Chapter 107 Havoc
Havoc
The dog comes out of nowhere.
That’s not a metaphor.
One second, I’m walking across the gravel lot with a coffee that tastes like sludge, the next, there’s a muddy, determined-looking German shepherd, sitting directly in front of my truck like he’s filed a formal complaint.
“Move,” I tell him.
He does not.
He tilts his head.
His tail thumps once.
Then twice.
Then he stands up and walks toward me like we have an appointment.
I stop.
He stops.
We stare at each other.
“You’re not my dog,” I inform him.
He sits.
Which feels less like obedience and more like a negotiation tactic.
Wolf finds me three minutes later, standing there with the mutt sniffing my boots like he’s conducting a background check.
“Did you get a dog?” Wolf asks.
“No.”
“Then why is there a dog touching you?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “He followed me.”
The dog sits on my foot.
Wolf squints. “He likes you.”
“I don’t care.”
The dog sneezes on my leg.
Wolf grins. “He really likes you.”
By noon, the dog has:
Stolen someone’s sandwich
Took a drink from Saint’s coffee sitting on the counter.
And fallen asleep in my favorite chair.
“This is temporary,” I announce to the room.
The dog opens one eye.
Does not move.
Saint looks at me over Emmy’s head. “What if he belongs to someone?”
“Then someone should come get him,” I say.
The dog sighs and puts his head on my boot.
Traitor.
By nightfall, the mutt has:
A blanket
A name (Saint’s fault — “Ranger”)
And a place on the couch
I am not responsible for any of this.
I am just… apparently where he stands.
I kneel down and look him in the face.
“You can stay one night,” I tell him. “Then you’re gone.”
He licks my nose.
I close my eyes.
“This is a mistake,” I say.
The dog wags.