LoveMeLoveMyDog

by Ava Summers

  Love Me,

  Love My Dog

  A short romance story

  by Ava Summers

  Copyright 2014 by Shining Sun Publishing.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental. Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

  Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book, or telling your friends about it, to help spread the word.

  Chapter 1

  John entered the room.

  “Hello, Anne. I expected to find you here.” He walked toward her in his usual confident manner and…

  “Damn it!” Samantha muttered. It was her second try at writing the final scene of her new romance novel. It seemed she wouldn’t be able to finish it on time.

  She started pacing around her writing room. There had to be something to help her get back into the groove.

  Samantha rose up from the chair and walked into the kitchen to drink some water. The water rarely helped, but it didn’t hurt to try. Besides, sitting in front of her laptop in front of an empty screen always made her thirsty. When you can’t squeeze any words out of yourself, every reason is good enough to leave your work.

  She poured water from a glass pitcher into a coffee mug and gulped it down. The silence in the house was overpowering. Back in L.A., there was always some kind of noise. Here, everything was quiet and sleepy. Too quiet.

  It was the loneliness. That’s why she couldn’t write. The house was too quiet and empty. She just sat there all day long with little else to do. Something or someone to occupy her mind would help her write. Perhaps it was time to break out of her shell and make some friends in the town. Socializing had always been a struggle for her.

  She looked out the window. An older woman walked her beagle down the street. The dog trotted right beside her with a happy expression on its face.

  What if she made a different type of a friend? Samantha rushed back to her writing room. It was a bare-bones yellow-painted space with a single cheap folding brown desk in the back of the room and her laptop on top of it. She was far from living like a monk, but her writing room had to be minimalistic.

  She sat at the desk and typed into the search engine, “Animal shelter Maple Hills.” There was an animal shelter in the town. Samantha exhaled a long breath and clicked on the first result.

  Pictures of dogs, cats, and rabbits appeared on her screen. The next cuter than the last, they all begged with their eyes to take them home and give them love they hadn’t had the opportunity to experience.

  The pictures of puppies and kittens from animal shelters always broke her heart. This time, Samantha wouldn’t just look at the pictures. She was going to adopt a puppy. Robert wasn’t around to tell her how much dogs stink. It was at least one perk of her divorce.

  She noted down the address of the shelter and checked it on Google Maps. The shelter was at the end of the town, close to the horse riding school.

  Samantha put on her white sneakers and grabbed the car keys lying on top of the granite countertop in the kitchen. She stomped out of her house and hopped into her car.

  Chapter 2

  The animal shelter in Maple Hills was an unconventional place.

  The owners of the shelter, James and Melinda Brooke, had a true passion for their job.

  The area that belonged to the shelter looked more like a residential home than an animal rescue. The office, a one-room building with stocked shelves of animal food, looked like a wooden cabin in the middle of Alaska. The small office building was surrounded by several tiny houses hosting the animals.

  “We opened the shelter to give them a second chance, but not at the expense of making them feel like hell when waiting for a new owner. Hence the houses,” Melinda said to Samantha when Samantha introduced herself to the couple and asked them why there were no cages.

  Now Melinda was gone to tend to the rabbits, while James gave Samantha a tour of the shelter.

  “Let’s go this way,” he said. James was a lanky 50-something brunet with gray strands of hair. He wore a white wool jumper, faded jeans and a pair of leather work gloves.

  James led Samantha to a tiny wooden building across the office. They entered a spacious room with felt dog furniture. A pack of puppies slept at the back of the room in a brown-colored plush dog bed. The room smelled of hay that covered the floor.

  “Here we have five beagle puppies from Jake Miller. If you’re looking for a faithful companion, a beagle will be the right choice. Don’t expect him to be a guard dog, though. Everyone can win over a beagle with some food.”

  “They’re too cute.” Samantha squatted near the puppies to pet them. One of the dogs opened its eyes and licked her hand.

  “I gotta warn you, though. Beagles are easily bored. If you want to adopt one, I hope you can spend a lot of time with it.”

  “I work at home. I have plenty of free time.”

  “Good. We don’t let everyone adopt our dogs. They need proper attention.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  Another puppy woke up and yawned.

  “Would you like to see our other puppies? We have some crossbreeds in another kennel right beside this one.”

  “Yes, please.”

  James led her to a tiny house standing next to the one they had just visited. The room was divided in two by a wooden wall with a door in the middle of it.

  “Samantha, meet Apollo.”

  A cross between a schnauzer and poodle wagged its tail between her legs. It made circles around her and jumped at her legs.

  “What’s up with the door?” Samantha asked. She crouched down to pet the dog.

  “Some dogs don’t like each other. We don’t have enough space to keep every dog in a different house, so we built the wall. We don’t like fences.”

  Samantha liked the couple more and more. Who would have gone to such lengths to make animals feel at home rather than like in a prison? The only animal shelter Samantha visited in her life was the complete opposite of this place.

