Chuckling, I nodded at my good boy. “What’s your excuse for how spoiled that one is?” Mack snorted and wiggled his head under Brody’s hand.
“That’s all you, darlin’.”
“Oh, you’re full of shit, Shaw.” He and Mack were buds, best buds.
“Hey, he’s the only other guy in the house. We need each other. We bond.”
“You feed him off a fork.”
Brody closed his eyes and true to form, he and Mack were snoring in a matter of minutes.
Nineteen.
That was the number of breeding dogs we couldn’t save, and the number of names on the plaque in my office.
Six.
Six dogs I deemed unfit for adoption. Two Corsi. One Pit Bull. One Bull Mastiff. A German Shepherd. And a Bull Terrier.
We sold my house and bought the ranch for them. They’d never be trustworthy around most humans because most humans didn’t know how to read them, how to handle them. But I did, and Brody had learned. And Officer Johnson—David—he knew how to channel their work ethic into something productive that gave them peace. They had good lives with us on the ranch. Full lives, with fresh air and sunshine. A pond and plenty of food and water and trees to sleep under and climate-controlled housing. Warm beds, and goats and ducks and chickens to guard—for those who’d mastered their prey drive.
They would live that way until they went over the bridge.
There was no doubt the life of a rescuer was hard. The lows were very low. But the highs...the dogs that went to good homes or into working dog programs. Seeing them explore grass for the first time and feel the sun on their faces. Pick up a toy and bring it to me. The pictures that covered the other three walls of my office—successful adoption stories and updates from families.
I’d take a hundred of the bad days in exchange for the feeling I got when one of our dogs found a home.
Because they were our dogs. All of them.
I reached over, tapped my snoring husband-to-be.
“Huh.”
“I love you.”
“Mm, love you, too,” he mumbled.
“Shaw, thank you.”
He opened his eyes, and he reached over to squeeze my hand. “For what, darlin’?”
“For loving these Unlovabulls every bit as much as I do.”
* * *
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Acknowledgments
Authors say it’s always harder to pen your second book than the first. For me, it absolutely was. Beyond the crippling imposter syndrome and the constant anxiety that I couldn’t do it again, the actual words-on-paper part never seems to get easier.
But I had an exceptionally hard time with Protective Instinct.
In 2019, while I was writing this book, my husband and I said goodbye to my five-year-old Clumber Spaniel quite unexpectedly. In fact, he was the second dog we lost last year. I also held the sweetest Basset Hound ever born while he went to the rainbow bridge, too. After losing my boys, it was nearly impossible for me to write about dogs. My dogs are my children, you see. And I couldn’t dig into this book without finding myself awash in a new wave of sadness and loss... In fact, I’m still grieving. But I know I never could have finished Protective Instinct without a rock-solid support system to see me through.
I am forever grateful to Carina Press and my editor, Stephanie Doig. You were beyond understanding of how losing my dogs, combined with the current state of the world, affected how quickly I wrote. Thank you so, so much for nursing me through. I’m lucky to call myself a Carina author. I’m also beyond thankful to my agent, Saritza Hernandez, who stayed true to her principles in this difficult time, and for sticking with me when I struggled to get through the sophomore slump.
My All The Kissing family—Shannon, Lindsay, Maxym, and Alexa—who helped with early brainstorming, I don’t know what I’d do without you all. An extra special shout out to Gwynne Jackson, who not only read the early stuff for this book, but was there when I needed both feedback and a really good friend. Thank you, my sister. I’m in your debt.
A huge thank you to my beta-readers, Haley, Paris, Janet, and Cassie. I’m lucky to have had your eyes on my words and your invaluable notes to guide me. I’m even luckier to call y’all my friends and peers.
A huge thanks to my own agility instructor, Ryan—you are so much stronger than you know. I’m so blessed to have access to a wonderful training center in Frisco, TX. The staff and facilities at What a Great Dog are unparalleled. Your knowledge of dog training and canine behavior is only second to how you treat us like part of the family.
To Shutt’er Down Ranch, thank you for choosing us to adopt Brennan from the extensive pile of applications for her. We can’t imagine our lives without her. Simply put, she’s my best friend.
To Mom and Dad. Thank you for being proud of me, and for letting me adopt my first pound puppy. Dad, I’m sorry Orion ate your Gortex boots and stole your socks.
To my dear friends and OG agility crew—Kim and Antoine, Michele, and our very own Yoda, Connie—I’m so grateful to have met you all and made life-long friends who are crazy dog people like us. I wouldn’t have gotten through the last year and a half without you...and the wine. Let’s not forget the wine, or Cards Against Humanity.
To my husband. Thank you for putting up with my moody ass, eating too much fast food when I’m on deadline, caving when Brennan chose us to be her forever home, and for not getting too pissed when I randomly bring home another dog. I’m also grateful for your linebacker shoulders and your football turned cycling butt. Love you.
Orion. Guinness. Sadie. Jake. Murphy. Gus. Jock. Sugar. Holmes. Each night I look up into a starry sky and feel grateful you were a part of my life. Thank you for being our stand-in children and bringing us such uncomplicated love and joy. Each of you has taken a piece of my heart with you when you went to the bridge, and I’m better for having had you in my life. You will always be in my heart.
Last but not least, to my Velcro Corso, my precious, goodest girl who has come so far in the last two years. Brennan, my inspiration for The Unlovabulls. Thank you, sweet pea, for being so patient with your new little brother, Smitty, for all the Corso snuggles, and each and every night you sleep curled into my legs.
Mama loves you forever, Brennie Lynne.