Chapter 24
Mike pulled into a parking space at the big-box pet store near the animal clinic. Buddy turned away from the passenger-side window, already smeared with nose prints, and looked at Mike expectantly.
“We’re going to buy you a few essentials,” Mike said. “And when we’re done, we’re heading to Charleston. To your grandmother’s house.”
Buddy tilted his head.
“And you, my friend, are riding in the back seat. It’s not safe for you up front. I’ll get you a car harness and one of those hammock seat protectors. You’ll be comfy and cozy back there.”
Buddy gave a small huff, unconvinced.
Mike crossed in front of the SUV and opened the passenger door. He grasped the temporary leash bearing the clinic’s bright blue logo. “Come on, Buddy.”
The dog jumped down, landing lightly despite his size, and fell into step beside Mike. A large sign near the register advertised grooming services.
Mike paused and studied Buddy’s coat more closely.
The night before, while tending to his paws, he’d noticed the matting behind his ears and under his legs.
Now, under bright store lighting, he could see tangles in the feathering of his tail and compaction in the undercoat.
Grooming for this dog wouldn’t be cosmetic.
It was necessary for comfort and care. Mike walked straight to the grooming desk and was relieved to see a sign that read:
Appointments Available This Afternoon
A middle-aged woman with half-moon glasses looked up.
“I’d like a basic bath and brush package,” Mike said. “And nail trim and ear cleaning, if you have time. I just adopted this guy. He was a stray.”
“Is he vaccinated?”
“About an hour ago. I have the paperwork right here.”
She reviewed the documents.
“Any signs of lethargy?”
“So far, he’s fine.”
She leaned over the counter to look at Buddy.
“I can see the matting from here,” she said. “We’ll go slow. Goldens are usually tolerant, but we don’t want to rush him.”
“I appreciate that. He’s been through enough trauma by being on the streets.”
“Take him through that door.” She pointed to her right.
Buddy followed Mike into the grooming area. When the groomer took the leash, Buddy looked back once. He wasn’t fearful, but just checking to see if Mike was still there.
“How long do you think he’ll be?” Mike asked.
The groomer ran practiced fingers through the coat. “This isn’t bad for a stray. I’ll take my time so he’s not stressed. I’d say a couple of hours. Does the front desk have your number?”
“Yes. I’ll be in the store. I need to buy pretty much everything.”
The groomer nodded. “If you’re hungry, there’s a sandwich shop two doors down. Best meatball sub in town.”
Mike laughed. “Sold.” He crouched and scratched Buddy behind the ears. “Enjoy your spa treatment, okay? You’re going to feel like a million bucks.”
Buddy pressed his head against Mike’s chest.
Mike swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “I’ll be right back.”
When Mike returned twenty minutes later after wolfing down the recommended meatball sub, he checked in at the grooming desk.
“They’ve already clipped out most of the matting,” the woman said. “He’s in the tub now, and loving it.” She removed her glasses and let them dangle from the chain around her neck. “He’s an absolute sweetheart. Everyone in the back is talking about him.”
Mike grinned as ridiculous parental pride swelled in his chest. “That’s my boy,” he murmured.
“At this rate, he’ll be ready sooner than expected.”
“Perfect. I’d better shop for the things he’ll need. We’re driving to Charleston when he’s done.” He grabbed a cart.
The collar aisle stretched the width of the store.
Mike reached for a plain black nylon collar, practical and understated.
Then he saw it—a vibrant green collar, decorated with tiny dancing bears mid-jig.
He burst out laughing. Something about the joyful absurdity felt like Buddy.
He swapped the black collar for the one with the bears and added a sturdy brown leather leash.
Next came two stainless-steel bowls and a large bag of quality dog food, followed by a giant box of Greenies and poultry-flavored pill pockets. “Genius,” Mike muttered as he tossed the pockets into his cart. He then procured the car harness and a backseat hammock.
The selection of beds was on the next aisle. Mike was captivated by an extra-large memory-foam bed that felt better than most guest room mattresses. Into the cart it went.
He passed the apparel section. Buddy already had the ridiculous flannel pajamas.
That was enough. But what about toys? Those were absolutely necessary.
Mike spent thirty minutes deliberating like a man choosing investments.
A ball launcher with bright orange tennis balls was a must. As were two different Frisbees.
Plus a tug rope and a KONG. A three-pack of durable squeaky toys—a squirrel, a duck, and a beaver—was a no-brainer.
He imagined Buddy discovering each one. The final item was a Nylabone to chew during the long car ride. The cart overflowed.
At checkout, Mike noticed the engraving kiosk. “I’ll take a tag.” He chose a brushed-silver bone-shaped tag. At the machine, he typed:
BUDDY, Mike Miller, then added his cell number.
The tag clinked into the tray. His phone buzzed. Buddy was ready.
Mike sprinted across the parking lot, loaded the bags into the SUV, installed the backseat hammock, and laid the harness out next to it.
The sun was bright, but the air stung. He pulled the red flannel dog pajamas from his backpack.
“He’s going to look ridiculous,” he muttered to himself. “But he’ll be warm.”
His phone buzzed again, and he hurried inside. The receptionist beamed. “Wait until you see your boy.”
Buddy emerged wearing a festive bandana in a red and green holiday plaid.
His coat gleamed, and his feathering was brushed and tidy.
They had cleaned his ears and trimmed his nails.
He looked transformed. But his eyes were searching.
The moment he spotted Mike, he emitted a high, joyful bark and lunged forward.
Mike dropped to his knees and caught him. Buddy nearly knocked him over with the force of his affection. Mike buried his face in the dog’s neck. “Don’t you smell fancy?” he said with a laugh.
Buddy’s tail wagged so hard it thumped against Mike’s ribs.
Mike fastened the dancing-bear collar around Buddy’s neck and clipped on the new tag. He pulled the flannel pajamas over Buddy’s head. “I know,” he said when Buddy gave a small protest. “But we’re heading straight to Charleston. No one else needs to see you in these.”
The groomer watched the reunion, smiling. “You two look meant to be,” he said.
Mike shook his hand firmly. “Thank you for taking such good care of him.”
“My pleasure. He’s one of the easiest dogs I’ve ever worked with.”
They stepped out into the frigid afternoon. Mike checked the time. It was three o’clock. If traffic cooperated, they’d make it in time for dinner at seven. Buddy trotted beside him, bandana bright against the vibrant pajamas, bear-collar jingling softly.
Mike commanded the pup to relieve himself against a curb in the parking lot. Buddy obeyed. Mike opened the SUV door and gestured to the back seat. “Home for Christmas, Buddy.”
Buddy hesitated, then leapt into the hammock setup like a seasoned traveler.
Mike secured the harness, then closed the door gently and stood for a moment in the sunlight. Less than twenty-four hours ago, they’d each been alone. Now they weren’t.
He climbed into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and glanced in the rearview mirror. Buddy was watching him. Mike smiled. “Let’s go meet Grandma.”