Chapter 3
RANGER
I stare at Julian for way longer than can be considered polite, but I’m speechless.
When Lucky told me about this Pups for Patriots program, I thought I’d be getting a well-behaved dog who would keep me company.
A buddy, someone to force me to keep going because he’d be dependent on me.
But that would be it. A dog. But what Julian describes takes it to a whole new level.
It’s hard for me to believe it could be true, but if it is…
I clear my throat. “And vets are saying this helps them?”
Julian nods enthusiastically. When he smiles, his whole face lights up as if the sun comes through.
“I’m happy to provide you with a contact number from a veteran who has benefitted from our program.
We’ve helped hundreds of veterans find their perfect dog, and all their lives have been better for it. ”
“How do you decide which dog would work for someone?”
“That’s what this intake interview is for.
My goal is to get to know you a little and learn about your day-to-day life so I can assess which dog would be the best fit for you.
Like I said, I’ve trained five dogs, so those would have first dibs on you, but if I feel none of them match, I have more options from other trainers. ”
First dibs on me? As if the dog chooses me instead of the other way around. It’s a strange thought that’s scary and comforting at the same time.
“Can you tell me what a typical day looks like for you?” Julian asks.
I sigh. “I get up at oh-six-hundred. Years of being in the Army have programmed my body for that.”
“What did you do in the Army?”
“I’m an Army Ranger. I was an Army Ranger,” I correct myself. It stings to speak of my life’s passion in the past tense, but I’ve accepted that that part of my life is over.
“Okay. And what do you do during the day? Do you have a job outside of the home?”
I shake my head. “No. I start with yoga… It supposedly helps. Then breakfast and then I work on whatever I can muster the energy for. The garden, renovating the house, endless rounds of bureaucracy and paperwork with the VA. Sometimes, I take a nap in the afternoon.”
Lately, it’s been my routine most days because for some reason, my nightmares aren’t as bad during the day as they are at night. I rarely sleep more than two, three hours, so by the time lunch rolls around, I’m exhausted, and after eating something, I fall asleep on the couch.
“I try to do more.” Can I sound any more like a total bum who idles the day away?
Not that I should care what Julian thinks of me, but he seems so put together and professional, and I’m two steps away from being the epitome of a sad fuck.
God knows I already look the part. “But my energy has been…unreliable.”
He holds up a hand. “Please don’t feel like you have to defend yourself.
There’s no judgment from me. But knowing where your energy level is at helps me choose the best dog for you.
For example, Calzone, one of the dogs available, is a high-energy dog who loves to play and go for walks.
He wouldn’t be a good fit for you, whereas I’ve got some more mellow pups that would suit you much better. ”
“What you’re looking for is a retired Greyhound dog. One of those dogs that wants to do nothing but sleep on the couch all day. That’s about my energy level,” I say dryly.
Julian smiles, and I look away. He’s cute, and it makes me painfully aware that I’m the mayor of Loserville.
Pathetic doesn’t even cut it, and yet as fast as that thought pops up, I realize just as quickly that as much as I regret it, I lack the capability to do something about it.
Not that I’m interested in being attractive or anything like that.
I had my chance at love, and I fucking ruined it.
“From what you tell me, it does sound like you can keep a daily schedule of some kind. That’s important because your dog will depend on you to feed and walk him…
or let him outside. Which reminds me. Your garden isn’t fenced in.
Would you be willing to put a fence up so he or she would be able to play outside?
And I mean a real fence, not an electric one. They’re not suitable for—”
“Absolutely not.” Julian stares at me, eyes wide, mouth agape. “An electric fence, I mean. I know some people swear by them, but I hate the idea. I can put up a fence…if you give me some time.”
Julian flashes me one of his happy smiles. “Of course. And do you have any experience with dogs or other pets?”
“We always had dogs growing up, so yes.”
“What kinds of dogs?”
“All kinds. Some mixed labs, a husky—”
“I’ve got a husky. PP is the most stubborn, opinionated dog you’ll ever meet, but she’s amazing.”
The way he talks about her is sweet, his face radiating his affection for her.
