form in my stomach. Flirting with her almost feels wrong. She deserves way more than someone like me. “And you’re smart too, which is extra attractive.”
“Are you done yet? Because I’m not going to date you.”
“I don’t plan on asking you on a date.”
Her eyes lift, just a tiny bit of surprise on her otherwise professional expression. I shrug. “I’m what they call a perpetual bachelor. Learned a long time ago that dating isn’t for me.”
She steps into the kennel which fills with the thumping sound of Rex’s tail smacking the wall. She sucks in air through her teeth, stepping backward.
“Hey buddy,” I say, holding out a hand toward the fencing which keeps him separated from us. He sniffs it, tail still wagging. “This is Charlotte, the event planner you nearly knocked over earlier.”
His mouth hangs open happily, like he’s smiling at us.
Charlotte is stiff as a board, hands clenched around her clipboard as if it’s a shield.
“You want to say hi, Rex?” I ask him. “Gib laut.”
He barks once, loud and deep. Charlotte squeaks in fear, stepping backward. I touch her shoulder. “Sorry. That was his command to speak.”
“Warn me next time,” she says, her voice shallow. “That thing is so terrifying.”
I look at the German Shepherd, tail wagging, tongue hanging out of his mouth. He looks as far from terrifying as it gets, but I guess I’m biased. “Sitz.”
He sits, tail still wagging. “Another officer tried adopting him but he was too aggressive, so they were going to euthanize him. My buddy Jace heard about it and stepped in to take him, but Rex doesn’t really get along with other dogs, and Jace has three other dogs. He thought he’d found a good home for him with an older woman who had a lot of land for him to run around on, but she got sick and her family sent him to be euthanized. They said it wasn’t worth the risk of him biting someone.”
Charlotte watches Rex in silence. I continue. “I went to the shelter and took him home, against their wishes. They said he was a lost cause and too aggressive and unadoptable. But he’s aretired hero and he deserves to live out his retirement happy and taken care of. He’s our first foundation resident.”
“He shouldn’t be euthanized,” Charlotte says, frowning. She never takes her eyes off him. “But I can’t see how it’s possible to keep a dog that’s so dangerous.”
“He’s not dangerous. At least, he won’t be. Most people give up too quickly, especially with high energy working dog breeds. He just needs some rehabilitation and the chance to meet his forever human.”
“Do you know how to do that?” she asks, eyeing me for the first time since we walked in here.
I nod. “First, you learn the dog’s triggers and then you learn to work with them, not against them. Rex hates being restrained, which is why he wasn’t on leash when you got here. He does really well if you let him roam around freely, and he obeys commands as you saw when I made him stop from jumping up on you.”
Her lips slide to the side of her mouth, as if she’s finally considering the idea of maybe, possibly, not being terrified of Rex. Hope grows in my chest. In a way, Charlotte is one of the first people to hear my pitch for my nonprofit. I plan to grow this into a huge nationwide foundation that helps save and find homes for retired working dogs everywhere, and I’ll need to get good at convincing future donors that this is a good idea.
“I’ll have Rex adoptable by the gala. That’s kind of my big plan—to have this whole slide deck of photos telling his story as a working dog and how he was saved from euthanasia twice, and then reveal that he’s getting adopted. That’s the mission of this place. Take in retired dogs who have nowhere else to go, get them rehabilitated if needed, and then find them loving homes.”
“Hmm,” she murmurs, still watching Rex. Rex watches me eagerly, hoping for another command. I’ve only had him acouple of weeks and we’ve developed a decent bond. GSDs are pack animals. They want to bond with one human.
“Want to give him a treat?” I ask, keeping my voice low. Doesn’t matter—Rex still hears me. He squeaks out an eager sound, tail wagging faster, hoping to get the aforementioned T-word.
“I don’t know,” she says. “That would involve getting close to his massive teeth. He has a lot of teeth. Why are they all so sharp and pointy? You’re a retired dog now, Rex. No need to look so intimidating.”
I chuckle, reaching into the treat jar on a nearby shelf. I take out a lamb stick, the longest treat we have. “You can put it through the fence for him. His big teeth can’t fit through the fence holes.”
