Alison Roberts - From Heartache To Forever / Melting The Trauma Doc's Heart

Dry food’s in the pantry. She’s twenty-five kilos but add twenty per cent more food because she’s pregnant. Couldn’t find scales, but she’s had lunch and didn’t seem to mind! Chart on the side of the food bag. Divide by three—obvs. And keep the door shut!

He sighed, went into the pantry with Tatty at his side, and examined the chart with a bit of enthusiastic assistance. Beth hadn’t been able to find the scales because there weren’t any, but he made an educated guess.

That would do, for now. He’d give her a bit more later and buy scales tomorrow. Assuming he’d still have her. Sounded like it.

He put her dry food into the bowl Beth had left him, ate a tin of baked beans cold out of the can with a fork, and looked at the clock on the cooker.

Quarter to eight. Still time for a quick walk before dusk, if they didn’t hang about. He put Tatty—no, the dog—on the borrowed lead and took her down to the river and along the river wall. She didn’t seem keen on the lead, but she seemed happy enough by his side and soon got used to it, and they walked until the light was fading and got home just before nine.

He was still hungry, but of course she’d eaten the bread that morning so he couldn’t even make a sandwich, so he had a bowl of cereal and gave the dog another handful of kibble, then made a coffee and headed for the sitting room, the dog in tow.

All he wanted was to sit down quietly on the sofa with his phone, check his emails and do a little research into dog pregnancy and rehoming—although if he was rehoming her, the pregnancy research was irrelevant.

Assuming he got a chance to do it anyway, because Tatty had gone in the garden and come back victorious with a muddy ball in her mouth, and dropped it at his feet.

Of course. Somewhere in her ancestry was a retriever. And all they wanted to do, like all the gun dog breeds, was just exactly that. So he rolled the ball, and she fetched it, and he rolled it, she fetched it, over and over again until finally he hid it behind his back.

‘No. It’s gone. Lie down.’

She whined, gave a resigned sigh and hopped onto the sofa, curled up and went to sleep. Well, almost. One eye was still slightly open, just in case…

He grunted and turned his attention back to his dog-rehoming research.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.