JC’s ears pricked, goose bumps running along her arms. “Wolf?” Whoa, whoa, whoa.
The shelter director winced, shooting Manny a “you’re blowing this” look. “That’s just office gossip—no proof, only speculation.”
Mr. Alleged Mixed-Breed lifted his lip in a snarl when Manny positioned himself against the cage, planting his broom between his legs.
But Manny wasn’t deterred. He kept right on smiling down at Cujo. “He’s just cranky, shoved into a box like some kind of alien dog no one understands.” He leaned down toward the cage, as though he were going to share a secret. “You’re sorta like E.T., huh, old boy? You just want to go home. Manny sees.” He lifted a finger to his bespectacled eye. “I understand.”
The beast appeared to listen to Manny’s words for a brief moment, before he snapped again.
JC took a deep breath, knowing she was going to state the obvious—knowing this was why he’d been separated from the rest of the available dogs. She found she had to force the words out. “So, death row?”
The shelter director’s mouth tightened, his eyes sad, eyes that had likely seen a lifetime’s worth of euthanasia. “Unfortunately, end of business today.”
Her heart cracked a little while she stood in front of the large metal cage, skeptically eyeing the unkempt monster staring directly back at her with defiance—never blinking, not even a twitch. She estimated he must stand at least six foot when he was on his hind legs. And he stunk. Sweet baby J and a Creamsicle, he was putrid.
And if honesty were allowed to play a part in this—ugly. Wow, he was butt-ass ugly.
He was matted from head to toe, his teeth were crooked and partially hanging out the left side of his mouth, and the tip of one ear was ragged and torn, healed over now but still missing its tip. Thin white scars marred his black muzzle, indicating a battle or two.
“So no interest in him at all?”
The director sighed. “Um, no. He’s not exactly the ‘C’mere, snugglebuns, come sit on my lap’ type. And because we pride ourselves on giving you an honest evaluation before adopting out any of our pets, he’s a bad bet all ’round. Under normal circumstances, he’d be what we call rescue-only, because of his issues. We wouldn’t consider making him available to the public, but…”
“But?”
Dan shrugged his wide shoulders, driving his thumbs under his striped suspenders. “Here’s the score on dogs like this. A rescue is really his only answer at this point. But no amount of social networking today with our rescues has stirred even a little interest in him. I guess I just feel all he needs—”
“He needs a nice lady like you to adopt him,” Manny interjected. “Because Manny—”
“Sees, right? You understand.” JC gave him a conspiratorial grin.
Manny grinned back, winking at the enormous dog. “Yep. Right, pal? You just need some love and a bath—because you smell like a Porta Potty on a hot July day.”
The overgrown, odd-looking beast sent out another low, menacing growl, only this time baring his teeth as if to validate Dan’s original assessment. Or maybe a better word for those things in his mouth was fangs, yellow and jagged. They sure got his point across.
“Manny’s an old softie, Miss Jensen. He hates to see any of our—” Dan shook his head full of silver and white hair. “What I’m mean is, to say this dog needs love is an understatement. They all need love. But that’s certainly underestimating the totality of his needs. Sometimes love isn’t enough. I’m not supposed to make him available to the public. He’s rescue-only because he’s a possible danger.”
Manny slapped Dan on the shoulder with an affectionate thump. “But if a nice lady came along and wanted to take him home, and we found a way to fudge some documents about his alleged demise, who’s to say the cure isn’t love, old buddy?”
“I could lose my job, Manny,” Dan warned beneath his breath, but his warning was uninspired and weak to JC’s ears.
“Yeah,” Manny poked, his white teeth flashing a mischievous smile. “The job. You mean the one you were just talking about retiring from because you’d seen enough cases just like this one?”
Dan cleared his throat, his cheerfully pudgy face forming a frown. “What if he hurts her or someone else?”
“He won’t hurt me.” JC looked up at the two men when the words flew from her mouth. Somehow, she was sure he wouldn’t.
She couldn’t put her finger on what had made today the day she’d stopped at the shelter. She’d hemmed and hawed over it for several weeks since she’d decided to adopt a pet. But today, something from some unknown place said, do this.
