Chapter Seven
“Ithink you’re really going to like it at our ranch,” I said to Lady on the drive from Aiden’s office/home—where I stole a kiss from a sleepy veterinarian as he relayed Lady’s care instructions—to our ranch. “We have a lot of people in the house, but you like people.”
She woofed lightly, head out the window, ears flopping, slobber blowing in the wind.
“There are also some big animals. Horses, cows, and then smaller animals. My goats. Well, the goats. They’re not mine exactly, but I take care of them.
I do their records. They have really neat records, just like yours will be.
Oh, and chickens. Granny loves the chickens, so don’t chase them or the goats or the horses or the cows. Okay?”
She woofed out the window again. I was so nervous.
My stomach was acidic over this introduction.
Dodge, Ollie, and Dahn had even come out early on a Saturday to meet Lady.
Rumor had it that Dahn was really upset over us getting a dog the moment he moved out, which was a rightful thing to be upset over.
We’d always had dogs when I was a kid. Mom still had one, a bright red Pomeranian named Tilly, that she carried around the house.
Paul teased her about her little dogs, saying they did have legs that worked.
Mom always gave him an eye roll as she toted Tilly upstairs.
So I got how grumpy Dahn was feeling about Lady. Any kid would be mad.
The end of the long drive back to the ranch appeared. Lady’s tail began wagging as soon as she saw the horses out in the paddock. She pulled her head in to look at me.
“No,” I said firmly. She tipped her head, sighed, and then wiggled her head—cone and all—back through the window.
Driving by the recently separated steers got a soft bark from her, but that was all.
It was when we rounded the corner and she spied the boar goats out lounging in the warm fall sun that she got antsy.
Wiggly, excited, and clearly super interested in the smaller livestock.
A few hens and our big rooster trotted out of the way of the truck.
Her gaze remained locked on the goats until she spotted the family waiting on the front porch.
Honestly, it was like the dog was a returning war hero.
I let out an exasperated sigh. They’d been asked not to overwhelm the dog.
All that was missing from this scene was a marching band.
Bella had even made a banner saying WELCOME LADY!
Granny had a Tupperware dish of freshly baked dog treats in her hand.
Lady got crazy excited. It was hard to fasten her check cord and the soft muzzle on her, but after I told her to sit—which she did, though it was a wiggly sit—I opened my door. We both exited at the same time, her darting to the end of her leash then bouncing on her back legs for pets.
“Steady,” I said in a brisk tone. I’d been watching a shepherd dude in Scotland with his herding dogs every night as I painted on my cowboys.
I had a mental list of words. Simple, one-word commands to start with.
She obviously didn’t know what steady meant.
Not wishing her to tear out the stitches, I went to stand beside her, placed my hand on her shoulders, and eased her into a sit.
Tail thrashing, she managed to just keep her backside down as the family all came closer.
As soon as Dahn reached for her, the dog fell to her side and showed him her belly.
And that was it. The family all fussed over her. Lady was in paradise.
“I made her these biscuits out of chicken stock. Can she have one?” Granny asked as Lady was getting a good scratch behind the ears from Lincoln.
“Sure, just let me take the muzzle off.” I led her back a few feet, knelt down, and removed the muzzle.
Lady licked my eyeball. Wiping the spittle off my face as the family laughed, I motioned Granny to come closer.
Aiden had guided me on how to introduce the dog to the ranch.
Gently, with as little noise but as much love as possible.
Lady was eager to try the treat. “Easy.”
She took the tiny biscuit with care. I then took her inside, showing her around the house while letting her have time to sniff things out.
Leading her back downstairs, I walked her into the laundry room, where we’d set up a quiet space for her.
She had a new bed, a big dish of water, and a food dish that would be filled after we ate dinner.
I took her off the check cord. She made a few circles on the dog bed then lay down, obviously tired from the busy morning.
“Someone will always be around,” I assured her as her eyes closed.
With a hearty sigh, she fell asleep quickly.
Though the sound of Dahn racing up the stairs woke her, but only momentarily.
Kneeling at her side, I gave her a soft pet before rising to hang the check cord on the coatrack beside the washer.
Then I eased out of the laundry room. Leaving the door cracked so she could get out if she wished, I turned to find the whole Bastian gang—minus Dahn, who was upstairs using the bathroom—with startled looks.
