Page 16 of Open for Negotiation
Who the hell am I kidding? I’d cross every boundary I could if it meant I’d get to have him again.
***
We’ve taken an exit and are traversing a side road back in a residential area when something lying on the side of the road captures my attention.
"Stop. Stop the car."
"Why? Are you all right?" he asks with panic and concern in his voice.
"Just pull over. Please. Quick."
I'm already climbing out of the car before it even comes to a full stop. It’s just beginning to rain, but I don’t care. Nothing is going to stop me from my goal.
I run down the residential street we had been traveling through and stop a few feet away from the dog that caught my attention. It’s lying on its stomach, way too thin, and frankly, it looks downright exhausted. My heart breaks right in half.
“Hi there, sweetie,” I lower my voice as to not scare it off and kneel down on the ground. “Are you okay?”
I can hear Max getting out of the car behind me then his footsteps on the ground as he approaches. I quickly turn to face him and put up my hand to stop him. I don’t want him to startle the dog and make it run away or into the street.
“What’s the matter?” he whispers.
“I’m not sure, but he looks hurt.” I slowly reach my hand toward the dog. “Shh. It’s okay. I won't hurt you.” I keep my eyes on him but speak to Max. “Do you have anything in your car? Some kind of snack? Anything?”
He doesn’t answer for a minute before he points to me, like a lightbulb went off in his head. “Actually, I do. Let me grab it.”
He jets back off toward his car and I focus back on the sweet, droopy-eared angel in front of me.
It looks to be a basset hound, from what I can tell from here, with the big ears and sad eyes. He won’t come toward me though, he’s shaking, cold, and scared.
The rain is starting to come down harder now, sending drips of water down my face, soaking through my clothes almost entirely.
Max returns to me and hands me a small bag of beef jerky.
“This is all I had.”
“That’s actually perfect.” I open the package up and fish out a small piece, offering it to the dog. “Are you hungry? Come here.” I make the kissing noise, beckoning him to come to me and to take the jerky.
Max takes a step back, then something extends above me, blocking the rain. I look up and see him holding his suit coat over me like a shelter.
I give the jerky a little shake, hoping the movement will send the scent wafting into the dog’s nose, and it must work because he slowly tries to stand. It's a struggle at first, but eventually, he makes it to his feet and takes a step toward us.
“That’s it. Come on, little guy.”
“Is it a boy?” Max asks from above me.
“I don't know, I can’t tell yet.”
The dog takes another step toward us and it becomes clear that one of his hind legs is very injured. He’s limping, trying not to put pressure where it hurts.
“Oh, Jesus. He’s hurt,” he says.
“Very. Max, we have to help him. We need to get him to the vet. He’ll die out here if we leave him.”
He doesn’t answer me because we both go silent when the little animal makes his way over, hobbling over to me to take the piece of jerky.
He gingerly bites the edge then pulls it away, gobbling it down, so I open the bag and pull out another, which he immediately takes.
Taking a chance, I reach out and scratch the top of his head and to my surprise, he lets me.