She also couldn’t put her finger on what was keeping her glued to his cage. She’d seen the other available dogs on her way in and wanted to take them all home. But this guy? Something about him spoke to her, made her chest tighten until she almost couldn’t breathe from it.
Her original intent was to adopt a cat.
A nice, fuzzy, use-the-litter-box, treat-her-with-haughty-disdain-more-often-than-not cat.
It was the logical choice. Cats took care of themselves. They were aloof enough to only want your attention for as long as they deemed you worthy, and then were off to bigger and better things. They certainly suited her lifestyle better.
But no. She’d homed in on the meanest of the lot in a sea of wiggling, excited balls of fur, all vying for her attention, knowing full well before Dan or Manny had said a word that his chances for adoption were zilch.
At first glance, he was so ferocious looking, she’d almost pressed herself against the cage behind her in fear. He filled up the small space where he was confined, leaving him very little room to stretch out or even turn around, and that alone had shredded her heart.
Space was always at a premium in animal shelters, but he defied your average large-breed dog. In fact, he spit in the face of all large breeds. He needed room to run, or at the very least, someone to take him on long walks.
With caution, she’d let her fingers sneak into the small opening where his snout was pushed against the metal and had been rewarded when he’d sniffed the air with interest. Then he’d come closer, pressing his cold, wet nose against her finger just before Dan had hunted her down.
Oddly, there was no fear. Rather, JC’s heart lurched and a strange sense of tranquility spread over her.
“How’d he end up here at the shelter?” she wondered aloud, running a slow knuckle under the monster’s chin as far as she could reach.
“Animal Control found him, cornered him in an alley and brought him in. I heard that was some fight, trying to get him into the van even after the dart gun. He was darn ornery about it, too.” Dan paused, turning his soft gray gaze to hers. “Listen, if I’m honest, Manny and I are a lot alike. We both love all the animals here, no matter how hopeless they seem at first. I’ve borne witness to more than one miracle since I took this job. I guess I’d like to think with the right home…Well, maybe he can be saved from euthanasia if the right person comes along.”
Today. Right now. That person had to come along right now.
JC’s stomach did a nosedive, her heart turning over in her chest. Euthanasia. Lights out.
Damn.
She didn’t need a dog. She worked long hours, making a cat a much better choice. Yet, when she was home, she came home to nothing. It was becoming lonelier as she got older and realized Mr. Right had managed to get himself lost somewhere between her fantasy and reality. She sucked sweaty balls at picking out men—which she hoped meant her luck choosing a pet had to be better.
Companionship was what she’d come here for, and she’d done her research about adopting, and shelters, and pet rescues. None of her research told her to act on impulse and adopt the worst possible match she could find. Viv had told her to think long and hard before choosing in order to break the cycle of unwanted pets.
But there was no time to think long and hard. He was going to die.
Die.
Dogs were a lot of work. What if
she couldn’t get home in time to walk him? Maybe she could pay Jonah, the kid from the apartment below hers, to walk him?
After Jonah’s mother did a full-on exorcism, of course. Because if Patricia got one look at this creature, she’d break out the rosary before she’d let Jonah anywhere near him.
Walk away now, JC. Find a nice kitten. They were a whole lot less in the way of maintenance. They amused themselves. An even bigger plus, they cleaned themselves. Sometimes they even sat in your lap and snuggled with you.
Dan was right. Cujo definitely wasn’t cut out for lap sitting.
Still, something about this mutt’s eyes, dark and earnest, screamed more laid behind his disdain for the world at large. As though understanding her uncertainty, he nudged her hand lightly as if to tell her to hurry her indecision along.
She cupped his chin through the cage, scratching the underside of his matted jaw. “You’re an ungodly mess, you know. If we do this, not a peep about bath time. Not one. Got that?” JC cocked her head at the piercing gaze he pinned her with. Her heart twisted when he nuzzled her hand again, shifting his stance to press closer to the chain-link cage.
He’d take up more space than she probably had in any one room in her apartment. Not to mention a fortune would be spent on feeding and veterinary care.
