Susan Mallery: Meant To Be Yours

He walked out into the warm September morning and started for the main office. Along the way, he nodded at people who waved or called out greetings. RV parks were friendly places. As he wasn’t one for unnecessary chats, he’d learned to keep moving while offering a brief wave. Otherwise, he might get trapped in a lengthy and tedious conversation about the viability of a certain back road or a discussion about the best kind of bait for catfish.

“You git, you hear me? Go on out of here or I’ll get my shotgun.”

The angry words came from his left. Jasper instinctively went on alert, his body tensing as he spun in that direction. Using the RV he’d just passed for cover, he backtracked so he could come around from behind and see what was happening.

“You heard me,” the man yelled. “Get out of here.”

Jasper stayed close to the RV as he circled around and then stepped into view, prepared to get between some jerk and whoever he was threatening. Only the short, round, old man wasn’t taking on his kid or his woman, instead he was raising his hand to a dog. An old dog with ribs showing through dirty fur. A dog who flinched and backed away.

“Problem?” Jasper asked, using his tell me your story before I kick your ass voice, the one he’d perfected during his time with the military police.

The old man glared at him, as if wanting to take him on, then seemed to think better of it. “It’s nothing. Just that dog who’s been hanging out here for a few weeks. Somebody dumped him. If you don’t want a dog, just shoot him. That’s what I say.”

The kindness of strangers, Jasper thought grimly. Or lack thereof. He knew there were more good people than bad, but every now and then he was forced to question his faith in humanity.

The dog—some kind of Lab-shepherd mix—looked at him with sad, knowing eyes, as if he didn’t really expect better of life. He stayed out of reach and, despite the heat, shivered a little. He was obviously starving and might be sick. Who would just dump a dog at an RV park?

“He begs for food,” the old man added, his tone defensive. “I don’t have time to deal with him.”

Jasper thought about the coffee he hadn’t had yet and the eleven hundred miles between him and home. He thought about the book he was trying to write and how slowly it was going. He thought about the nightmares he often had and that there were still enough bad days to keep him humble. The absolute last thing he needed in his life was some old dog.

“If you were him, you’d beg for food, too,” Jasper said. “Don’t shoot him.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Jasper sighed before squaring his shoulders and staring down at the old man who was maybe five-five to Jasper’s six foot three.

“Seriously?” he asked. “You’re going to go there with me?”

The old man shook his head. “I’m just saying...”

“I know what you’re saying. Don’t shoot the dog.”

Jasper walked to the office. Sure enough, they had a huge carafe of coffee that he used to fill his travel mug. While he drank down the dark, hot liquid, he asked about the dog and confirmed it was indeed a stray. A few attempts had been made to catch it, but no one had been successful.

Jasper headed to his RV. He would spend no more than fifteen minutes looking for the dog. If he found it, he would lure it back to his RV with food. Once it was inside, he would take it to a local vet and have it checked for a chip. If there wasn’t one, he would drop it off at a shelter and be on his way. It would take him two hours, tops.

Or less, he thought as he approached his RV and saw the dog sitting outside the side door.

“Good morning,” Jasper said, opening the door.

The dog jumped inside and made his way to the small refrigerator, where he sat again.

“Somebody’s messing with me,” Jasper grumbled.

He pulled out lunch meat he was going to use for a sandwich and gave that to the dog, who gulped it down. Jasper quickly scrambled a couple of eggs. Less than ten minutes later, the dog was stretched out on the sofa, completely relaxed and nearly asleep.

Jasper looked up the closest vet’s office and called to explain the situation. The perky receptionist told him they’d just had a cancellation and could see him right away.

“Of course you can,” he muttered.

The drive was easy, there was parking for his RV and damn if the dog didn’t follow him inside the vet’s office with no problem.

Jasper explained the situation to the smiling older woman with a name tag that read Sally. When he got to the part about him giving the dog to a shelter, her smile faded.

“You don’t want to keep him yourself?” she asked.

“Ah, no. I’m not really a pet person.”

Both she and the dog stared at him. Jasper shifted uncomfortably. He wanted to explain that he wasn’t being cruel—rather his reluctance was realistic. He’d been in a really bad place when he’d gotten out of the army. After tons of therapy, medication and stumbling onto the one thing that could get him halfway back to being able to exist in polite society, he was healed enough to pass for normal. But he knew the truth—he would never fully get there. More than one therapist had warned him he was broken beyond repair.

They hadn’t used those exact words—they were too professional for that. But the truth had been clear enough all the same.

But the woman in front of him wouldn’t want to hear that and he certainly didn’t want to tell her.

“I’d like him checked for a chip and maybe given an exam to see if he’s all right,” Jasper said.

“Sure. Let me take you to one of the rooms.”

He and the dog followed her. She paused by a floor scale and motioned for the dog to step on it.

“Come on, boy. Right here.”

The dog obliged. He was forty-eight pounds. Sally winced.

“He should be closer to seventy-five pounds,” she said. “He’s really skinny. Poor guy.”

Jasper and the dog went into an exam room.

“I’ll get one of the techs to come in and scan him. If there’s a chip, we’ll take it from there. If there isn’t, we can talk about whether you want to pay for an exam when you’re just going to take him to the shelter.”

Her tone was pleasant enough but Jasper heard the judgment, all the same. Instead of speaking, he nodded. The woman left and he was alone with the dog.

They both sat and stared at each other. Jasper looked away first.

“You can’t stay on your own,” he said, shifting uneasily in his chair. “Look at you. You need someone to take care of you. A shelter would mean three squares and a bunk, right? And you’d find a family of your own.”

Without wanting to, he recalled reading somewhere that older dogs had trouble getting adopted. Which wasn’t his problem.

“I’ve never had a pet,” he added, glancing at the dog, who still regarded him steadily. “I don’t know how to take care of you.”

He supposed there were books on the subject. Plus, the old guy wasn’t a puppy. He would know how to deal with humans. Between the two of them, they might be able to get it right.

“I’m not a good bet,” he added in a low voice. “I was in the army for eight years and I saw things. Sometimes I have flashbacks and I just... I’m better off alone.”

The dog’s head dropped as if he realized what Jasper was trying to say. As if he’d given up hoping and had accepted he was going to be abandoned—again.

Jasper stood up and glared at the dog, who still didn’t look at him.

“I didn’t want any of this. It’s not my fault. I’m not the bad guy.”

The dog didn’t move—he sat there all hunched, as if the weight of the world was just too much for him.