“Something wrong?” CC lay down, resting her chin on my leg.
“She’s got... Fuck.” Lily blanched. “She’s been branded. And I’ve seen this brand before. Six times. Only once on a dog that was alive, and it was a close thing. My dog, Mack, has that brand.”
“What? Are you sure?” I leaned over and spied the number sixty-three and the letters DA burned into the dog’s abdomen. I felt like a shit for not seeing it sooner. With her curled up in the kennel all the time, I didn’t have much of a chance. The rage monster I saved solely for the football field was dangerously close to the surface. “Who the fuck would do that?” CC jumped up, skittering away from me to hide behind her new friend.
Lily patted the dog’s shoulders, scratched her ears to settle her. “A puppy mill. Dogs are livestock to them. With less freedom. I’m guessing the number is so they can keep straight which dogs have been bred to which and who produced.” Anger crested her cheeks, but Lil stayed calm to keep from upsetting my girl. “Shit, Brody...her behavior fits the mold of a mill mama, too. Not wanting to leave her kennel because she’s only lived in a cage, likely in deplorable conditions, expected to churn out litter after litter. Even the scars on her flank.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? I mean, I’ve heard the term before—I know what a puppy mill is—but exactly how bad is it?” I was desperately trying not to lose it and blow all the progress we’d made today. I knew the basics—a puppy mill was a large-scale “breeding” operation that sold puppies for profit. They were nothing like legitimate breeders. In mills, puppies were a means to an end, not a part of the family.
“She must have escaped. I’m guessing when they did this”—she tapped the angry skin on CC’s neck—“it went wrong and CC got away. Damn it. I’d give anything to get rid of these puppy-for-profit operations. This particular mill hasn’t been easy to find. Five of the other dogs with this brand were killed and dumped in the woods a few miles from the rescue that picked up Mack. Every time I’ve tried to find this mill, I’ve hit dead ends.”
“I could help you? I wanna help you find this place and close it up for good, Lil. I’m all in.” I was out of treats, but when my own emotions settled from anger to determination, a large black snout inched forward and nosed my hand. As I ran my palm over her massive head, she pushed back against me.
In my career, I’d had some real highs. I once had three sacks in a single game on the most prolific quarterback in the league. I’d been to the Pro Bowl four times, and I currently held the single season record for tackles.
Yet, nothing compared to the elation, warmth, and love I felt the first time my dog pushed her head against my palm and asked me for a pet.
Absolutely nothing.
Chapter Three
If it sounds too good to be true...
Lily
I’ve seen that expression on a dog’s face a hundred times before. The moment they choose the person who chose them. It was one of the most heartwarming things a trainer could witness, the first time a dog—especially a rescue—decides to give its love freely and without presumption.
I choose you, human. You will be my whole world until I take my last breath. I will give you my unconditional love because you will not fail me.
Of course, it didn’t always work that way. We failed them plenty. In the worst possible ways for reasons a dog could never comprehend. Yet, as often as we failed them, they had an unparalleled capacity to forgive. To move forward and continue to love with open hearts and minds.
I envied them that.
There are people who simply don’t notice that moment when it happens. The light bulb doesn’t go on for them, and they don’t realize the commitment the dog is making, or the one they’re making in return. For those folks, a dog is only a dog. They are things, possessions, like the new Mercedes sitting in the driveway that they might trade in on a new model in a few years’ time.
With Brody, the light went on.
He and I had been acquainted enough over the years that I knew the man wore a few different faces—and no, I did not want to think about how much I’d studied his face. On the field, Brody was all business. Be it practice or game time, he was the physical manifestation of determination and testosterone. He used the charming face during interviews and parties. It made him seem approachable even though he was guarded—a nifty little trick of his. Then, there was Brody’s flirty face. When he leaned in a little too close and made you feel like the only woman in the room. The cocky smirk that said he knew he was good in bed. The promise of dirty sex sparking in his eyes. It was hypnotic and he knew it.
But this Brody...his face was open, his gaze wide. Knowing. His forehead absent of lines and his lush lips the slightest bit slack.
He got it. He understood the gift his dog was giving him and received it with awe and reverence.
He cleared his throat and his eyes turned glassy. So did mine. “I’m...do you see this? She’s never done this before. Never asked me to pet her.”
I grinned. “It’s a wonderful thing to feel, isn’t it?”
“I...yeah. I think I just fell in love.” His lips quirked to one side as he stroked CC’s cropped ear.
Avoiding touching the dog so as not to shift her focus to me, I rose and sat on the leather sectional to get some much-needed distance. “I’m pretty sure you were already in love. Now you realize it.” Brody’s nod was small, his smile, adorable. “You need to spend as much time with her as possible to build on this bond. Encourage her to follow you around the apartment. I’d like to give you two a couple days’ bonding time before our next session, but I want you to move her out of the guest room into your bedroom. Dog packs sleep together. You want her to think of you as her pack. We’re going to put an ex-pen and a soft-sided crate in there for you. I have one of each in the car. You can borrow mine until you get your own.”
“What’s an ex-pen?”
“An exercise pen. It’s a gated area to give a dog room to get out of their kennel but limits where they can go.” I whipped out my phone, started searching the web. “Give me your number, I’m going to text you the link for a crate. It’s a bad idea to put her back in the wire crate in the guest room because she associates it with fear. We don’t want you forcing her into a fearful state right now. The ex-pen will serve two purposes. It should give her the security she feels with confinement, while keeping her from tearing your stuff up. I’d move anything valuable out of your room.”
Brody rattled off the numbers and I texted him the link. “Should be able to get it in few days’ time. I’m also going to text you links for some helpful products, like floor cleaner and big dog poop pads.”