Chapter 36
“METEOR SHOWER” BY CAVETOWN
The dog’s name sounded vaguely familiar.
I’d never thought of naming a dog after a boring board game.
Maybe it was one of those aggressive doodle mutts that needed major rehab before returning home.
Although I hated the hair maintenance on those things, I liked sitting with them and feeding them treats through the kennel when they needed reassurance.
There were a few notes on its time slot that said it was scheduled for an evaluation.
A rescue dog with aggression issues. Fear reactivity was also a major note Amanda made, making me believe I’d have an anxious handler coming in.
Most of the time, when Amanda needed help with an aggressive dog, she picked one of us to assist to help make the families more comfortable. I guessed today was my lucky day.
My ears perked up some time later when I heard a loud, thunderous barking outside in the parking lot. I’d lost track of time trying to sort through the half-answered questionnaire from Scrabble’s family. I’d failed to realize it was already five minutes to the meeting time.
I jogged to the front door around the counter to see what was going on and felt a wave of confusion wash over me when a striking blue Mustang caught my attention. My eyes shot down the front steps, widening in seconds.
The police dog was here? For aggression? Here?
It didn’t look like a police dog. It didn’t look like any dog I had seen before.
It was fluffy and had a curled tail violently wagging as it snarled.
Its ears flopped around but otherwise stayed half curled over its thick muzzle.
There was a white strip down its broad chest, but other than that, it was entirely shades of copper orange—besides the bright pink on all its gear.
And it was dragging Quinntessa through the gravel.
“Jesus Chr—Ow!” Quinntessa shrieked. “Scrabble, stop it! You?—”
The dog jumped up and flared her muzzle back toward Quinntessa. I quickly yanked a leash off the hook and shoved the door open as she snarled loud enough for me to hear her through the glass doors. I wasn’t going to wait another moment for it to redirect her aggression onto Mustang.
The door jingled as I raced down the ramp so I could get a better grip on the handle of her harness.
“I got her. I got her,” I tried to reassure Quinntessa as she desperately clung on to Scrabble’s harness.
The slip lead slipped around Scrabble’s head before her thrashing grew violent. I stumbled forward, then yanked back with a quick pop to try to break her focus on the spaniel in the yard. Scrabble growled at me, turning and slamming her muzzle into my leg before darting after the other dog again.
I heard Quinntessa gasp and looked down, surprised to see such embarrassment in her eyes. I thought it would be best to pretend I hadn’t seen this football player get her ass handed to her by a fluffy mutt, so I pretended to just realize it was her.
“Sally?” I widened my eyes.
Scrabble took the chance to rush after the other dog as Bruno sniffed at the fence line. I grunted as I was forced forward, regaining my footing in these awful sneakers to pull Scrabble up the ramp.
“Let’s go inside!” I called cheerfully to the dog. “Come on. Good girl!”
Scrabble rushed past me, around my legs, then back toward the dog.
I heard Quinntessa mumble under her breath about Scrabble being a boy, but I didn’t try to respond.
He’d already snapped at my hand twice. I didn’t want her accidentally getting a redirection of his aggression all because he was uncomfortable with his surroundings.
“Eh, eh, eh!” I popped the slip lead again when Scrabble tossed his muzzle at my thigh, his hackles raised as he attempted to back up and get to Quinntessa’s side.
Amanda wasn’t kidding about this aggression. If he wasn’t trying his hardest to wrap up his mother’s legs to hide from me, Scrabble was throwing his body against mine and onto the floor to escape.
We moved inside, and I quickly marked the entrance as closed so no one would come in unexpectedly. Scrabble stayed far from me at first, his head low, sniffing the air in deep, unsure movements. I stepped closer to release the tension on the leash, unclipping his pink leash for Quinntessa.
I handed it to her and offered her a smile. She looked embarrassed, her face red. She had little strands of grass from the freshly mowed lawn, stains on her pants, and gravel indentions on her hands and wrists.
“I knew you had a dog, but I didn’t think you had a dog,” I teased.
My fingers lightly brushed the bridge of her nose. She crossed her eyes in confusion, making me smile at how fucking adorable she was.
Holy fucking shit, this girl was so cute.
“Grass,” I explained shortly, trying to contain the squeal that fought to squeak out of me.
