Home Is Where Your Bark Is

Chapter 7

Jake rested his forehead on the steering wheel of the four-year-old Subaru Forester belonging to his downstairs neighbor, Sheila. You couldn’t ask for a better neighbor than one who’d let you borrow her car on a moment’s notice. Even after you’d crashed yours less than twenty-four hours prior. It likely helped that, among other things, he’d been shoveling snow off sidewalks for the past three years whenever maintenance was delayed, and he’d unclogged her kitchen sink twice.

Good relationships with neighbors or not, this morning’s errand wasn’t leaving Jake with much to feel thankful for. He’d driven around to the back of the shelter and reversed into one of the open parking spaces. Perhaps he should’ve pulled in straight instead and not have had to look in the review mirror as he was parking. Then he might not have seen how the dog had begun trembling as soon as they’d pulled in. Had he not noticed this till after he’d gotten out of the car, Jake would’ve had momentum on his side. An object in motion stays in motion.

Less than thirty feet away, a sign over a metal door at the back of the building read “Intakes.” Not a far walk. A minute at most, even with a terrified dog. Then he’d be able to get on with his life.

“It was only for one night, me keeping you.” In the back seat, the dog had begun panting, and Jake was reminded of the stress the poor guy had been in last night after the accident. Even so, this wasn’t his dog. Wasn’t his problem.

You made it your problem when you took him in.

“My lifestyle doesn’t suit dog ownership, which is exactly why I don’t have one,” he said, his tone the no-nonsense one he used in the courtroom the few and far times he had reason for entering one. “Long days at the office. Mandatory travel every couple of months.”

The dog whined and licked his lips nervously. Jake glanced back once more. The dog’s entire body had begun shaking, all the way down to his legs. He was erect, tethered in the middle seat atop a utility blanket Jake had spread out to protect Sheila’s seats.

It seemed like Jake was withholding information not to admit aloud that his law firm had adopted a dog-friendly policy as a perk for getting people back in the office after the pandemic. If he acknowledged that, he’d have to follow it up with how the policy extended only to well-behaved dogs.

“From the sound of it, you’re basically untrainable. You belong in the country, herding a flock of sheep or goats or whatever. You should have instincts for that. Where you don’t belong is in a thousand-square-foot condo where you’d be cooped up all day. Gnawing away at every last piece of my furniture.”

The dog barked once, his high-pitched yip piercing Jake’s ears.

What Jake kept thinking back to was how, early this morning, he’d woken up on the couch and, before discovering the massive crick in his neck from both the accident and sleeping without a pillow all night, he’d spied the dog crowded in the chair next to the couch, asleep on his back, his back legs sticking up over the armrest and his head dangling off the front. As soon as Jake had moved, the dog jerked awake and bounded to his feet, but for those few seconds before that, he’d seemed peaceful and, well, ordinary, like there was no reason he should be labeled untrainable.

A car pulling into the lot caught Jake’s attention. “Lookie here, maybe we can follow someone in. Another dog would get your mind off things, wouldn’t it?”

But it was a lone woman, unaccompanied by a dog. As she passed in front of the Forester, she slowed, eyeing both Jake and the dog behind him with enough scrutiny that Jake turned on the power long enough to roll down his window. “Alice?”

“That’s me. I know you told me your name, but I forgot it. I haven’t, however, forgotten the dog you’re bringing in.”

“Jake. I’m Jake.”

She gave a curt nod. “There a reason you’re sitting in the parking lot looking like you swallowed a fish, Jake?”

At best guess, she was in her late fifties. Judging by the wrinkles along her forehead and mouth and the wear in her shoes, she’d worked hard most of her life. Given how he’d put money on most of it being in careers like the one she had here, he gave her a pass for her directness, but he had no qualms matching it. “You said he’s been returned before? Do you remember why?”

She huffed as she stepped closer to the open window. At first sight of her approach, the dog had begun emitting a low and continuous growl that got louder the closer she came. “That would depend on which time. He’s only been through here twice, but I looked up his chip last night after you called. Counting you now, this will be drop-off number seven for him. The other four were at a shelter in St. Louis.”

The hair on Jake’s forearms stood on end at hearing the number seven spoken in this context after his and Jenna’s conversation last night and how he’d been calling the dog Number Seven most of the morning.