  She could grow to love this small town. Nobody in L.A. would care that much about stray animals.

  “Let’s see how Prince is doing,” James said. He opened the door in the wall and motioned her to get in.

  Samantha couldn’t name the breed of the dog. It reminded her of a friendly dog of her friend back in L.A. It was small, white and with long hair that covered its eyes.

  Prince was anything but friendly. When he saw them enter the room, he started barking so loudly that she couldn’t hear what James was saying.

  “So young and so moody. We better leave him alone today. Melinda will come later to give him food,” James said. He closed the door to Prince’s room.

  “Let me show you the other dogs. I’d like you to see all of them before you make a decision.”

  James led her to two other houses and showed her even more puppies, all of them as cute as the ones in the other kennels.

  “It was the last one,” James said. He closed the door to the kennel where he showed Samantha a dog that reminded her of a German shepherd, but James explained it was a crossbreed.

  “How am I supposed to pick just one? They’re all so cute it hurts,” Samantha asked.

  “How about you go home and sleep on it? I don’t want you to make a hasty decision,” he said.

  Melinda left the office building and approached them. “Oh, hey, Melinda,” James said.

  Melinda Brooke was a mirror image of James. Tall and skinny, and wearing a similar pair of leather work gloves as James, she appeared like his sister, not his wife.

  “Hey, Melinda, m
aybe you can help me out. How am I supposed to pick just one puppy out of all these sweet dogs?” Samantha asked.

  “You could start with telling us how big of a dog you want. A beagle and a German shepherd won’t be exactly of the same size when they grow.”

  “Frankly speaking, I haven’t thought about it. I have a spacious place. It doesn’t really matter if the dog is big.”

  A loud bark besides the office building interrupted their conversation. Something big was running in their direction.

  “What’s that?” Samantha asked.

  “Oh, it’s Winston. We let him wander outside during the day. He’s too big for his kennel,” James said. “Nobody wants him because everyone wants a puppy. Besides, he frightens people,” Melinda said.

  Before Samantha could ask why Winston frightened people, the biggest dog Samantha had ever seen emerged from behind the office and ran straight across them. She wanted to curl up on the ground and hope it wouldn’t kill her.

  Winston came to a halt a few feet away from her and trotted over to Melinda. Samantha felt as if her heart was going to beat out of her chest.

  If James and Melinda weren’t so tall, Winston, a gray, long-haired dog would probably be half their height. Samantha was five feet four, so when the dog approached her, its grey head was right above her hip bone. His head had to be twice as big as hers.

  “Good boy,” Melinda said and patted his huge head. The dog couldn’t look happier. His brown eyes were so lit up they were almost orange.

  “What breed is that? I have never seen such a big dog.”

  “I saw your frightened face. You thought you would die, didn’t you?” Melinda chuckled.

  “It’s the Irish Wolfhound,” James said. “The tallest dog in the world.”

  “How tall is he?”

  “Thirty five inches, one hundred fifty pounds,” James replied.

  “Oh my God.”

  “The best part is when he stands on his hind legs. He’s easily seven feet tall this way,” Melinda said.

  “How old is he exactly?” Samantha asked. The dog looked at her with an incredulous stare. She avoided eye contact with it in fear she would aggravate it.

  “We don’t know exactly, but he can’t be older than three years. It’s still too old for most people, though,” Melinda replied.

  “Besides, most people who come to us want a family dog, and they judge Winston by his looks. Actually, Irish Wolfhounds are tempered, patient and gentle. But try to tell them about it when they think they’re on the brink of death,” James said.

  “How did he get here?” Samantha asked.

  “One day, when I was tending to the horses in the evening, he appeared out of the blue. Got me thinking it was a rabid wild dog, but then he simply lay on the floor and looked at me as if asking for food,” James said. “So I went to the pantry, got a bone with some meat on it and gave it to him. Been here ever since. He’s the nicest dog ever.”

  Samantha looked at the dog with a mix of fear and admiration. It was scary, yet its eyes were calm, with no hint of aggression.

  The dog sat in front of her and looked at her as if waiting for her to pet it.

  “Okay, okay,” Samantha said. She extended her hand to pet the dog. It opened its mouth and licked her fingers with a tongue that had to be longer than her hand.

  “Yuck. We’ve only met each other and you’re already exchanging your fluids with me?”

  There was something in the dog that drew her to him. Perhaps it was the look in his eyes, confident yet thoughtful. Or maybe it was the way he was treated by people that reminded her of herself. They like them younger, don’t they? Just like Robert and his doll back in California.

  She was surprised she was so afraid of the dog in the beginning. Now that she was petting him, she knew he was anything but aggressive. She had never seen a dog that looked more peaceful than Winston.

  “Gentle when stroked, fierce when provoked. That’s what people say about them,” James said, as if reading her mind.

  Samantha couldn’t imagine Winston angry. He wagged his tail in a circular motion and begged her to keep stroking his back.

  “I want to adopt him. He’s perfect.”

