Chapter 6
Jett
Something weird is going on with Keanna.
I’m not sure what, but she’s way too cheerful on the phone considering she’s been frequently breaking out into tears ever since our house burned down.
The look on her face makes me feel like I should probably wait until my mom leaves the room to ask her who the hell she was talking to and why the hell she looks so cheerful and yet also uncomfortable. Only it takes my mom forever to leave.
She goes on and on about how great it’ll be having us in her house and that we can stay as long as we want, and she’s happy to watch Harper any time we want to go out on a date, which is kind of funny for her to offer because she already does that.
We already spend a ton of time with our families, and now it’s just going the same except we won’t be going home each night.
Keanna smiles politely, chewing on her thumbnail and making polite conversation with my mom, but I can tell she’s also waiting to get me alone so we can talk about whatever that phone call was.
Time seems to drip on forever. I love my mom—she’s an amazing mom—and because of that, I’m not going to ask her to leave or try to rush her out of here when she’s clearly happy to be here.
But that also means I’m going crazy not knowing what that phone call was about.
Finally, Harper yells out for her grandma from the playroom and Mom smiles. “Duty calls!”
She leaves my office and I turn to Keanna. “What’s going on?”
“Well…” Her bottom lip curls under her teeth. “With all the life-changing things happening around here, we kind of forgot something else that’s also life-changing that we were planning on before the house burned down.”
I can’t for the life of me figure out what that means. “Huh?”
“And…that phone call was about the life-changing thing.”
“Double huh?” I say.
She straightens the stack of business cards on my desk. “During that phone call, I said yes to this life-changing thing that we already agreed to do.”
If she bites her lip any harder it’s going to rip open and bleed all over the floor. “Babe, what is it?”
She takes a deep breath. “Please don’t hate me.”
“Well, it’s impossible to hate you, so don’t worry about that. What’s going on?” I reach out and take her hand in mine, so she stops nervously messing with the business cards. “You can tell me, babe.”
“Don’t be mad.” She squeezes my hand.
“I won’t be mad. What is it?” My voice is calm, but I’m a little freaked out at the possibilities here. I don’t think she could be pregnant…right? I don’t think she accepted a job on the other side of the country, or decided to quit and join a traveling circus.
She looks down at the floor, then slowly back up at me. “K9 Arko.”
“Oh shit.” My voice comes out as a whisper. How could I have forgotten K9 Arko?
Keanna and I met Caleb Alden a few months ago at a summer festival in town.
My parents wanted us to set up a booth and pass out flyers for The Track, advertising its other services like the state-of-the-art gym and daycare on site so that we could pull in more customers who might not ride dirtbikes.
It worked, too, because there aren’t any other gyms in town and the nearest Planet Fitness is forty-five minutes away.
Thanks to those flyers, we got dozens of new monthly subscribers just from that one event.
At that event, we walked around and met other vendors in town, including the brand new company called Alden Brothers K9.
It’s not really a company so much as it’s a place.
It’s a family of all brothers who rescue retired working dogs.
Some of the dogs are from the military, police, fire, and search and rescue dogs that for whatever reason can’t live with their handlers anymore.
Caleb explained to us how working dogs are high energy breeds who can’t just sit around the house like regular pets.
They need exercise and mental stimulation.
And some of them have aggression issues and need to be adopted into homes without other pets, or children.
But some retired working dogs have great temperaments and can be family pets, they just have nowhere to go.
That’s where the Alden brothers come in.
I think it’s a noble thing they’re doing for these dogs, because the dogs are heroes who deserve a good retirement.
Keanna and I have often talked about getting a dog.
She used to want a puppy that she could raise and train, but once she learned about these retired dogs who didn’t have a home to go in retirement, it was all over.
My wife wanted a dog. And not just any dog, a retired working dog.
We kept in touch with Caleb, waiting for them to get a dog who would fit in well with our family situation of having a small child at home.
He called us a couple weeks ago and told us about K9 Arko, a retired police dog whose handler had just been in a devastating car wreck that broke his back and a few other bones.
The handler was close to retirement himself and just didn’t have the capacity to care for the dog anymore, so he asked Alden Brothers K9 if they could help him find a forever home for Arko in retirement. Caleb called us.
I take a slow breath, not wanting to upset her. She wants the dog. I want the dog. But we are kind of homeless right now.
“Maybe we should wait a few weeks?”
Her eyes go wide. “No! We promised to give him a home!”
“Yeah, but we don’t have a home ourselves right now.”
“We have your parents’ place, and we’ll get our house rebuilt soon enough.”
Now I’m the one chewing on my lip. I don’t like hurting her but this feels like a bad idea. Plus I’d need to ask my parents and get them on board with having a dog around.
“I don’t know, babe… this is a lot.”
Keanna’s lips press together like she’s holding back tears. “Can we at least go see him tomorrow?”
“Sure,” I say. Because I can’t stand the idea of disappointing her any more in this moment.
Harper wiggles and claps in the backseat of my truck, singing a made up song about her new dog Arko.
She’s a happy kid in general, but I have never seen a kid so freaking happy before.
We are driving across town to the Alden Brothers K9 facility for our three p.m. appointment to meet Arko.
My parents were surprisingly chill about the whole thing.
They said we could keep a dog upstairs while we live there until our house is rebuilt.
I’ll admit, a small part of me thought they might have said no.
Then we wouldn’t be taking on such a huge responsibility during all of this mess.
But they said yes. So here we are.
Alden Brothers K9 is located on what used to be a large farm on the outskirts of town near the county line.
A red barn reflects the sunlight in the distance as we drive up the long gravel driveway toward the facility.