“She’s so sweet,” Bella whispered.
“You don’t have to whisper,” I told my best friend. “But we should speak softly and try to limit loud noises for a few days until she settles in better.” They all nodded. I looked at Baker. “Thank you for letting her come here. I think she’ll be a good ranch dog.”
“It’s been many years since we had a dog here.
Guess it was time.” Hanley gave him a big smack on the cheek.
Baker gave him a soft nudge, and we sat down for a family lunch.
It took Lady about ten minutes to poke her head out of the laundry room.
“Stay,” I said. She did not stay. She padded out to sniff the air and sat beside Granny.
Who immediately fed her a bite of her chicken salad sandwich.
“What?” Granny said so innocently that butter wouldn’t have melted in her mouth.
“If you feed her from the table, it will only make her beg more. And people food isn’t good for dogs. Aiden gave me several cans of veterinarian-endorsed dog food to feed her as she recuperates.”
“Oh, a bit of crust never hurt no one,” Granny told me. I could see she would be the softest touch in the house. “Back when I was a little girl, my father had a beagle named Frank. Best rabbit dog in the county. We always snuck him bites at the table, and he lived to be eighteen.”
“Did he get fat?”
“Maybe a little,” Granny answered while forking a homemade pickle out of a jar.
“I’ve seen the pictures,” Baker interjected as Dahn dumped half a bag of chips onto his plate. Ollie poured himself some tea while Dodge plucked chips off his son’s plate. “That dog was built like a bolster pillow.”
“That happens when we get older,” Granny stated as she poked at her belly. “After we eat, we should dig out the old pictures from the attic. You all need to know your Bastian ancestors.”
***
Somehow it took until eleven that night to look through the pictures.
Granny had failed to say just how many boxes of pictures there were in the dusty old attic.
Totes overflowing, cardboard boxes packed full, old handmade quilted photo albums packed with images from the late ’30s to about ten years ago.
The matriarch sat in her rocker as she regaled Dahn with stories from the bygone days when you had to take a roll of film to a tiny hut or a local drugstore, drop that roll off, and wait for two weeks to see your pictures.
Dahn was unable to grasp such a thing. I’d have been doubtful too if not for my mother telling me about such things in the dark ages of the ’60s, ’70s, and ’80s. By eleven thirty, we were all in bed.
Lady had been walked for one last potty run and placed in the laundry room with fresh water, a pat on the head, and a marrow bone treat.
At midnight, I was lying awake in my bed, listening to the heartrending sound of a dog softly howling. I had no clue how to handle this predicament, so I called Aiden after I’d read thirty-seven online articles, all telling me different things.
He answered after about ten rings. Maybe I should have called his service, but he had said if I had any questions, to call him at home. So…
“Yeah?” His voice was thick with sleep, sexy, very sexy.
“Hey, it’s me. Me Ford. So Lady is crying in the laundry room, and it’s midnight. I don’t know if I should just let her cry like people say to do with babies or if I should go down and bring her up to my room.”
“Wow, this is…” He chuckled gruffly. “Sorry, I’m still trying to parse. I fell asleep on the couch watching old ER shows, and my neck is not playing nice with me. Give me…ouch, damn, that hurt. Shit. I’m too old for couch sleeping, it seems.”
“I’m sorry for waking you up,” I said softly as if my whispering would erase the fact I’d woken him from some badly needed sleep.
“It’s just…” I paused as a soft, plaintive wail rose from the first floor.
Snores filtered through the walls, so it seemed no one else was hearing the first-floor heartbreaking concerto.
“She’s not stopping. So, do I let her cry herself out? ”
“I’m not sure that’s the recommended way to deal with sleep issues with babies. Some people think it breaks trust between the child and the parent and may even harm the little one’s nervous system.”
“Dang. So what about dogs?” I was already kicking off the covers. “I don’t want her to not trust me or ruin her nervous system.”
“No, hey, just take a breath. I can hear how stressed you are.” I was already out the bedroom door with my phone to my ear. “I’m sure she’s not emotionally scarred. Did she go out before bed?”
“Yes, she pooped and peed.” I rounded the corner at the bottom of the steps, the creaky floorboard grating loudly. Lady stopped crying instantly. “And I didn’t play with her or give her anything to eat. Just a little bone served with praise for doing her duty.”