Page 104 of Quinton's Quest

“You can call me NaiNai.” She gave methatlook.

I wasn’t about to argue. Made things simpler for me.

“Okay, NaiNai.” Melodie undid her straps and hopped down.

Trevor scrambled after her. “Cookies!”

Mama met my gaze. “You get the dog. I assume it sheds?”

“Uh… I have no idea.”

“No worries. It’s your house, and you get to clean it.” She grinned, snagged a hand of each child, and headed inside.

I moved to the back hatch and raised it.

Lucky gazed at me balefully.

“Are you going to shed all over my house?”

He woofed.

Despite myself, I smiled. Most of the flooring was laminate with just a few throw rugs. Everything could be vacuumed. “All right, mutt. With me.” I opened his crate, attached his leash, then guided him to jump down. I closed all the doors and engaged the alarm.

Lucky pulled me over to my mother’s rosebush and peed on it.

“Oh, you didnotjust do that.”

He offered me an unrepentant grin.

“Well, other dogs have peed there as well and the darn thing survived—so I suppose I won’t have to kill you.”

We took two steps before he squatted.

In horror, I watched him take a massive dump on my front lawn. “You didnotjust do that! I don’t have a poop bag!” I assumed they were still in Leo’s pocket.

“Can I help you out?” A middle-aged tanned-skin man stood watching me flap my hands. His dog—a mix of some kind—watched with equal interest.

“Do you happen to have a baggie? This isn’t my dog, and I don’t know if I have a plastic one in the house.”

The man grinned. “Sure.” He dug into his pocket and procured a baggie that had already been opened. “She poops a lot, and it’s frustrating trying to open the baggies—especially when it’s cold. So I keep several open ones in my pocket. Makes things go smoother.”

I took the baggie. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am. Uh, I’m Quinton.” I offered my brightest smile.

“Zahir. This is Daphne.”

I arched an eyebrow.

“Rescue. She came with the name. Not that I mind it, but I might’ve chosen something Indian.” He eyed his dog with affection. “She’s a good dog.”

Lucky, having finished his dump, now moved to meet Daphne. “He’s a good dog.”

“Just not your dog.” Zahir smiled. “All good. She might be small, but she’s mighty.”

“How old?”

“The shelter said about eight. She was found wandering in downtown Mission. No chip or tattoo. No one claimed her. My previous dog had just passed. Felt like this was meant to be.” He radiated pure joy with his brilliant smile and straight, white teeth.

Daphne, for her part, appeared quite enamored with Lucky. They continued to sniff and circle.