“Oh.” Quinntessa looked down at her shoes. “He’s . . . he’s been doing better. He just gets weird.”
There was a heart shattering tremble to her voice. She looked flustered, maybe even a bit overwhelmed. I waited a moment and let her breathe through her miniature panic from outside, waiting for when she was ready to speak.
“I figured he wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t odd,” I gently broke her silence after a few seconds, hoping she’d understand I wasn’t upset with her inability to walk him in without help.
I looked down when I felt his muzzle brush my knee.
Scrabble calmed down enough to investigate me, but the whites of his eyes continuing to side-eye me were enough to give me a warning.
I was standing close to his mother, and Scrabble very quickly took note of this as he shoved his muzzle into my other leg and pressed a bit harder.
When I glanced down at him, our eyes accidentally met. Scrabble’s chubby muzzle scrunched upward, and he growled low, his tail stiff as a board.
Well, damn. Like mother, like son. He was adorable but might bite me in the eyes with one wrong move.
“He’s—” she tried to excuse his behavior again.
“It’s okay,” I chuckled, looking up and smiling playfully at the nervous girl. “I promise, I’ve been bit by much worse.”
Quinntessa rubbed the back of her neck and looked around the front room.
“Do you work here?” she asked. “I kind of thought you worked at a diner, or a bar…” Her eyes swept over my blue collared polo. “Or a boxing ring.”
Besides fighting sometimes to gain some respect from the boys growing up, I never involved myself in a boxing ring. Never once had I worked at a diner or served drinks at a bar. It was a laughable assumption, but I could see where she was coming from.
“Yes, because I definitely work at Coven’s popular, family-friendly, bar-restaurant hybrid boxing ring.” I smirked over my shoulder and ventured toward the front counter.
Scrabble followed close to his mother’s side, observing me from a distance.
He wasn’t the worst dog I’d met here with issues. Just the other day, I walked across hot coals and burned the bottoms of my feet to a crisp. I could live from a dog bite.
I took a handful of treats from the jar and lowered to my knees. Without making eye contact with Scrabble, I held a treat out and looked up at Quinntessa.
“I volunteer here for my community service hours,” I explained. “It’s the only place I could get time besides the Chronicles, and . . . no one wants to work there.”
There was too much risk working at the Chronicles with how much the mob influenced the paper. There were high dues on that place, much like over in Murdafest before it closed. Coven’s newspaper was all the people of this area got, and with it came my father’s censorship.
“The Chronicles?” Quinntessa’s brows bunched together.
“The Coven Chronicles?” I arched a brow. Surely, she knew the newspaper she was in for multiple weeks just last month.
“Oh…” she mumbled.
Quinntessa zoned out after that. I didn’t want to push her to keep talking. Scrabble was overwhelming, and I doubted she expected to see anyone she knew here. Taking these steps with a dog always had families emotional.
Scrabble leaned forward and took a treat from me, shoving his muzzle against my hand. I gently turned and guided him closer, smirking when he sniffled close to my face and huffed.
I wondered if he remembered me. Sometimes, I still thought about his deep growls echoing off the Dawson home walls.
Judging by the way he was side-eyeing me, he either smelled me on his mother last week or had a distinct memory of me throwing myself out a window to avoid him and sneaking into his mother’s room with a gun.
I hoped he didn’t hold it against me. I wasn’t looking forward to being bitten.
As if he could hear me, Scrabble pushed his muzzle against my face to sniff deeply. I stayed where I was and let him move his head under my hand, munching on the salmon chews. Thankfully, his tail wagged lightly, curling close to his body in fear.
“You’re a cutie,” I cooed. “It’s always the cute ones who get scared the most, huh?”
My eyes stole a fleeting glance up at Quinntessa. Our eyes met, and I snorted at her unimpressed look. She rolled her eyes and looked away from me.
I made a move to stand, but Scrabble nudged my hand, pawing at my wrist again, looking for more food. He moved his body around to guard Quinntessa but investigated my nice smelling clothes, no doubt interested in all the dogs I’d spent time with that day.
“You are so cute,” I whispered, gently scratching his back and under his chest. Every now and then, I would pause and wait for him to fix his curled lip before continuing. “Yes, you are. Oh, such a sweet honey doggie, huh?”