Page 6 of Not Mine to Rescue

“I’m fine. Molly was shut up alone for too long again.”

Bob shook his head. I managed to sit up with sixty pounds of fur on top of me. I pulled her close and kept reminding her she was a good girl.

That earned me a good face-washing.

“She’s a sweetheart, but she’s a little too big to be a lap dog. Your dry cleaner must love you.”

I laughed. “I’ve been through three in the last year. Trust me, they don’t.”

He chuckled. “Welp. I’ll go in and get her leash so you can take her. Any plans this weekend?”

“I’m taking her to Sunshine Acres to see if she’s a fit.”

“Oh, that place is amazing. Herman loves the instructor there.”

“You know Lemon?”

Bob’s voice was muffled behind the door. “Know her? She’s the best dog trainer in the county. A miracle worker. Did you know she and her brother volunteer at the Humane Society? They’re also part of the Best Friends network here.”

I’d done my homework. Reading about Lemon’s rescue efforts made me put her company at the very top of my list. I was excited to meet her in person. “I didn’t see anything about her brother.”

Bob attached Molly’s leash while I held her and kept scrubbing my fingers through her ruff to calm her down.

“Well, he doesn’t like publicity. Kind of a rough character on the outside. But I guarantee you, he’s got a heart of gold. He takes on the hairier wildlife rescues if they’re too much for Lemon.”

“Really?” That work was fraught with heartache and danger. The success rate was barely 50/50.

“He took in a Saw-Whet owl. Lemon showed me a picture. Cutest damn thing.”

If I could make it to the shelter in time, I’d ask Lemon about it. “Thanks for helping, Bob.” I swallowed my pride. “Tell Jim and Denise I hope everything’s okay.”

He was silent for a moment. “I will. You take care of Molly.” He frowned, knowing the history behind my hesitant tone.

“Always.” I scratched her behind the ears. “We’re going to go meet a girl named Lemon. You’re going to like her, I know you are because you’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

And just like that, Molly was all toothy, tongue-out, doggie-smiling happiness. Her tail thumped against the grass.

“Okay, off.”

She wiggled out of my arms and raced around me twice, wrapping the leash around my legs. I almost went down, but years of dealing with her moods and dodging the worst behavior had me slipping a foot free before she could tie me up. I stuck a hand down so she’d get the signal to sit calmly. It was ignored for a moment, then she planted her butt on my feet with her tongue lolling out to laugh at me silently as Bob said his goodbyes to her.

“Take care, Hon. See you later, Molly-collie.”

Once he was inside and the distraction levels were reduced, I walked Molly around the yard until she found a spot to relieve herself. Then I took her to the car and clipped her in. Molly pressed her face on the window and kept it there until I walked around the car to get in the driver’s side. Then she shifted her whole body so she could see me every second of the drive.

Her anxiety issues were getting worse. They’d spiked before the divorce. Jim was gone more often than not, and the ever-revolving doggie daycare situation was tough on her. Even tougher was the moment I moved out six months ago. She chewed the furniture in both houses. It was so bad, she broke a tooth. I almost caved and let Jim take her full-time, but that would work against me in the settlement. So I signed away my rights and let her stay in the home she knew during the week.

Was it wrong for me to do that?

I scratched her jaw and studied her happy smile. She lit up when she saw me. The chewing had subsided once the schedules became more solid, and she seemed adjusted to the co-owner schedule. “I wish you could talk.” Then I’d know whether I did the right thing by allowing partial custody.

She licked her chops as if trying to figure out how to make her mouth form human sounds. Instead, she barked.

“You talk, don’t you? I just don’t understand you.” I scrubbed at her jowls the way she liked.

That was answered by another bark, this one was too loud for the confines of my car. “Ouch. A little quieter, okay? I’m not deaf, I just don’t understand your doggie breath.” Funny how my whole voice changed with her. I devolved to varying tones of baby-talk. But she ate it up as I scratched her in that special hollow behind her jaw and under her ears. It made her stretch her nose into the air and groan every time.

“Oh, yes, you’re such a good dog, aren’t you? Oh yes-yes-yes…”