by Tricia Lynne
I nodded.
“You go in front of me and hold the treats in your left hand. Once we’re in the hall, I’m going to move away, and she’ll slide up next to you. As soon as she does, give her a treat and say her name in a gentle voice.”
CC circled around Lily’s legs, sniffing. Patting her hip, Lily took a couple steps forward and the dog stayed with her.
I fell in ahead of them and moved into the hall. In a seamless transition, a massive brindle head appeared next to me, nosing my hand for a treat as Lily stepped away. “Good girl, CC.” My voice was even, calm. “You’re such a pretty girl. Wanna come sit down with me?” She stopped nosing my hand, instead contemplating me with interest, and when her mouth fell open, her enormous tongue lolled to the side.
As soon as my butt hit the rug, she dropped down to her haunches and began nudging my hand for treats. I talked to her, rattled nonsense, told her about my workout and the pretty girl who flipped me off. She listened to it all. Ears pulled forward, her head cocked from side to side like she was trying to comprehend what I said. My smile must have been a mile wide because Lily chuckled as she sat down with us.
“What do I do when I run out of treats?” I only had a couple left.
“She’ll be fine. We’re going to watch what she does and I’m going to look her over.” Lil’s smile was soft. “Corsi are intelligent, loyal animals, but they need a strong owner, or they’ll walk all over you. Your job is to remain gentle and confident, and trustworthy in her eyes.” While Lily spoke, she watched my girl with intense precision. “She’s going to need a job at some point, too, or she’ll take it upon herself to make sure guarding is her job. She’ll need socialization. Lots of exercise. She’s obviously been bred a lot in her short life. I’m guessing she’s around three, maybe four years old? A vet would be more accurate. The way her nipples protrude indicates she’s nursed several litters. What the...” Lil squinted, scooting closer and leaning down to study something on the dog’s belly.
“Something wrong?” CC lay down, resting her chin on my leg.
“She’s got... Fuck.” Lily blanched. “She’s been branded. And I’ve seen this brand before. Six times. Only once on a dog that was alive, and it was a close thing. My dog, Mack, has that brand.”
“What? Are you sure?” I leaned over and spied the number sixty-three and the letters DA burned into the dog’s abdomen. I felt like a shit for not seeing it sooner. With her curled up in the kennel all the time, I didn’t have much of a chance. The rage monster I saved solely for the football field was dangerously close to the surface. “Who the fuck would do that?” CC jumped up, skittering away from me to hide behind her new friend.
Lily patted the dog’s shoulders, scratched her ears to settle her. “A puppy mill. Dogs are livestock to them. With less freedom. I’m guessing the number is so they can keep straight which dogs have been bred to which and who produced.” Anger crested her cheeks, but Lil stayed calm to keep from upsetting my girl. “Shit, Brody...her behavior fits the mold of a mill mama, too. Not wanting to leave her kennel because she’s only lived in a cage, likely in deplorable conditions, expected to churn out litter after litter. Even the scars on her flank.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? I mean, I’ve heard the term before—I know what a puppy mill is—but exactly how bad is it?” I was desperately trying not to lose it and blow all the progress we’d made today. I knew the basics—a puppy mill was a large-scale “breeding” operation that sold puppies for profit. They were nothing like legitimate breeders. In mills, puppies were a means to an end, not a part of the family.
“She must have escaped. I’m guessing when they did this”—she tapped the angry skin on CC’s neck—“it went wrong and CC got away. Damn it. I’d give anything to get rid of these puppy-for-profit operations. This particular mill hasn’t been easy to find. Five of the other dogs with this brand were killed and dumped in the woods a few miles from the rescue that picked up Mack. Every time I’ve tried to find this mill, I’ve hit dead ends.”
“I could help you? I wanna help you find this place and close it up for good, Lil. I’m all in.” I was out of treats, but when my own emotions settled from anger to determination, a large black snout inched forward and nosed my hand. As I ran my palm over her massive head, she pushed back against me.
