Page 35 of Love in Training
“Well, I inherited him,” I say too sharply. “And I renewed my lease right before that, so moving’s not really an option.”
Her mouth presses into a line, but she turns back to Rufus, running through a few basic commands—sit, down, stay—all of which he seems eager to follow.
“You said he’s a retired military working dog? Do you know why they retired him so young?”
My mood darkens, and Kyle drifts through my mind. “No.”
She doles out more hot dogs from her fanny pack, eyeballing the couch carcass. “I’m guessing he did that?”
I clear my throat. “Um, yeah. He kind of flips out if I leave him alone.”
She nods at the crate. “How about if you put him in there?”
“He goes inside it fine.” I shrug. “But my neighbors have a problem with the nonstop screaming when I’m gone.”
“That sounds about right . . .”
“For what?” I ask, trying to hide the desperation in my voice. “Please. I—I just need to know where to start. Idowant to try and make this work.”
These words surprise me. But even as they come tumbling out of my mouth, I glance at Rufus and realize I mean it. I don’t love him. I’ve never been a dog person, and I’m sure I never will be. But I couldn’t leave the one creature Kyle Forbes actually loved at a shelter. And what are my other options? Give him to someone else? I picture Drew Forbes at his training business, rubbing his hands together like an eager villain.
God.Why,Kyle?
“I’ve just never had a dog before . . .”
Sara raises her eyebrows like that was the obvious statement of the year. But to my relief, she offers a sympathetic smile. “I can tell you’re trying.”
“You can?”
She laughs. “You’re here, talking to a dog trainer, after he terrorized your neighbors and did that to your sofa.” Her smile fades. “Some people abandon animals in the mountains for less.”
I press my lips together. I might have spent the last seventy-two hours cleaning shit off my floor and cursing my dead ex, but I can’t imagine doing something like that.
Sara sinks to the edge of the dead couch, right in a large patch of dog hair. “Look, I’ll be honest,” she says. “Most of what I do is pretty basic. Obedience training new puppies, teaching them to heel.” Rufus plants himself in front of her, and she reaches out to rub his velvety ears. “But this guy already knows all that. He’s had rigorous training—he knows his commands. I just think he’s also had some trauma.”
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know Theo must’ve mentioned that.
“But when Drew warned me not to take you as a client, I have to admit I was curious.”
Suddenly the air feels thicker. Heavier. “I’m sorry... Drew? Forbes?”
“He can be a dick, right?” She shakes her head. “We dated a couple of times—small industry. But honestly, I’ve had more engaging conversations with a block of wood.”
I blink, trying to comprehend the scope of what she’s saying. Did he somehow know who I would reach out to?
“But why would—he actually called you up and warned you not to work with me?”
“It wasn’t quite like that,” she admits. “He said he was trying to save me some trouble because the dog didn’t need a trainer... and he was right.”
“Really,” I say, balling my fists up to conceal my rage as I imagine Drew Forbes casually calling every dog trainer in Denver, telling them to stay away from me.
She just laughs while Rufus licks hot dog off her fingers.
“So, what did thedog guruthink he needs?” I say in a flat voice.
Sara shrugs, drops her hands to her lap, and gives me a reluctant smile. “I’ll just tell you what I think. When you have a dog who’s experienced trauma, especially if you’re not quite sure what kind, it’s usually best to consult a behaviorist.”
My stomach sinks. I have a feeling I already know what she’s going to say, but I have to ask anyway.