  “Are you sure? Don’t you want to sleep on it?” James asked. He had a startled expression on his face. Samantha guessed people didn’t adopt animals on their first visit.

  “No. I made up my mind.”

  “What do you think, Melinda?” James said.

  “Let the gal take him. I recognize love at first sight when I see it. Even when it starts with a near-death experience.”

  “So be it, then,” he said.

  James led Samantha to the office and asked her to fill out papers stating that she was adopting the dog. When she was done, Melinda came back with Winston on the leash and handed the leash to Samantha.

  “Winston, behave yourself. Don’t make us look bad in Samantha’s eyes,” Melinda said. Samantha noticed a tear forming in Melinda’s eye.

  “Oh, and if you ever need to go see a vet, call Chris Green. He’s been our local veterinarian for quite a few years,” James said. He pulled a white business card from his pocket and handed it to Samantha.

  And just like that, Winston was now her dog.

  Chapter 3

  “Hey buddy, what’s wrong?” Samantha asked. Her Irish Wolfhound lay with a sad look on its face near her work desk.

  Winston has been with her for a few weeks already, and she had never seen him acting so sad.

  When Winston vomited for the second time that morning, Samantha decided to take him to the veterinary clinic. She pulled out from the drawer the business card James handed her a couple weeks ago. She dialed the number, waited for a few rings, and hung up.

  “Well, it won’t hurt us to drive there and at least check the opening hours. Right, Winston?”

  The dog just looked at her with no emotion instead of jumping at her as he always did when they were going somewhere by car.

  “Okay, get up and let’s go, boy.”

  Ten minutes later, Samantha pulled her car in front of a small beige-colored building with a big sign that said, “Maple Hills Veterinary Clinic.”

  She got out the car, opened the door on the passenger’s side and motioned Winston to get out. He jumped out of the car with reluctance. It pained her to see him in such a condition.

  The clinic was open, but the door to the main office was closed. Samantha could hear voices coming from the office, so she sat down in the chair and ordered Winston to lie beside her.

  The waiting room was a small rectangular-shaped room with beige tiles and white walls. The whole place reminded her of a regular doctor’s office, if it wasn’t for the posters of animals on the walls and a bowl of water in the corner of the room.

  “I’d like to check up on her in two days.” Samantha heard a deep male voice right beside the door.

  “Of course. See you on Thursday, then. Thank you, Chris,” a female voice said.

  A short brunette carrying a small ginger cat left the office. She glanced at Winston and left the room in a hurry. A tall thirty-something brunet with short hair and a full beard appeared in the doorstep of the office. He had a kind and warm face. His lively emerald eyes wandered toward Winston.

  “Hello. I’m Chris Green.” He extended his hand.

  “Samantha Anderson.” They shook hands.

  “Samantha and…?”

  “Winston.”

  “How can I help you today?”

  “Winston has been behaving in a strange way recently. He’s just lying in the house and doesn’t want to go out. He didn’t even touch his food today.”

  Winston vomited on the clean tiles as if to confirm what she has just said. “Oh, and it’s the third time he vomited today. I’m sorry for that.”

  “No worries, I’ll clean it later. Let me look at him in the office. Please come inside.” He motioned them to get in.

 
Chris lowered the metal examination table to the floor and guided Winston to stand on it.

  “Please sit down while I check him.” He pulled the lever to raise the table.

  While Chris examined Winston, Samantha took a moment to look at the room.

  A white wooden desk in front of her had a stack of papers on it. She saw a desk calendar with a picture of a St. Bernard, a plain brown organizer, and a couple of pens.

  At her left, behind the examination table, was a white rack with a shelf of neatly stacked small bottles and a box of disposable white gloves Chris pulled on his hands before examining Winston. It was an office of a person who had liked order.

  Samantha looked with concern at Winston standing on the table with his head bowed.

  “Does he have diarrhea?” Chris asked.

  “I’m not sure. When I take him for a walk, I don’t keep him on a leash.”

  “His symptoms indicate it’s food poisoning. Fortunately, it’s nothing serious. I can give him some medicine to ease the pain.”

  “Oh, thank God it’s nothing serious. I was getting worried.”

  “Don’t worry. He probably just ate something spoiled. He should feel much better in just a day or two. Let me write you a prescription.”

  When Chris was busy writing the prescription, Samantha examined his face.

  His greenish-blue eyes were of almost the same color as his scrubs. His short brown beard was neatly trimmed. She didn’t like beards in men, but she had to admit it fitted him.

  Samantha’s eyes slipped down to his wide forearms. They reminded her of the forearms of a tennis player.

  “Please give it to him two times today. If he’s still vomiting tomorrow, give him another one.” Chris raised his head and startled her with sudden strong eye contact.

  When he handed her the prescription, their fingers touched for a second. The gentle pressure sent a small shiver up her spine. Samantha felt something she didn’t expect to feel toward a random stranger a couple minutes after meeting him.

  Samantha looked at the prescription with uncertainty.