A tiny flicker of hope sparks inside me.
Maybe, just maybe, I can bond with a dog like that and find comfort in having a companion.
But what if none of the dogs like me? What if they sense the darkness in me and are repelled by that?
My flash of joy and happiness is doused just as fast.
“Does it ever happen that it doesn’t work out? That a dog doesn’t like the vet?”
Julian cocks his head as he studies me, his eyes kind but serious. “Rarely, but if it does, we try again with a different dog. And in some cases, we opt for a slower process where the vet and the dog hang out a few times before he or she takes the dog in permanently. Are you worried about that?”
God, how do I answer that? I hate lying on principle, but I have no intention of sharing my darkest, deepest thoughts with him. He’d bolt out the door faster than the aforementioned Greyhound, and fuck knows they can run.
I clear my throat. “Just wondering if dogs can get affected by someone’s moods. I’d hate to make a dog depressed.”
Julian sends me an encouraging smile. “I honestly don’t think that’s even possible. Most dogs are pure rays of sunshine that will love you no matter what, and I know for a fact that’s true for the five I have right now.”
A little more reassured, I answer the rest of his questions, and he’s got quite a few of them. When we’re done, he asks for a tour through the house.
I hesitate. “I wasn’t counting on that.”
Yes, that’s politely worded code for “It’s a godawful mess, and I’d be embarrassed to show my mother this, let alone a complete stranger.”
“There’s no need to be uncomfortable. I just want to check if your house needs any adjustments to make it dog-proof.”
I didn’t think it was still possible to blush at the ripe age of thirty-six, but my cheeks heat up as I get up and lead him through my house.
How fucking embarrassing to have someone else see the sad state of my house.
When I bought it, I was so proud, so determined to fix it up and make it shine. One day, maybe, but definitely not yet.
It’s reasonably clean, since I had an energy boost ten or so days ago and attacked half the house with Mr. Clean lemon spray. I haven’t done jack shit since, but at least dust and grime don’t cover every surface, so there’s that.
Julian doesn’t say anything as I show him my bedroom, where piles of clean clothes are on the floor everywhere, the bathroom, with heaps of dirty clothes, and two guest rooms, with a mountain of unopened boxes.
Some of them have been packed up since I enlisted, and I don’t even know what’s in there.
“Do you do this full time?” I ask, desperate to distract him. Lucky told me something about Julian working with animals in another capacity, but I can’t quite remember. One of the side effects of my PTSD is that my short-term memory sucks.
“Training dogs for Pups for Patriots? No. I am a full-time animal trainer, though.”
I frown. “Animal trainer? What does that mean?”
“I train animals for movies or TV. Mostly dogs and horses, but I’ve worked with some other animals as well, including a goat.”
“A goat? Can you even train those?”
Julian laughs, a full-out laugh that fills the room. “I’d have to say no wholeheartedly, but god knows I tried. Butler is the bane of my existence, but I’ve always loved a challenge.”
“How many animals do you have?”
“I have my own husky, Princess Pinecone, or PP for short, and then five dogs, plus Butler the goat, a donkey, five horses, and a bunch of chickens.”
“Wow. That’s a lot.”
He shrugs. “I love working with animals.”
Yeah, that much is clear from the passionate way he talks about his menagerie.
“You have two outlets in the bedroom that aren’t properly covered, so make sure to fix those,” Julian says, and that’s the only critical remark he makes.
Props to his poker face, which never showed a trace of disgust or shock when we walked through the house.
I appreciate that more than I can express.
“Does that mean I passed the test?”
I really hope that didn’t come out as fucking pathetic as it sounded to my own ears, but Julian flashes me another one of his happy smiles.
He said his dogs are rays of sunshine, but he’s damn bright and shiny himself.
“Absolutely. I’ll contact you in a day or two with a proposal for a dog, and we can set up a first meet and see if you fit. How does that sound?”
I nod, unable to speak. I’m scared to even hope, but somewhere deep inside me, a tiny seed has grown roots that perhaps a dog could make a difference. They don’t call them man’s best friends for nothing.