He’s also destined to die, JC.
She examined him one last time, wrinkling her nose at his stench. He continued to follow her gaze, stoic, unflinching.
“I know this is going to sound like a line, but I haven’t seen him act like this,” Dan said, cutting into her thoughts. “He’s been snarling and growling at anything that moves since the drugs wore off. No one could even get near enough to feed him properly. As I said earlier, we literally threw the food over to him.”
As if on cue, when Dan moved closer to the cage, she felt the low vibration of Tough Guy’s growl beneath her fingertips.
JC tapped his nose with the tip of her finger. “Stop that right now. If you want a home, you’re going to have to roll light and easy, buddy. Quit with the junkyard dog act and behave.”
Instantly, he backed off, standing down, his eyes still searching hers.
It was that look, the brief glimpse of compliance that cinched the deal. She sighed with resignation. Yep. Her mind was made up.
“So, riddle me this, Smells Like Unwiped Butt—am I looking for a miracle, or are you housetrained?”
Manny slapped Dan on the back with a hearty chuckle. “Winner, winner chicken dinner!”
* * * *
Looking down at her new fur-buddy, JC winced. He proved even bigger out of the confines of the small space at the shelter. When Dan had opened his cage, Cujo had literally spilled out as though he’d been freshly tumble-dried.
His hair was more deeply matted than she’d originally thought, and his breath smelled like a Jersey dump.
Manny and Dan had managed to arrange Cujo’s escape with the other volunteers, and she’d offered a hefty donation to the shelter in gratitude. They’d prepared a festive “Happy Adoption Day” mint-green gift bag for Cujo’s departure, full of all sorts of pamphlets and a six-month supply of heartworm medication.
Grabbing her purse and the leash from the gift bag, JC hooked it to the collar the shelter provided and gave it a tug. To which he responded by planting his overgrown ass firmly on the floor and refusing to budge, his wide paws pressing against the slippery tile.
Manny clucked his tongue, folding his arms over his chest. “You want help?”
JC gripped the leash in her hands and shook her head, standing her ground. “Nope. He has to learn who’s boss.” That would be her.
But Cujo begged to differ. If one could dig deeper into a tiled floor, Cujo did. So well, in fact, he was like trying to move concrete.
She tapped him on the head and gave him a pleading look, and from all the literature she’d read, thoroughly destroyed establishing herself as an alpha pack leader. “Aw c’mon, you brute, I’m going take you home and feed you. I’m saving your life, pal. You’re not going to look this gift horse in the mouth, are you?”
Solemn brown eyes gazed back at her, unblinking.
JC knelt beside him, stroking smelly tufts of fur along his back. “Look, mister, this is freedom. You’re on death row. Need I say more? That means a forever pass over the Rainbow Bridge. So, you have two choices. Move it, or lethal injection. Now don’t make an ass out of me. Let’s get the hell out of here.” She rose and tugged on the leash again, this time with a bit more force.
Nothing.
The pretty blonde receptionist held up a bag of dog cookies from behind her perch at the desk. “Dog treat?” she asked with a smile, handing them to JC. “I give them to my dogs, too. They’re good for him, and he’s been known to find his motivation with the right kind of food.”
“How would you know?” Dan asked.
The receptionist winked. “Because I’m a bad shelter worker, and I totally ignored your orders to remain unattached by tossing him a cookie over the top of his cage, okay? Oh, and I do it all the time. So there,” she said with a laugh, sticking her tongue out at him.
Dan sighed. “You’re all like unruly children.”
“Hey look, ray o’ sunshine, doggie treats.” JC sniffed the interior of the bag, pulling out a bone-shaped treat. Wiggling it under his nose, she tried to entice him.
He staunchly refused, defiantly turning his head.
