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He lets out a soft chuckle and hands over the leash. “Fair.”
I prod a grumbling Keegan out of the house and we make our way across the park to the address the woman gave me. When we get there, we find a petite, middle-aged woman wearing a hideous grey and pink fuzzy jumper and giant glasses with thick orange frames. If she was in her twenties I’d call her a hipster. As it is, I’m pretty sure she’s just fashion-oblivious.
“Oh, goodness me, look at you,” she coos, crouching down to rub at the mutt’s shaggy fur. “What have you been getting into? You’re filthy.” Then she glances up at me, her smile morphing into a gaping expression of shock. “Oh my days. You’re Tom Whitford!Tom Whitfordfound my dog.”
I decide not to tell her that technically Archie Milligan found her dog. This lady looks like she knows how to gossip.
“Yep. Here you go.” I hand the lead over to her as she gets to her feet.
“But I want to keep him,” Keegan sulks. “I love him.”
“Keegan, you’ve known him for two hours. And he’s not our dog. He belongs to this nice lady.”
“Of course you can keep him,” she says brightly, smiling at Keegan.
I stare at her. “What?”
“Tom Whitford taking my dog? What an honour!”
“But it’syourdog,” I argue. “You do realise I could report you to the RSPCA for abandoning a dog?”
The woman’s eyes widen, her expression aghast. “I’m notabandoninghim. I’m rehoming him. The truth is, we can’t keep him anymore anyway. My husband’s decided he wants to fulfil his dream of cruising around the world. We’ll be gone for almost a year and we can’t take him with us.” She crouches down again to ruffle the dog’s fur. “I’ll be sad to let him go, but it’ll be such a comfort to know he’s being cared for byTom Whitford.”
“Please,Dad,” Keegan begs. “Please, please, please. Look how much he wants to come with us!”
I glance down to see the dog staring at me with hopeful eyes, no doubt eager to get back to his one true love, Archie.
“Dog, I swear to god, if you don’t stop looking at me like that—”
“Actually, his name’s Phillip,” the woman says, springing to her feet.
I blink at her. “Phillip?”
She nods. “Phillip.”
“That’s a fucking ridiculous name for a dog.”
She shrugs. “My husband thought he resembled the late Duke of Edinburgh.”
I glance at the dog again. I’m tempted to ask her if her husband has vision issues but I feel like that would be crossing a line.?
“Dad, come on,” Keegan pleads. “If we don’t take him he could end up with someone mean.”
I give an exasperated shake of my head, but ultimately I’m powerless against Keegan’s insistent begging. If this is something he really wants, something that will make him happy, of course I’m going to give it to him. With a sigh of resignation, I finally relent. “Fine.”
The woman beams. “Wonderful. I’ll go get Phillip’s things!”
And that’s how we end up making our way back to my place with Keegan holding Phillip’s lead while I haul several bags full of food, toys, treats, grooming equipment, and several dog beds, including a fluffy pink indoor kennel.
“Why is it pink?” I ask the woman—Mandy, it turns out her name is—when she bundles everything into my arms.
“Don’t stereotype, Dad,” Keegan chides. “Boys can like pink too.”
I let out a huff of amusement, shaking my head. “I hope your mum’s on board with this, because you’re keeping all this shit at her place.”
“So how did you go?” Archie asks, the moment we step through the front door.
Unsurprisingly, the dog manages to break free of Keegan’s hold and rush straight for Archie, once again sticking his head right in Archie’s?crotch.
