Chapter Nine
Dylan and I continued to stand there, alongside Bess’s kennel.
For a moment we were both silent, simply observing the depressed caged dog. Bess gazed back. My heart went out to her. I understood her depression to a degree. But, unlike Bess, I could distract myself. See my kids. Go shopping. Work. Visit my parents. Ring friends. Attempt clinging to my marriage. In other words, there was plenty to occupy me. But for Bess? Nothing. Four walls. Bars. A walk around the exercise space while her kennel was being cleaned. For her, this place was a prison.
As I continued to watch her, I told myself that it was impossible to even consider rehoming her. Look at the length of that muzzle! It contained hundreds of sharp teeth. Okay, maybe not hundreds. An exaggeration. But certainly, some enormous incisors, the length of which would make Dracula envious.
And then something happened. Bess uncoiled herself. She stood up. Stretched stiffly, then stepped out of her basket. She was still staring at me. Her gaze didn’t waver. Suddenly, the breath caught in my throat.
‘She’s going to check you out,’ Dylan whispered.
‘Oh,’ I murmured.
‘Put your hand through the bars,’ he instructed, sotto voce.
‘I really can’t,’ I protested.
‘Okay, I will,’ he said.
He stuck his hand through the bars. Bess began to approach the cage door but ignored Dylan’s hand. Her eyes remained locked on mine. She paused at the edge of her cell, then gave one wag of the tail. Was I imagining it, or did those eyes hold a glimmer of hope?
I was rooted to the spot. I felt so sorry for her but was too frightened to lean in and touch her. The light in her eyes dimmed. She turned away and headed back to her basket.
‘Bess,’ I croaked. I found myself hunkering down, as Dylan had earlier. The dog turned but didn’t come back over. She looked at me, but her eyes were dull again.
Don’t raise my hopes, she seemed to say.
Cautiously, heart pounding, I tentatively stuck one hand through the bars. Made a fist. If she was going to bite me, better to chomp on that than snap off a finger. I offered my balled-up hand to her. She regarded it, as if considering.
‘I can’t begin to describe how scared I am,’ I muttered to Dylan.
‘You don’t need to anxious,’ he assured. ‘She likes you. I can tell.’
To my delight – and horror – Bess came over. She ignored my hand and instead sat down.
I’m not going to touch you, those eyes seemed to say. Instead, I’m going to wait for YOU to touch me.
Whenever you’re ready,’ said Dylan quietly.
It was now or never. I took a deep breath and reached out. My fingers touched her head. The fur was baby soft. I traced one finger up a huge ear. It felt like velvet. Bess didn’t move. I then held her cheek. Cupped my palm against the side of her face. Then stroked her. Slowly. Carefully. I was all too aware of the proximity of her muzzle, just millimetres from my fingers. Without warning, she opened her mouth. For a split second, I was privy to a long pink tongue. Terror rose up in my throat and I let out a strangled squeak just as Bess licked the inside of my wrist. Once. Then twice.
‘She’s kissing you,’ whispered Dylan.
‘Really?’ I breathed. The terror was receding, although I could feel my heart thudding away under my ribs. However, I no longer felt quite so anxious. In fact, as Bess licked my wrist for a third time, I was aware of a fuzzy sensation in my heart. Love.
‘This is fantastic,’ said a delighted Dylan. ‘Listen, I’m going to find Rachel and ask if I can take Charlie Boy’ – he pointed to the far end of the kennel area – ‘for a walk. Why don’t you ask if you can bring Bess along? We can walk together. And don’t worry’ – Dylan grinned mischievously – ‘if for any reason Bess goes berserk, I will rescue you.’
‘Okay,’ I said nervously.
Taking Bess for a walk was a good idea. I could get to know her a little. And vice versa. Maybe I was being fanciful, but Bess’s eyes seemed to convey that she thought this was a good idea too.