JC dropped the leash and leaned toward his pointy ear. His position shifted almost as though he were really listening to her, ready and willing to absorb her words. “Okay, bud, I could just leave you here, you know. I mean, we could skip the happy ending where you get the unicorn. Totally up to you. But here’s what my happy ending includes. It’s the one where I take you home, bathe you, feed you, and let you sleep next to me on the floor beside my bed. Sorta like Timmy and Lassie, together at last. Maybe you don’t know the term Rainbow Bridge? But that bridge isn’t here on this plane, sunshine, and that’s where you’re headed. That’s the nice term for where you go when they kill you,” she whisper-yelled.
The mutt’s massive backside miraculously lifted. His long snout nuzzled her hand before he walked toward the glass doors with a slow shuffle. Turning, he looked at her as if to say, “Well?”
She gave Dan and Manny a quick smile of gratitude before following him to the doors, chucking him under the chin. “I like a dog who listens to reason. Now come on, you beast. We need to get you home and get you a bath, but first we need to think of a name for you. How do you feel about ‘Pain in the Ass’?”
Chapter 2
“Okay, champ, it’s bath time, and don’t even think about pulling that act of defiance you pulled back at the shelter. You smell like the bowels of hell. No way you’re sleeping in my bedroom smelling like that. So let’s get all the shitty stuff out of the way now, and then I’ll give you a nice bowl of that kibble with lamb and rice we bought.” JC turned on the taps, adding some of the flea dip that had come so highly recommended from the pet store for good measure.
He arrogantly sniffed at her neck, wedging his big snout between her shoulder and ear.
She wrinkled her nose. “Who labeled you unsociable? You’ve been nothing but my BFF since we left the shelter.”
She’d taken him to the local store where all the in-the-know pet owners went to get the necessary must haves. He’d been unpleasant to say the least, baring his teeth and humming that low growl at everyone who passed by.
Or more specifically, every man who passed by. He was territorial and pushy, and constantly defied her directions.
The cute guy with the poodle didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of getting past Cujo. Thankfully, he’d maintained himself long enough for JC to get a dog bowl and some food. She’d also grabbed a blue doggie toothbrush to clean up his unsightly teeth.
He’d sat rather solemnly in the car on the way home, filling up the entire backseat of her small Prius with his massive body. Occasionally he sni
ffed her ear, making her giggle, but he seemed content to take in his surroundings, watching the scenery fly by the car window.
Each time JC took a peek at him in the rearview mirror, she began to see his potential, and her heart ached at the idea he’d been so close to being euthanized, which only served to endear him to her more.
When they’d reached her apartment, JC had let him go, fully expecting he’d want to check out his new surroundings. As long as he didn’t discover her new carpet with his leg in the air, he was free to explore.
However, he didn’t explore much. In fact, he didn’t leave her side at all. Now in her tiny blue and yellow bathroom, he was literally going to have to be surgically removed from her ass. His massive gray body sat on the bath mat, taking over the small tiled space, his eyes monitoring her every move, waiting, assessing.
JC pointed to the tub of warm water, and his gaze followed her finger. “So here’s the deal. You get in. You under no circumstances move. Not a muscle. We’re a team now. That means you help me, I help you.” Wrapping her arms around his bulky torso, she hauled him into the tub.
He didn’t fight her, but he certainly wasn’t making things breezy. He sat stiff and unblinking as she sprayed him thoroughly with the showerhead, running her hands through his thick coat of hair, loosening mats as she went.
Sitting back on her haunches, JC assessed. Some dogs looked smaller when wet, but not Cujo. He was just as enormous wet as he was dry, the muscles in his back legs bulky and wide, his chest broad and hard. “Okay, so here comes the smelly flea stuff. I have to let it sit on you for fifteen minutes according to the bottle. How about we get to know each other while we wait?”
JC began working up a soapy lather, scrubbing at his dense hair to cover all flea-riddled areas. Satisfied, she sat back on the toilet seat and scratched behind his ears to keep him occupied. He tilted his head, allowing her the best vantage to his happy spot.
“So about you. Where did you come from? I mean, did someone own you at one time, or were you always on the streets? Did you run away from home? Get lost during a family trip? Was someone cruel and abusive to you?” JC’s stomach churned at the notion. Leaning forward, she trapped his muzzle between her hands, searching his chocolate-brown eyes. “That would really piss me off.”
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