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One in particular.
Pig the pit bull. The name suits. The dog has a porkish build, and when she pants she snorts in through her nose. A very snout-like nose.
The bumbling dog adores Luna, fetching for her, sitting for her, begging for belly scratches from her.
“Here, Pig! Look, I’ve got a nice squeaky tennis ball!” I wave the neon yellow toy in the air, trying to attract the pit bull’s attention and give Luna a break.
The dog barely spares a glance over her shoulder before going back to staring at Luna, stubby tail wagging in hopeful supplication.
I can easily see how the woman would inspire such devotion.
Luna grins my way. “Pig likes me more than you.”
“I know when I’m beat,” I agree, strolling across the fenced area to join them.
The dog plops down in the dirt, then starts rolling around as if grass is as the best back scratcher in the world.
“She’s a sweet girl.” Luna grins down at the silly puppy. “Hopefully, she gets to go home with someone soon.”
“You should adopt her,” I say, not thinking much about the statement other than the words feel right.
Luna jerks her head back, blinking up at me in surprise.
“Me?” she scoffs. “No way. I couldn’t.”
That’s a bummer for Pig. “Your place doesn’t allow dogs?”
“I own my house.” Luna doesn’t meet my eyes anymore, instead gazing the way of the shelter.
“Are you allergic?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Then why not?” I ask carefully, wondering if I’m treading on sensitive ground.
Luna shakes her head, attention landing anywhere other than Pig and me. “I just wouldn’t make a good owner.” She rockets a squeaky football to the opposite corner of the fence, and Pig scrambles to chase after the neon toy. “I don’t know how to take care of a dog.”
Paige had a similar concern when she first adopted Pumpkin. But animals are resilient and easy to learn. “You’re doing a pretty good job right now. I bet Dash could give you tips.”
Luna keeps shaking her head. “I work too much. And I—” She laughs to herself, but not as if her thoughts are funny. “I’m just not good at taking care of things.”
That’s an oddly cryptic statement that I have to use all my willpower to keep from digging into. The problem is, I have this nagging longing to know Luna. Every detail under her hard exterior.
Why can’t she take care of things?
What issues keep her separate from her family?
But more than that, I want to know the everyday things.
What is her morning routine like?
What snack does she have to have in the house at all times?
How did she get into her line of work?
What would she look like lying beside me in a bed?
The dog comes barreling toward us, sliding to a halt just an inch from Luna’s shins. Pig offers the squeaky toy as if in tribute to the woman she only wants to see happy.
