Caleb (The K9 Files Book 11) by Dale Mayer (sneezy the snowman read aloud TXT) 📕

“He was hardly a warrior,” she protested but relented when Caleb opened the door, and Graynor bounded forward. “And yet he seems like he’s got so much life in him yet,” she murmured.

“Lying around on the couch isn’t always the best thing,” he said. “Graynor’s got to stay nimble, fit, and healthy.”

“I know that,” she murmured, “but I let him do it for so long now.”

“Let’s load up.”

She took her three males, the two Heinz 57 mixes that she’d gotten from rescues over the years—Kali and Max—and Graynor; she left just one at home. But then Fancy had a sore foot, and it was probably better to leave her home. Although Laysha felt guilty.

They all were in Caleb’s rental truck now, and he drove them down the driveway. “You don’t take them everywhere, do you?”

“No,” she said, as she fastened her seat belt. “I do leave them home a lot.”

“It’s good for them to be accustomed to both,” he said in that noncommittal voice.

“Yeah,” she said, “but they were also my saving grace all the years that I was working my way through the marriage and the divorce,” she said. “So I’m very aware of how many emotional needs they helped me deal with.”

“Good to hear,” he said. “We all need someone. And, honest to God, if that someone for you is four-legged, I think it’s often the best thing.”

“True,” she said with a smile. “And that’s something you didn’t have, did you?”

“No,” he said, “not at all.”

Once on the road, the conversation turned back to the dog that he was looking for. “What will you do if you find Beowulf?”

“I’m not sure at this point,” he said. “Contact my bosses, of course, and they’ll probably contact the War Dogs Department and see what options there are.”

“Poor dog,” she said, “to spend years in military service and heavy training, then to be retired and seemingly kicked out of a life that he knew well and into whatever mess he arrived in here.”

“Exactly,” he said, “we don’t know what happened here.”

“Except there was gunfire, and the dog took off, and somebody saw the dog taking off.”

“And, if you think about it, the dog hadn’t been here long enough to know what home was.”

“Which just adds to the poor dog’s confusion. So now he’s out on his own, either adopted by somebody else or chained by somebody else.”

“It’s what we’re going on, yes,” he said. “And obviously neither of those are ideal situations, especially if we don’t know where the dog is.”

“And when did this happen?”

“Not sure,” he said. “I mean, there are thousands and thousands of War Dogs. For a dozen to slip through the cracks when the department shut down, that’s a pretty minor percentage. But for those twelve dogs, it’s not minor at all.”

“And you’re on the eleventh?”

“Yes,” he said. “Although I understand more case files are coming.”

“Why did they shut down the department?”

“Budget cuts,” he said succinctly. “You know what it’s like. You start with good intentions, and then the budget money dries up. So you reshuffle staff, and things get cut. And following up on more dogs that should have already been resettled becomes labor-intensive, and something nobody had money or time or manpower for.”

“Makes sense,” she said. She didn’t like it, but it made sense. As they crossed the border into the Mexican side, she said, “How do you know you can trust this guy?”

“We’re a bit early for the meeting,” he said, “so I want to go and see where this other guy lives.”

“But you didn’t get an address from him, did you?”

“No, the tipster gave me the general area, but that’s it. And he gave us a first name.”

“Sure, but, even if you were to stop and ask somebody about it, you’re the strange white man now,” she said. Then she looked at him, smiled, and said, “Although I gather you were recuperating a lot in the sun.”

“I’ve always had that tan leathered look,” he said, “but I have spent some time in the last few months while working outdoors with the bosses, doing carpentry and just building up my manual skills again, seeing what my body was capable of.”

“I’m sorry you were so badly hurt,” she said quietly.

He gave her a lopsided look. “So am I. But I’m getting better, almost there. Maybe I still need to do some rehab.” He flexed his hand. “This shoulder and arm have seen better days.”

She nodded. “But I think that bothered you before you ever went in the navy, didn’t it?”

“Yep, and then a subsequent shoulder injury just made it worse.”

She nodded.

“And what about you?” he asked. “Still healthy? No major illnesses since I saw you last?”

“Nope,” she said. “None. Life has been good.”

He pulled up outside the cantina and looked around.

“Where are we now?”

“This is where I was asking questions and offered to pay money for the information.”

“But we haven’t found the place where the dog is yet.”

“I know,” he said. “I was just thinking I might get an actual address from someone here.”

“Like, talking to them over there? A couple of young guys are outside.”

“That might be a good idea,” he said. They were fairly well dressed and looked like they had jobs, where a lot of the area was rural and labor-oriented. “Or they’re working for this guy.”

“That’s possible too.”

He hopped out, looked at her, and said, “Stay here, please.” And he took the keys with him.

She watched as he left. “It’s not like I would leave without you,” she muttered. “And I sure as hell wouldn’t leave you behind.” Just the fact that he’d taken the keys rankled. And it shouldn’t have. He had always been protective, looking after things. But that just seemed a little excessive.

In the backseat, Graynor gave a deep woof. She looked over, smiled at him, and said, “How are you doing, boy?”

He dropped his chin on the back of the seat with his head toward her, and she reached over and scratched him. “I know your time