“And he will be. We always had dogs growing up, you know that. All this boy needs is some love and patience and security.”
Patience? Chris wasn’t exactly a model for patience. When he wanted something, he wanted it now. How long before he’d be frustrated when Moose didn’t snap to when he commanded?
“Easier said than executed.”
“It always is,” he answered, and she wondered if they were still talking about Moose or if they were dancing around something else.
“Come on in,” he answered. “It’s my day off and Moose has had enough fetch for a while.” He turned towards the house.
Her mouth dropped open. “You got him to fetch?”
He spun back and grinned, patting his pocket. “I throw, he goes after it, I lure him back with a treat. He’ll get it eventually.”
She shook her head. “Watch you don’t overfeed.”
“Maybe you could try trusting that I know what I’m doing.” He pulled a baggie out of his pocket. “I discovered Moose likes carrot sticks.”
To prove it, he took one out of the bag. “Come on, Moose,” he called, and the dog obediently trotted off and marched at Chris’s heels, leaving Ally behind.
She felt betrayed.
And as much as she knew she was to blame for their breakup, she couldn’t help the little bit of resentment that slid through her as she watched him walk away. The end of their relationship hardly seemed to have made a blip in his life. He’d gone on to do his training and then come back to Wolfville and joined the volunteer department and started his own business. He was surrounded by his family and friends, was well-liked, had his own house. It seemed like he had succeeded in all the ways she hadn’t. Except for the animal shelter. Now all that was slipping away too, and watching him walk off with Moose—her Moose—was salt in the wound.
It wasn’t fair to say that he’d taken those things from her, because he hadn’t. But right now it felt that way.
She wanted to get into her car and drive away. Perhaps go home and hide her head beneath her pillow and wait for this to all go away. But she wouldn’t. It wouldn’t do a lick of good, and what she really ought to do was make sure that Chris was prepared for life with a hundred-pound-plus ball of unpredictability.
She trudged up the driveway after them.
She expected commotion inside, but it was surprisingly quiet. She could hear Chris’s voice coming from somewhere—the bedroom, possibly—and went to investigate.
The outgoing dog of outside was gone. Instead, he was sitting, quite awkwardly, in the small space between Chris’s dresser and a chair.
“Come on,” Chris was coaxing, holding out a carrot, but this time Moose wasn’t budging. His head was lowered and he was parked in place.
Chris looked up at her. “I don’t get it. He was fine outside. As soon as we came inside he ran in here and hid.”
Ally looked up at Chris. He really did care, she realized. And he was being patient with him, at least for now. He could be the perfect owner for Moose. Time would tell, of course, but it was a good start.
“He was the same at the shelter. If I took him out on the leash, he wanted to run. It was all I could do to hold him. He had no manners, and we’ve been working on that. But inside, he cowered in his crate.” She swallowed thickly. “It’s so hard not knowing the exact past history. But if I were a betting woman, I’d say Moose doesn’t like closed in spaces with no escape route. He gets anxious when he’s in a confined space.”
“Wouldn’t he want to escape then?”
“Depends on what is waiting for him when he comes out, I suppose
,” she replied. “I told you trust was a big thing.”
She considered for a minute. “Look, I’m smaller than you. I’m going to try getting in there with him.”
She worked her way into the small space and slid her bottom down the wall until she was sitting next to Moose, her knees tucked in close. She could feel his fur against her arm and she waited for him to relax, and then she put her hand on his back and stroked him gently. Long minutes passed. Chris sat on the edge of the bed and watched as Ally softly touched Moose’s ears, his shoulders and back. With a big doggie sigh, Moose finally submitted, first by laying down and then twisting, showing his belly.
She rubbed her fingers along his ribs. “What a good boy,” she murmured, then looked up at Chris. “He just needs time. He’s a good dog. Gentle and fun.”
“The only thing I really worry about is when I’m on shift.”
She shrugged. “We had to crate him at the shelter. If you have a room where he can stay, somewhere that he can’t make a lot of trouble, that would probably do. You could try it anyway.”
“The mudroom at the back would work. I can put his food and water in there and a bed. All that’s there is the closet. Nothing for him to get into.”