detangler and a brush, be my guest. You want me to do it, then keep the comments to yourself.”
“In that case, he looks great.”
“Good call.”
Nick patted the dog’s shoulder. “Hey, buddy. You behaving yourself?”
“He wasn’t too sure about getting up on the stand at first, but he’s a sucker for a biscuit or two. He started by sitting and offering me a paw to shake, so I’d say he got decent training at some point, maybe with a prior owner.”
“The scanner didn’t pick up any microchip, and the local animal controls don’t have an APB on a missing goldie.”
“Can’t say I’m sorry to hear that.”
Given the condition he’d been in, neither of them was in a hurry to return the dog to wherever he’d come from. Besides, the most likely scenario was an all too common story these days—pet owner one loses a job or house and has to move on, and gives Fido to owner two, thinking they’re doing the right thing. In some cases—most cases, Nick liked to think—it worked out just fine.
Not always, though. Sometimes it was the start of a downward slide. Which was why it felt so darn good when things worked out for the better, like they were in this guy’s case.
“I’m going to check his labs.”
“Don’t forget Binky the Pug at two.” Taking a few steps back, Ruth surveyed her handiwork. “There. That’s better, don’t you think?”
Not so much
. “He certainly looks more comfortable.” She had cut off the ropy mess that had hung under the dog’s belly and snipped out the worst of the tangles on his chest and jowls, leaving the dog looking ragged, but relieved.
She grinned over at Nick like he had said the first part out loud. “Just wait until after I’ve got him bathed and brushed. Besides, the Skyes know how to look past the rough bits and see diamonds underneath.”As Ruth started running warm water through the spray nozzle in the big stainless steel tub, she said conversationally to the dog, “I bet Jenny’s gran is going to sneak you treats from the kitchen, and Ed is going to make noises about building you a top-notch dog house, but then skip it because you wind up spending most of your time indoors, next to the fireplace. And even if you’re not fully trained—which my gut says you are—Krista and Foster will have you civilized by the time the first load of guests rolls in next summer.”
“Jenny found him,” Nick commented, “and she seemed mighty attached. Said he reminded her of the dog they had when she was a kid. Maybe she’ll work with him.” He wasn’t fishing; just making conversation.
Ruth made a
that’s neither here nor there
face. “Jenny’s different. She might’ve been born at Mustang Ridge, but there’s not much rancher in her. Sure, she knows how to go through the motions—she rode like a dream and could cut a cow with the best of them—but after she lit out for school she didn’t do much looking back.”
“She came home when her family needed her. That’s got to count for something.”
“It counts for plenty, but this guy,” Ruth gave the goldie a pat and set his wispy tail to wagging, “is going to need to bond with the others, because she won’t be here for long. Where Krista’s got roots, Jenny’s got wings.”
Yeah, he knew how that went.
“Want me to get him in there for you?” he offered, with a nod toward the tub.
“I wouldn’t say no.”
Brightening his voice to a tone of
who’s a good boy?
he said to the dog, “What do you say, buddy? Are you ready for a B-A-T-H?” Not waiting for an answer—or to see if the goldie could spell—he got the big dog in an easy chest-and-rump cradle that wouldn’t twinge his injured ribs and lifted him the short distance to the stainless-steel tub, with its grippy rubber bottom and steamy spray.
The dog didn’t struggle or try to jump out, just sighed and took it like a man. A dog. Whatever.
As Nick stepped back, Ruth shot him a look under her lashes. “Why the interest in
“In that case, he looks great.”
“Good call.”
Nick patted the dog’s shoulder. “Hey, buddy. You behaving yourself?”
“He wasn’t too sure about getting up on the stand at first, but he’s a sucker for a biscuit or two. He started by sitting and offering me a paw to shake, so I’d say he got decent training at some point, maybe with a prior owner.”
“The scanner didn’t pick up any microchip, and the local animal controls don’t have an APB on a missing goldie.”
“Can’t say I’m sorry to hear that.”
Given the condition he’d been in, neither of them was in a hurry to return the dog to wherever he’d come from. Besides, the most likely scenario was an all too common story these days—pet owner one loses a job or house and has to move on, and gives Fido to owner two, thinking they’re doing the right thing. In some cases—most cases, Nick liked to think—it worked out just fine.
Not always, though. Sometimes it was the start of a downward slide. Which was why it felt so darn good when things worked out for the better, like they were in this guy’s case.
“I’m going to check his labs.”
“Don’t forget Binky the Pug at two.” Taking a few steps back, Ruth surveyed her handiwork. “There. That’s better, don’t you think?”
Not so much
. “He certainly looks more comfortable.” She had cut off the ropy mess that had hung under the dog’s belly and snipped out the worst of the tangles on his chest and jowls, leaving the dog looking ragged, but relieved.
She grinned over at Nick like he had said the first part out loud. “Just wait until after I’ve got him bathed and brushed. Besides, the Skyes know how to look past the rough bits and see diamonds underneath.”As Ruth started running warm water through the spray nozzle in the big stainless steel tub, she said conversationally to the dog, “I bet Jenny’s gran is going to sneak you treats from the kitchen, and Ed is going to make noises about building you a top-notch dog house, but then skip it because you wind up spending most of your time indoors, next to the fireplace. And even if you’re not fully trained—which my gut says you are—Krista and Foster will have you civilized by the time the first load of guests rolls in next summer.”
“Jenny found him,” Nick commented, “and she seemed mighty attached. Said he reminded her of the dog they had when she was a kid. Maybe she’ll work with him.” He wasn’t fishing; just making conversation.
Ruth made a
that’s neither here nor there
face. “Jenny’s different. She might’ve been born at Mustang Ridge, but there’s not much rancher in her. Sure, she knows how to go through the motions—she rode like a dream and could cut a cow with the best of them—but after she lit out for school she didn’t do much looking back.”
“She came home when her family needed her. That’s got to count for something.”
“It counts for plenty, but this guy,” Ruth gave the goldie a pat and set his wispy tail to wagging, “is going to need to bond with the others, because she won’t be here for long. Where Krista’s got roots, Jenny’s got wings.”
Yeah, he knew how that went.
“Want me to get him in there for you?” he offered, with a nod toward the tub.
“I wouldn’t say no.”
Brightening his voice to a tone of
who’s a good boy?
he said to the dog, “What do you say, buddy? Are you ready for a B-A-T-H?” Not waiting for an answer—or to see if the goldie could spell—he got the big dog in an easy chest-and-rump cradle that wouldn’t twinge his injured ribs and lifted him the short distance to the stainless-steel tub, with its grippy rubber bottom and steamy spray.
The dog didn’t struggle or try to jump out, just sighed and took it like a man. A dog. Whatever.
As Nick stepped back, Ruth shot him a look under her lashes. “Why the interest in
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