Page 4 of Finding Gideon

I shifted the dog higher against my chest. “Thank you. He’s not mine—I just found him on the side of the road. He needs help.”

Something in his expression softened, though his tone stayed even. “Then you’re in the right place.”

He stepped aside, holding the door open.

The air-conditioning inside hit like a blessing. My shirt clung to me in cold shock as I stepped inside. The clinic smelled faintly of antiseptic and lavender—clean, calm, with soft lighting that made it feel more like a spa than a place where animals got poked with needles.

He gave a slight nod toward the hallway. “The exam room’s down the hall—first door on the left. I’ll be in shortly with supplies. Just get him settled on the table in there.”

The soft click of my shoes on the tiled floor echoed through the quiet clinic. It was cozy, small but well-organized, with shelves of supplies lining the walls and framed pictures of animals scattered like they were part of the family.

I carefully laid the dog down on the exam table. He whimpered softly, a little anxious but still trusting, and I reached out to gently pet his head before stepping back.

The man tugged on a pair of gloves, his movements fluid, practiced. “Was he wearing a collar or a tag when you found him?” he asked, his voice professional but not detached.

I paused for a beat, looking at the scrappy little guy. His weary eyes met mine, and something about him just… clicked. “No,” I said, my voice soft.

The vet nodded and gently lifted the dog’s lip to check his gums and teeth. “Labrador-Chow mix, I’d say. Gums look a bit dry—mild dehydration, probably. And he’s not a pup—maybe two or three years old.”

He crouched and glanced down at the dog’s paws. “Some cuts and abrasions on his pads—likely from walking on asphalt.”

He reached for a small handheld scanner and slowly ran it over the dog’s shoulder. The device beeped once, then nothing. He clicked it off and on again, muttering, “No chip.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “So… no owner.”

“Not officially,” he said, glancing up. “Sometimes people forget to register them. Or they don’t bother.”

I looked down at the scruffy little guy curled on the table. Dogs like this rarely come with easy answers. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

The doctor tilted his head. “Are you thinking of keeping him?”

The question caught me off guard. I rubbed the back of my neck. “I wouldn't exactly say I’ve got a place to keepmyselfright now.”

Not something I planned to mention to a guy I just met.

I looked down at the dog. “But he deserves better than the road.”

The doctor didn’t say anything at first. Just watched me with those dark, quietly perceptive eyes.

I cleared my throat and looked back at the pup. “And he deserves a name. Can’t keep calling him ‘the dog.’”

The man cracked the faintest smile. “You just met him.”

“Long enough,” I muttered, then squinted down at him. “He looks like a… I don’t know. Rusty?”

The dog gave a tiny huff—almost like he disapproved.

I raised an eyebrow. “Okay, not Rusty.”

“Try again,” the vet said, now checking a rear paw but clearly listening.

“Alright. What about… Lucky?”

The vet snorted, the sound warm. “Bit on the nose.”

“I like irony.”

The dog shifted on the table and gave my hand a small lick, and that was it. I was gone. “Okay, not Lucky either. We’ll figure it out,” I murmured, brushing a hand down his side. “We’ve got time.”