I almost missed the turn off, thanks to the smallest little hand painted sign on the side of the road, like someone decided to name the business as an afterthought and painted a random scrap of wood they found in the garage.
As we reach the end of the driveway, there’s a white house off to the side and several smaller buildings in front of the red barn.
“Wow, look at that Victorian house,” Keanna says. “It’s gorgeous. Three stories, too! It kind of looks like my parents’ house.”
“Might have been the same architect as your parents’ house,” I say, rolling to a stop next to a couple of trucks parked near the biggest building. “There aren’t many old Victorians out in this part of Texas.”
“I can’t wait to meet my dog,” Harper says.
She pops off her car seat buckle as soon as I park the truck.
It’s wild how quickly this kid learns to do new things.
Seems like just yesterday we had to cradle her in our arms and gently set her little body into the car seat.
Now she climbs right on in all by herself.
She puts her hands on each of our seats and leans forward. “He’s going to be my best friend!”
“Yes he will!” Keanna says, beaming at her.
We specifically asked for a dog that’s good with children, not one of the dogs used for patrol work that like to bite people. Caleb had said Arko fit the bill perfectly. And now we’re here to find out.
Caleb meets us outside as soon as we get out of the truck. He’s about my age, with brown hair and a love of flannel shirts. At least that’s what he wore the only two times I’ve seen him.
“Hey, guys!” he says, shaking my hand and hugging Keanna. “I’m so glad to have you here today.” He leans forward, hands on his knees as he gets to Harper’s level. “You must be Miss Harper?”
She nods, suddenly shy despite the last twenty minute car ride of singing at the top of her lungs.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he says, standing back up. “Are you ready to go meet K9 Arko?”
“Yes!” My daughter and wife say at the same time.
“Awesome,” Caleb says. “He got a bath yesterday so he’s fresh and clean and ready to meet his new family.”
We follow him into the building, which is a large open room filled with kennels.
They’re nice kennels though, made of black fencing that looks indestructible.
They’re each about the area of a queen-sized bed, so the dogs have room to walk around and relax in each one.
There’s maybe a dozen kennels in here, but only four dogs.
Caleb walks us to the first kennel, where a gorgeous German Shepherd sits, tail wagging as he watches us.
“Bleiben,” Caleb tells the dog—whatever that means. He opens the kennel door and Arko sits there patiently waiting for another command. “Here.”
Arko launches out of the kennel, tail wagging happily.
“Zits,” Caleb says. It kind of sounds like “zitz” in the language he’s using. Arko sits.
“This is retired HCSO K9 Arko,” Caleb says, holding out his hand to the dog. “Arko, meet your new family.”
“Can I pet him?” Harper asks. Her hands are clenched into eager fists in front of her chest and she bounces on her toes.
“Yes, ma’am,” Caleb says. “Let’s take him outside first. Get him away from the other dogs so they don’t get jealous.”
He clips a leash onto Arko’s collar and we walk outside.
This dog looks so badass. His fur is black with some tan fur around his face, neck, and paws.
He’s not like a typical German Shepherd dog; his fur is much darker and his back is straight, not sloped downward.
His paws seem huge, too. Bigger than normal dogs.
“Arko was a single purpose scent detection K9, which means he wasn’t used for patrol work. No means bite work or anything aggressive. He’s a happy dog and very friendly with kids and other pets. You guys don’t have any other pets, right?”
“Nope,” I say.
Caleb pats Arko on the side. He watches the dog with admiration, and I know the dogs here are being well taken care of.
“He’ll fit right in,” Caleb says. “He does need structure and routine, though. He eats three times a day—around eight in the morning, again at noon, and then at five. You can have some wiggle room if needed because of your schedules, but it’s very important to feed him three times, maybe even four times.
Don’t do big meals at once, just several smaller meals. ”
“Why is that?” Keanna asks.
“It’s a way to prevent gastric torsion, where the dog’s stomach fills with air and twists. It’s also called bloat. This is often a fatal condition.”
Keanna gasps. “I’ve heard about that. It sounds awful.”
“It is.” Caleb reaches down and gives Arko a hearty pat on the side.
“I’ve spent a lot of time with vets and there’s no super definitive answer here.
They don’t know one hundred percent what causes bloat, but they suspect it’s from large meals and too much food on the stomach at once.
So we do smaller meals throughout the day instead of one or two big meals.
Also keep him calm for an hour before and after he eats.
No running around and chasing the ball after a meal. ”
“Sounds good,” Keanna says. “We’ll do whatever it takes to keep him safe.”
“Absolutely,” I echo my wife’s words. I’ve heard about bloat before. It’s a condition that mostly happens to big dogs. It’s terrifying.
We’ve walked a little ways from the building with Caleb holding the leash. He stops, unlatching the leash. Arko watches him intently for another command. It’s clear this is the kind of dog who won’t run off and disobey.
“Here’s your new family,” Caleb says. “Ready to say hi?”
Arko walks up to each of us. His tail wags as he smells my hands, and my feet, then moves to Keanna and smells her hands and feet.
Then, carefully as if he’s aware that she’s a tiny human, he approaches Harper.
He smells her feet, and then her hands. He’s almost as tall as she is, and when his massive head gets close to hers, fear tingles in my chest. This dog is huge and could hurt her.
But instead, he licks her cheek. She bursts into giggles, petting the top of his head. “I love you, Arko!”
Okay—welp. It’s all over for me, too. All the reservations and objections I had to this meeting today are gone, licked off with one swipe off Arko’s tongue across Harper’s cheek.
We’re taking this dog home, even if we don’t quite have our own home. He’s part of the family now.
We’ll just have to figure it out.