In my career, I’d had some real highs. I once had three sacks in a single game on the most prolific quarterback in the league. I’d been to the Pro Bowl four times, and I currently held the single season record for tackles.
Yet, nothing compared to the elation, warmth, and love I felt the first time my dog pushed her head against my palm and asked me for a pet.
Absolutely nothing.
Chapter Three
If it sounds too good to be true...
Lily
I’ve seen that expression on a dog’s face a hundred times before. The moment they choose the person who chose them. It was one of the most heartwarming things a trainer could witness, the first time a dog—especially a rescue—decides to give its love freely and without presumption.
I choose you, human. You will be my whole world until I take my last breath. I will give you my unconditional love because you will not fail me.
Of course, it didn’t always work that way. We failed them plenty. In the worst possible ways for reasons a dog could never comprehend. Yet, as often as we failed them, they had an unparalleled capacity to forgive. To move forward and continue to love with open hearts and minds.
I envied them that.
There are people who simply don’t notice that moment when it happens. The light bulb doesn’t go on for them, and they don’t realize the commitment the dog is making, or the one they’re making in return. For those folks, a dog is only a dog. They are things, possessions, like the new Mercedes sitting in the driveway that they might trade in on a new model in a few years’ time.
With Brody, the light went on.
He and I had been acquainted enough over the years that I knew the man wore a few different faces—and no, I did not want to think about how much I’d studied his face. On the field, Brody was all business. Be it practice or game time, he was the physical manifestation of determination and testosterone. He used the charming face during interviews and parties. It made him seem approachable even though he was guarded—a nifty little trick of his. Then, there was Brody’s flirty face. When he leaned in a little too close and made you feel like the only woman in the room. The cocky smirk that said he knew he was good in bed. The promise of dirty sex sparking in his eyes. It was hypnotic and he knew it.
But this Brody...his face was open, his gaze wide. Knowing. His forehead absent of lines and his lush lips the slightest bit slack.
He got it. He understood the gift his dog was giving him and received it with awe and reverence.
He cleared his throat and his eyes turned glassy. So did mine. “I’m...do you see this? She’s never done this before. Never asked me to pet her.”
I grinned. “It’s a wonderful thing to feel, isn’t it?”
“I...yeah. I think I just fell in love.” His lips quirked to one side as he stroked CC’s cropped ear.
Avoiding touching the dog so as not to shift her focus to me, I rose and sat on the leather sectional to get some much-needed distance. “I’m pretty sure you were already in love. Now you realize it.” Brody’s nod was small, his smile, adorable. “You need to spend as much time with her as possible to build on this bond. Encourage her to follow you around the apartment. I’d like to give you two a couple days’ bonding time before our next session, but I want you to move her out of the guest room into your bedroom. Dog packs sleep together. You want her to think of you as her pack. We’re going to put an ex-pen and a soft-sided crate in there for you. I have one of each in the car. You can borrow mine until you get your own.”
“What’s an ex-pen?”
“An exercis
e pen. It’s a gated area to give a dog room to get out of their kennel but limits where they can go.” I whipped out my phone, started searching the web. “Give me your number, I’m going to text you the link for a crate. It’s a bad idea to put her back in the wire crate in the guest room because she associates it with fear. We don’t want you forcing her into a fearful state right now. The ex-pen will serve two purposes. It should give her the security she feels with confinement, while keeping her from tearing your stuff up. I’d move anything valuable out of your room.”
Brody rattled off the numbers and I texted him the link. “Should be able to get it in few days’ time. I’m also going to text you links for some helpful products, like floor cleaner and big dog poop pads.”
“Am I always going to have this pen in my bedroom?”
“No. In time, you’ll be able to keep her in the crate without the pen. It will become her safe place. Dogs are den animals. She doesn’t want to relieve herself in her kennel and we want to keep it that way. Yet, we can’t crate train her like we would with a puppy because she may have never known life outside of one until she escaped.”
