“I’ll be damned.”
The little black mutt with the scruffy coat stands on the sidewalk, eyeing me warily. I swear, it’s the same dog Evie and I saw the other day. The one she asked me to look out for after I dropped her off at the yoga studio. This time, he’s in front of the daycare instead of the complex where we saw him last time.
I check my rearview again before pulling into the daycare’s driveway and killing the engine. The dog has taken a few steps further into the grass, but when I open the car door, he stops and lowers his head. He doesn’t move as I step out of the car, and our eyes meet over the hood.
“Evie would want me to stop,” I tell him. His ears bob, and he lifts his head just a little. “We saw you the other day. She was worried about you.”
The little guy’s tail is tucked, but at my words, I see it wag just a bit. In spite of everything that’s happened tonight, this makes me smile.
I take two careful steps to the front of the car in the dog’s direction. I watch him tense, but he doesn’t move. Then, slowly, I drop into a squat.
“You look like you’ve had a rough day,” I say, taking in the clots of mud that coat the dog’s chest and forelegs. “Couldn’t have been worse than mine.”
I don’t really know what the hell I’m doing, talking to a dog by the side of the road in the middle of the night, but it feels right. I know without even having to think about it, Evie would approve. So what else is there to do?
“She’d take you in.” I chuckle when I say it, thinking of her sweet, soft heart.Evie, I love you.My throat closes around the chuckle, and my eyes sting. The dog just watches me without judgment. A moment later, my voice comes out raspy. “You wanna come with me? I don’t have much, but it’d be better than this.” I nod to the four lane road where this dog will surely be squashed if he keeps this up.
I pat my knee and hold out an open palm. The dog doesn’t step closer, but I watch him sniff the air, trying to judge my scent.
“I won’t hurt you. I can promise you that.” I pat my knee again and try to make myself look smaller. I tuck my legs under me and sit on my heels. He wags a little more. “Oh, you like that, do ya?” I drop one hand to the ground, damp leaves and grass cool on my palm, and with the other hand I reach toward him.
“Come on, buddy. Come check me out.”
The dog draws his nose from left to right, sniffing hard now. He takes one step. Two steps. His nose is now just inches from my fingers.
“That’s it,” I prompt softly. Then a wet nose brushes my knuckles and a tongue swipes my fingertips. I try to hold as still as I can while the little guy smells me. He’s small. Maybe twenty-five pounds, and even though he’s a mess I can tell with a haircut, he’d be pretty cute.
When I curl my fingers to scratch under his chin, he flinches, springing back just a little.
“Not gonna hurt ya,” I promise, speaking as softly as I can. “Come on, bud.”
And then he steps closer and lets me scratch him. I start under his chin, feeling clods of dried mud, and when I move up under his ear, the dog lets out a gruff sigh.
“Good boy.”
He lets me stroke his head and a moment or two later run a hand down his shoulder. His fur is so matted, I can tell he hasn’t been cared for by human hands in a long, long while.
“We’ll need to get you cleaned up, pup.” Slowly, I rise up to kneeling, still stroking the dog. He’s watching me, but he doesn’t slip from my touch. He isn’t wearing a collar, and I’m not about to pick him up in case he freaks out and tries to eat my face, so if he’s going to come with me, it’ll have to be his choice.
“Want to come home with me?” At my question, the little guy tilts his head, tipping his left ear up in such a cute pose, I grin. “You shouldn’t be out here all by yourself. You need someone to look after you.”
I rise up to my full height, the dog’s gaze following me the whole time. I take two steps toward the car and pat my thigh. As if by magic, the dog takes two steps closer to me. I smother a chuckle and take two more steps, this time angling around the side of the car. More hesitant, the mutt just peers around the front of the car, watching me.
I’ve left the door open so this part would be easy. No noisy movements or scary swinging car parts, but as I creep closer to the open door, I don’t know how I’ll convince the little guy to jump inside.
But in the end, once he sees the open door and the interior light, he doesn’t hesitate. He hops right up, and stands in the middle of the passenger seat like he belongs there.
And maybe he does.
“I’ll be damned,” I say again. I get in the car, pet him, and then start the engine, wanting nothing more in the world than to be able to tell Evie about this.
But that can’t happen. Not now. Not ever.
“Evie, I love you.” The words come out choked. “What am I supposed to do with all of this?”
I glance over at the dog to find him watching me, and then he scratches behind his ear. Then he lifts a leg and—
“Well, hello,” I say, surprised. “You’re not a boy.”
