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“I hope you’re ready to be a fur mummy,” Boone said.
“Holy crap, I’ve never had a dog before,” Lucia said.
The dog shook a little.
“She’s a little afraid. She looks young. Hug her, let her know you’re not afraid of her.”
“You’ve had a dog before?”
“A long time ago.”
Lucia wrapped her arms around the dog, and Boone turned over the ignition and began to drive away.
“You saved her,” Lucia said.
“For you.”
“Did it bother you that he was kicking the dog?”
“Yes,” Boone said. “Dogs are loyal. They will fight for you, defend you with their lives. They’re better than all humans and should be protected.”
“Dad never allowed us to have a dog. He was allergic, so no pets for us. No dogs.” She pressed her face against the dog’s neck. “It’s okay. I have no idea how to take care of you, but Boone is going to teach me. Yes, he is, and you are going to be so loved, and no one is ever going to kick you again.” She let out a sigh. “What animal kicks a dog?”
He didn’t have to say, because the animal that was wouldn’t be having a good time of it. During his attack, he heard a few bones crunching, and he hadn’t been light in teaching that piece of shit a lesson.
On the road, Frank continued to follow him, and it was getting late. The hot summer sun was glaring down, and they had to make a few stops for the dog to do her business. He stared at the dog, and it was strange, because it looked fat to him. Boone had a feeling the dog was pregnant. That evil little bastard was kicking a pregnant dog. Now he wished he hadn’t let the piece of shit live. If he saw him again, there would be hell to pay.
He’d make the necessary arrangements for a vet to see the dog. They were less than twenty minutes from where he wanted to take her, and he looked toward Lucia.
“Do you want to name her?” Boone asked.
Lucia stroked the dog. It hadn’t taken long, but the dog now seemed quite attached to Lucia. She kept hugging her, soothing her.
“I don’t know. Does it have to be dog names?”
“It can be anything you want,” he said.
He glanced over to see Lucia’s lips perched as she started trying to think of a dog’s name.
“I have no idea. What did you call your dogs?”
“I had male dogs, there was Ryan and Blue.”
“You had two dogs?”
“My dad had two dogs.”
“Your father?”
“He passed away a long time ago.”
“You know, I don’t know anything about you, or your past.”
“A lot of people don’t.” He didn’t talk about his past, because that man didn’t exist. No one would find a single trace of him.
“Betty? What do you think?”
“You want to call the dog, Betty?”