Page 7 of Claimed by my Bestie's Dad

“You’re a fierce little thing, aren’t you?” I say, walking over to pick up the mug. Scout continues to bark at it like his high-pitched bark is making the mug acquiesce.

The puppy growls, but it’s playful as I set the mug in the sink. Scout jumps up and beats his little paws against my pant leg.

“You’re going to be trouble, I can tell. Now, how are people supposed to find lost puppies? That’s the real question. I don’t suppose people put up fliers around the neighborhood anymore. There has to be something online about this.”

I settle into a kitchen chair, keeping half an eye on Scout as I peruse the internet, trying to figure out what people are supposed to do when they’ve found a dog. The firstsuggested answer is taking the dog to a pound, but I don’t like that idea at all.

I look at Scout over the top of my phone. “I know what happens to puppies at the pound. I don’t need a dog right now, but I will hold onto you until something better pops up.”

Scout runs over, gazes at me adoringly as though he’s soaking up every word, then runs back toward the sunroom to continue exploring.

The next answer is to check if he’s chipped. That actually seems like a good idea, and I start making a plan for how I can do that. The problem is that it’s Sunday, and all vets except emergency vets are closed. They probably don’t need me wasting their time checking for a chip when they have dogs bleeding out.

I decide to wait until tomorrow to check for his chip.

Meanwhile, I stand up and start making a pot of coffee. My head’s still buzzing a bit from last night, and I could use the caffeine. As I wait for the coffee to brew, I glance back into the living room, where Scout is now trying to climb onto one of the chairs, but his short legs are struggling to get any kind of grip.

“You’re not going to make it up there, you know,” I call out, but the puppy is too determined to give up.

I shake my head, grabbing a mug and pouring myself some coffee.

Once I’ve taken the first few sips and I can feel the coffee working its way through my body, I set my mug down and walk back into the living room. Scout is now lying on the floor, exhausted from all the excitement. The puppy looks up at me with those big, brown eyes, and I feel something in my chest tighten.

“Guess you wore yourself out, huh?” I say softly,crouching down to pet Scout’s soft fur. The puppy leans into my touch, closing his eyes as he lets out a contented sigh.

For a moment, everything feels calm. Peaceful. It’s a rare feeling for me, and I realize just how much I’ve been missing it.

I sit down on the floor next to Scout, letting the puppy curl up in my lap. As I stroke his fur, I think about how different this morning turned out from what I expected. A part of me had dreaded getting out of bed, knowing I’d have to face the world again, but now, with this little pup by my side, everything seems a little more manageable.

Scout soon falls asleep, and he has this little snore that’s kind of cute. I don’t stop petting him as I drink my coffee and wonder what will happen if he’s not chipped and no one comes for him.

4

MADISON

My heart poundsin my chest as I run through the neighborhood, calling out for Scout. “Scout! Scout, where are you?” The panic is rising in my throat, threatening to choke me. How could I let this happen? I should have been more careful, should have made sure that Scout was safe in another room before I opened the door. Now this little puppy is out there, lost, and it’s all my fault.

I can just imagine his owner’s face if I call him right now and say he’s gotten out.

I stop at the corner of the street, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. My mind races with all the horrible possibilities—Scout could get hit by a car, picked up by some stranger, or run off so far that I’ll never find him.

I can’t keep dwelling on that. I need to use all my senses to find Scout. I need to use Samson. A dog can find another dog better than a human.

Taking a steadying breath, I head back to my house at a steady pace. Samson is sitting on the porch, alert, as though he is aware he’s missing out on the fun.

“Samson! Come!” I call when I reach the edge of theyard. He comes, but only as far as his electric fence lets him. I go inside the circle, take off his underground fence collar, and pat my leg. “Let’s find Scout!”

Samson is excited by this prospect of an adventure, and he hurries across the street to the neighbor’s yard. Wincing at how many rules I’m breaking right now, I let Samson circle the house, hoping to hear Scout’s yips as soon as Samson comes around the other side.

But there’s nothing. It goes like that house after house. We’ve walked the whole block to the cross street.

Once again, I listen carefully, hoping to hear the sound of his little paws on the pavement or someone shouting about a dog trespassing. But all I hear is the hum of cars going up and down the road and the rustle of dead leaves in the bitterly cold breeze. I bite my lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. Crying won’t help.

There’s just a thought in the back of my head that tells me that I could be responsible not only for losing Scout but also for single-handedly ruining my chance to earn an income from this dog-sitting business.

“Think, Madison, think,” I whisper to myself. Where could he have gone? He’s so small, he couldn’t have gotten far. Should I keep searching? Turn left…or right?

The streets go on for blocks and blocks, getting progressively further from the sound and closer to the ocean. The streets get busier the closer you get to the ocean.

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