Something was perplexing me about CC. Her ears were cropped and her tail, docked. It wasn’t likely a mill would go to the trouble with their breeding stock because the buyer would never see the dog. Which meant CC was either born in the mill and they docked and cropped her because they had planned to sell her as a puppy. Or, she came from a decent or backyard breeder and somehow ended up in a puppy mill.
“When the new kennel arrives, we’ll be able to start working on housebreaking. As long as you’re home, let her wander with you and explore. If you need to use the treats again to get her to follow you, that’s okay, too.”
“Treats are my friend, yeah?”
“For now. After a while you won’t have to use them anymore except for new things. Before I leave, we’re going to put on her collar and leash. She’ll scratch at the collar but don’t take it off. We’ll try taking her outside, too, to see how she does on leash. I’m also going to give you a few basic commands to start working on.”
I put a hand on his shoulder and the hard muscle beneath flexed tight. “There will likely be setbacks, Brody. This process is two steps forward and one step back for most dogs. Some dogs make leaps and bounds. Some take baby steps. Some never recover, but I’m quite sure CC is going to be okay. She’s smart, motivated, and starved for contact she didn’t even know she wanted.”
He pushed his huge body up on the sofa with his triceps, let his elbows rest on his knees. Shaking his head, his voice was nearly a whisper. “I just...what the hell is wrong with people? I’ll never understand how they can be so cruel. For the sake of money.” I understood the sentiment more than he knew. CC curled into a ball between his spread ankles. This man...there was so much worry and concern on his face. Maybe not all the time, or for everyone, but when it came to his dog, Brody was a softie.
No, I didn’t want to know this side of Brody. This face. It made me want to let my guard down. To see the man underneath.
“This is why I work with dogs,” I reminded myself and told him at the same time. “Dogs are loyal. Guileless.”
“Truth.” Brody’s chuckle set CC’s ears to twitching as her nub tail gave a wiggle. She liked the sound of his laugh.
I did, too. Which meant it was waaaay past time to wrap this up.
After I brought up the ex-pen and spare crate, I offered to help him set them up before I left. Miiiiistaaake, I thought, as he pushed the door open. The scent of fabric softener, men’s soap, and unicorn tears hit my nose. His bedroom was large. Of course, it would have to be to accommodate the bed...which I couldn’t stop staring at. All garnet and charcoal sheets with a gray leather headboard. In the corner, next to a floor-to-ceiling window, sat a buttery leather recliner of the same color. Next to it, a table stacked with books.
I could see him there, shirtless—no, naked—on top of the sheets with it all hanging out as he air-dried from the shower and watched Sports World on the ridiculously expensive TV across from the bed.
Jesus, I needed to get out of there before I threw myself at the man and rode him like a horse at the Kentucky Derby.
As I squatted to adjust the pen’s gate, I heard a thick inhale and shot upright realizing I’d just made my ass his focus. Brody stood at the end of his bed, feet spread, biceps bulging, arms crossed over his chest. The expression on his face was not flirty Brody. But damn if the promise of filthy sex wasn’t written in every shadow and contour. From the lined forehead to the clenched jaw. A quick glance at the sheets, however, and all I could imagine was blond hair fanned over his crimson pillow.
Brody’s smirk turned downright dirty. Yeah, no. Time to go, Lily. I not-subtly-at-all rolled my eyes. “Stop.”
“Stop what?” His grin grew.
“I am not that girl, Brody. I’m not the leggy blonde I was just picturing there.” I pointed at the pillow. “And you are in a shit-ton of trouble as it is for sticking your dick into a few too many women. Frankly, I’m not sure where that thing has been.”
His mouth fell open and he barked out a laugh, but I kept on. “Rather than dancing around it, I’m going to come out and say it. Yes, we have chemistry. Yes, you’re shit hot and you know it. But, if you’re going to help me find this mill, there isn’t a chance in hell we’re getting into that bed.”