“And I’m guessing most of their reasons boil down to the same thing,” she continued. “People come in and fall for a sharp-looking dog like him—a dog like that looks good in photos and on a leash—but they aren’t thinking about the whole package. He ain’t missing anything upstairs, I’ll say that for him. But he’s got all the energy his breed is supposed to have and some to spare. Doesn’t trust people, neither, which tells me he’s been mistreated somewhere along the line. Runs every chance he gets.”

There it was, reason enough to pass him along to someone else who might be able do better by him. Jake didn’t have time for that kind of mess…or the skill set either. “You’re no kill here, right?”

“We fill up and stop intakes rather than euthanize. The only dogs ever put to sleep here are done so out of medical or behavioral necessity.”

“And what constitutes a behavioral necessity?”

She tucked a lock of silver hair behind her ear, her mouth turning down in a deeper frown. “Aggression toward humans, not toward other dogs.”

In the silence that followed, it was clear she heard the dog’s continuous growling as well as he did. “He’s scared, that’s all.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “You’re an expert on dog behavior then?”

Jake drummed his fingers on the dashboard. He couldn’t believe he was about to say this. “Do you ever foster dogs while they’re up for adoption? Help them get some training in and all.”

“Don’t tell me you’re thinking you can do better.” It came out with a laugh. “’Cuz you can’t. Once he’s through those doors, this one won’t be going anywhere till there’s a landowner wanting to take him on, not after failing with this last family.”

“A landowner? In the middle of Chicago. How often does that happen?” If there was one thing Jake didn’t like, it was being told what he could and couldn’t do. He’d put himself through law school while working full-time despite repeated warnings that it couldn’t be done.

“I won’t lie,” she said. “It might take a while at that.”

“Then let me foster him. He doesn’t belong locked in a kennel. I bet that’s half his problem.”

Alice looked between him and the dog and pinched her bottom lip between her thumb and forefinger. “We love our foster families, but we’re picky with them. A dog like him, you’ll need a minimum of a six-foot fence around your yard and an active support network.”

Jake had neither of these things. As of last night, he no longer even had a girlfriend to help out, and most of his family was back home in Wisconsin.

“You’d need to prove you’re a seasoned trainer, too, or commit to getting him to one regularly.”

Jake frowned. “What I can offer him is a lot better than being stuck in a kennel for God knows how long.” He jutted his thumb toward the dog. “Look how he’s shaking at being back here.”

Alice stared at Jake long and hard. “I work intakes, not fostering. Bethany works with our foster families, and she’s as overprotective as they come. I’m telling you now, you don’t have a chance.”

“Well, hell. That’s not very helpful, is it?”

“I guess that depends on how you look at the glass you’re being handed.”

Jake shook his head.

“My point is you ain’t through those doors yet, are you?”

Jake looked from her to the building, then back. “You mean I can just go?”

“The only thing I can tell you is what I told you yesterday on the phone.” She motioned toward the intake door. “Until the dog is through that door, he’s owned by the family who last paid his adoption fees. If you want to give him a shot, I suggest you work it out with them. In a couple weeks, if you’re still interested in fostering him out for adoption—and you’re still willing to walk that mile with him—give me a call, and I’ll go to bat for you with Bethany to make it official. But not before. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I came in early today for a reason, and right now, I’m not addressing it.”

She turned and headed for the building, her face as stern as it had been the whole conversation, so much so, Jake wondered if he imagined the wink she offered at the last second.

The dog stopped growling as soon as she walked off, but his tremble didn’t abate. Jake sat there, dumbfounded. After a full minute or two had passed, he started the ignition and drove around to the front of the building at a snail’s pace, like maybe this whole thing would unfold differently if he went slow enough.

“What the hell am I doing?” He flipped on his blinker at the entrance and shook his head. He didn’t have a six-foot fence. He didn’t have a fence of any height. Or a yard for that matter.

A glance at the dog’s profile in the rearview mirror showed he was looking back toward the shelter with what was likely an expression of similar confusion.

“Yeah, you have no idea how lucky you are, Number Seven. You were about as close as could be to earning that nickname of yours. By the skin of your teeth.”

Abruptly, the dog pressed forward to the full extent of his seat belt, and for a split second, his cold nose brushed against the back of Jake’s neck before he went back to looking out the window, his shivers subsiding. Jake figured this split-second gesture was likely as much thanks as he’d ever get, and a bit surprisingly, he didn’t mind.