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“Excuse me?” I call out to the elderly lady whose name I realize I never got. She looks up from where she was playing on her phone. “What’s this date? And why is this dog chained?” It can’t just be because it has a red sticker. There were three other dogs with red stickers who weren’t muzzled or chained like this one. An odd look flickers across her face, and she looks around the room like we aren’t the only three back here.
“That is the date Nala is set to be euthanized.” She uncrosses her ankles and gets up from the chair, walking our way. There is a sad frown marring her face when she stands next to us, glancing in at the shepherd she just called Nala. “She was a K-9. A drug dog, but her handler was killed on duty, so they sent her to us. Between you and me, she’s actually an incredibly sweet pup.”
My eyes travel back to the muzzled dog, taking her in. The big fluffy tail is wagging back and forth, and she’s sitting at attention, staring at me. Directly at me, with her big brown eyes, like she’s trying to communicate with me. Despite the muzzle, I can see her tongue peeking out in a friendly, adorable way.
“Why is she set to be put down then if she’s so friendly?” I hear Hudson ask the lady. It’s the question I wanted to ask, but I’m too busy staring at Nala, entranced. Her eyes still haven’t left mine either.
This is her.
This is my dog.
I know it just like I know Pack Whitlock is my family. She belongs with us. The way Nala is staring back at me, I think she knows it, too.
I turn toward the woman to hear her answer, sad to break Nala’s gaze.
“Between you and me,” she starts in a low whisper, looking around again, “that sticker was green two weeks ago. But we had the governor come for a visit. A photo op, more than anything.” She rolls her eyes at the notion. “He had some news crews with him, and when he found out Nala was a K9, he thought it’d be a good publicity stunt. So he went to put his hand in there to pet her. But she backed away and growled at him. Fur was up and everything. We told him to step away and maybe try a different dog, but he insisted we open the kennel so he could get his shot. Once we did, she lunged at him and latched onto his arm.”
With a glance at Nala at the lady’s words, I grin. I could be imagining it, but I’d swear Nala has stood even taller like she’s proud of what the lady is saying.
“The governor threw up a big fuss. Demanded the cameras be turned off and the footage erased. He made us switch her sticker to red and put her on the list to be put down.” She looks at my dog with sad eyes.
Yeah, my dog. I’m not leaving here without her.
“And you just did it?” Hudson asks incredulously, eyebrows raised. “When she hasn’t ever been aggressive before?”
The lady must take some offense to this because she glares at my mate. A wave of alpha energy rolls off her, enough that I tuck closer to Hudson when she answers, “We are a government building, state employees, and paid for with taxpayer dollars. We don’t have the kind of say we would if we were privately funded. The governor of the state tells us to do something, we have to do it. You don’t like it? Vote him out of office. But Nala will still be euthanized on Wednesday.”
“I want her,” I say firmly, looking at Hudson to see what he thinks. The smile he gives me back is dazzling. Completely on board.
My words make the lady shuffle her feet and look at us in obvious discomfort. “Oh, well. She isn’t up for adoption anymore.” Clearly afraid of the governor’s wrath. What will the man do, though? What’s the worst he could do? Fire her, maybe. I can’t see that happening.
“Did he specifically tell you nobody was allowed to adopt her?” Hudson asks her, lacing his fingers with mine in a silent request to let him handle it. I do, simply because I might start screaming if she tries to stop me from taking Nala home.
She thinks for a second, looking off in the distance like she’s recalling every word the governor said to her. “No…” The word is slow and drawn out. Unsure.
“Great. So then he should have no objections. I’m sure there were several people here that can attest to the fact he didn’t forbid adoption?” It is framed as a question, but the meaning is clear. He’s giving the lady a line of defense if she gets any backlash. Seeing it for what it is, she nods in agreement.
“Great.” He pulls his fingers from mine to clap his hands together like that settles that. “Let’s get to filling out some paperwork then.” They go to step away, but I stop them.
“Can you unlock the kennel first?” With barely any hesitation now, she steps forward, pulls the keychain from her hip, and fiddles with it before finding the correct key. In seconds, the lock falls away, and they walk off to fill out whatever needs to be filled out.
The kennel door creaks as I pull it open and step in. There is confidence in my steps as I approach Nala, sure of her temperament. “Hey, pretty girl,” I coo at her, kneeling down and scratching her chest and back since the rest of her has some sort of restraint on it. “I’m going to take these off of you. How’s that sound?” Her tail wags aggressively. I doubt she understands my words exactly. It’s more like she’s just happy to have contact again. The muzzle is velcro, easy to take off. Once I do, I rub all over where it touched. Scratching under her mouth, behind her ears, and down her snout, whispering soothing words. “That’s a good girl,” I grin, and she jolts forward to lick a big, slobbery kiss on my cheek. I chuckle, “Aw, thank you.”
Nala tries to jump on my shoulders, but the prong collar and chain attached to the fence stops her. I tsk. “Okay, sit still. I don’t want to hurt you.” I take off the prong collar without pulling on it too hard so it doesn’t pinch her skin. She sits there, completely still, with patience even grown adults don’t have. “Such a good girl.” Throwing the collar on the ground beside her, I stand and decide to test just how well-trained she is. I’d stuffed some treats in my pockets earlier, so I pull those out and say to her, “Stay,” while I walk to the other side of the crate. Nala doesn’t move an inch.
Holding one treat out in front of me so she sees it, I give the next command. “Come.” She does without hesitation.
“Sit.” Her butt touches the concrete floor.
“Shake?” This comes out as a question because I’m starting to get to the end of the commands I know are usually taught to dogs. Her paw comes up and rests in my hand.
“Good girl,” I extend my other hand full of small treats, but she doesn’t take them. “Erm…go ahead,” I say, half a question, half statement, giving her permission since I don’t know why she won’t take them. She drops her paw from my hand, lays down, and looks at me as if to say,I have to finish my tricks first.
Then she barks at me and jumps up to eat the treats. Got it. So lay down and speak, too. She’s a smart puppy. Or, maybe not a puppy. I didn’t get a look at how old she is. I walk to the door of the kennel and check the placard.
Four years old, spayed, police dog.
“I wonder how long you were on the job, pretty girl.” Nala walks right up to my side, so I reach down to pet her behind the ears. “Let’s go see how much longer before we get to take you home, hmm?” My words are said out loud, but I’m not really talking directly to Nala. More voicing my thoughts so she doesn’t feel lonely.