“Oh, darlin’. First, nobody but me has ever been in that bed. Second, my dick is immaculately clean. I get it, though. You see things on TV, or hear it through the grapevine. I’m not going to say it wasn’t true at one time.” He shrugged a massive shoulder. “People grow up, Lil.” Brody turned and walked to the doorway, giving me a shot of that spectacular ass. “However, I happen to agree with you. If I’m gonna help you find this mill, us sleeping together is off the table.”
He refused to give me an inch to get through as I slid through the doorway. I had to choose—I could contort like an idiot to avoid touching him and give him the satisfaction of watching me try. I could ask him to move, essentially letting him know I didn’t think I could control myself if I touched him—which, to be honest, was a real concern. Or, I take his dare, and either rub my boobs against him or brush my ass against his junk.
Boobs, it was.
“But...” He glanced down at my nipples pearled against his rib cage as I attempted to shimmy by. “Don’t think for a second that I’m not gonna enjoy every dirty thought I have about you.”
Chapter Four
Whoever said diamonds are a girl’s best friend never had a dog.
Lily
After arranging another session with CC in a couple of days, I headed home for a shower to finally get the dog pee off. Thankfully, CC gave me a lot to think about on the drive, other than Brody, and I was grateful.
I’d gotten the collar and leash on her with minimal fuss and a handful of treats, which led me to believe that her biggest issue was all about trust. She hadn’t trusted Brody until today. The sitter had only made things worse. Sigh. Stupid humans. Another handful of treats got her through the door and out to a walking path surrounded by grass that belonged to Brody’s building. That had aroused another suspicion.
I showed Brody a couple simple commands he could practice with her, but she already knew Sit and Down. She also peed twice and pooped. As an aside, Jesus H, I was glad Brody’s hands were bigger than mine, because he was going to need them in order to get that dog’s poop into a baggie in one shot. I would have needed both. But besides the massive piles that come with having a massive dog, I thought maybe CC wasn’t born in the mill. Someone had worked with her on the basics. I’d have to ask Brody if the emergency vet scanned her for a microchip.
My hooligans greeted me at the door to the garage. “Hey, puppers. Were you good dogs?” Mack, my Staffy, bounced around with a toy in his mouth grunting while circling my feet. Jet, my Australian Shepherd, pushed her
head against my hand before circling to the back door.
I pulled it open and watched as they galloped into the backyard. They couldn’t be more different. Jet was all elegance and refined femininity until it was time to go to work—her command for it’s time to focus on her task. Be it obedience, rally, nose work, fly ball or agility, Jet was ready to kick ass and take names. And she loved to compete.
Mack, dork that he was, hit the step off the patio crooked and tumbled ass-over-head into the grass, where he proceeded to roll around snorting. Poor guy hadn’t always been so carefree. I wondered about his inauspicious start in life quite a lot.
The brand on his tummy read 12DA.
Mack had come to me through a rescue. He was a good-looking Staffordshire Bull Terrier—not a Pit Bull or Pocket Pit like people assumed. He sported cropped ears and a docked tail, too. That alone suggested he hadn’t been born in a mill either.
I preferred the floppy ears on bully breeds because I thought it made them appear softer, sillier, less intimidating. Some people liked that tough-dog look, and some breed standards required it as part of the dog’s history and/or original purpose.
Unlike CC, Mack had zero training. Which made me think the mill swindled him out of a decent, or maybe backyard, breeder.
He worked hard to become a good companion animal. His fear response was more than the rescue could handle. It paralyzed him. I’d taken him home to work with him and the goofball stole my heart so completely he never left.
He was my one and only foster fail. And I didn’t consider him a fail at all. I loved him too much to do that.
Mack Truck wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, but he more than made up for it in smiles, kisses and disposition. He did agility, too, but Mack didn’t have the body or uptake to be as good as Jet. His command in the ring was ready to play? Because he wasn’t going to do what you asked him in the correct sequence, but he had a grand time trying. He was so much fun to watch. Both my dogs loved agility, but Jet was born to compete; Mack wasn’t. There was nothing wrong with that as long as they both had fun.
