Love

Megan did this to herself.

She knew going into the holiday season that it was going to be hell on earth, but without anybody to go home to at the end of the day, staying at the nursing home and working some extra shifts seemed like the best option—at least she wouldn’t be alone.

She stepped through the kitchen door and kicked her sneakers off into the basket in the entryway. Immediately, she went to the bathroom, cranked on the hot water, and stripped out of her scrubs. Working at the nursing home wasn’t nearly as messy as working in the emergency department, but she still felt like she needed a hot shower as soon as she got home. They kept the facility at a balmy seventy-eight degrees, so she worked up a nice musky odor by the end of each shift.

A loud crash came from outside. Thankfully, she hadn’t put shampoo in yet, so she flicked off the water and tuned her ear to the noise. Something was scraping around outside, just on the other side of the bathroom window. She couldn’t see through the transom above the shower, but it seemed like someone was going through her trash.

Today was not the day for that kind of nonsense. It was two days before Christmas, and Megan was already in a bad mood from working a thirteen-hour shift. The last thing she needed was someone vandalizing her property. So she stepped out of the shower, pulled on her bathrobe, and grabbed the shotgun from the inside of the pantry.

She opened the back door, gun poised in her hands, and peered around the corner of the porch.

“Who’s there?” she demanded. The floodlight clicked on, revealing her metal trash can turned on its side. She didn’t see anyone, so she glanced around, checking both sides of the house before heading back inside. Just then, she heard a cry.

At first, she thought it was a baby, but if working in the medical field taught her anything, she knew to expect a horse, not a zebra. That is to say, the likelihood of a baby rifling through her trash was incredibly unlikely. So when she took a closer look, she found a fluffy yellow tail poking out from behind the trash bin.

She descended the porch steps to find a filthy, very hungry dog with a banana peel on its head. It was helping itself to some of the leftovers she had thrown out that morning.

When she got too close, it scampered away, disappearing around the corner of her house, then poking its head around as if to see if she was still there.

“Go home,” she called.

But when the dog realized she wasn’t a threat, it crept toward her, its ears pressed back against its skull. It walked low to the ground, its chin nearly brushing the ground in submission.

“No,” she backed away, bumping into the bottom step of her porch. “No, go home.”

The dog wasn’t wearing a collar that she could see, and it was thin—even through its thick butter-yellow coat, she could see its ribs. It whined again and sat about five feet from her, peering up at her with honey-gold eyes.

Historically, Megan didn’t like dogs. Well, she didn’t dislike them exactly, but she didn’t have patience for them. She spent her career taking care of patients and her ex-husband. She didn’t need another creature taking up her precious free time.

She stepped past the dog to right the trash can and then turned to go back inside. It was a cold night—her breath puffed clouds of vapor into the evening air, and the tip of her nose buzzed from the chill.

“Go home,” she called over her shoulder before retreating inside and returning to her shower.

---

Fifteen minutes later, dressed in fleecy pajamas and a pair of slipper socks, Megan opened the fridge to retrieve some leftovers to eat for dinner. As they turned in the microwave, she peered out the back window, hoping to see that the dog had wandered off. She didn’t see it in the yard, so she cracked the back door to find it lying in the corner of her porch, curled up in a ball under one of the Adirondack chairs.

“Buddy, you gotta go home,” she said, fishing her phone out of her pocket. With a quick Google search, she found the phone number for Dogwood Pass Animal Control and gave them a call.

As the phone rang, she kept her eyes on the poor creature. Despite its heavy coat, it was shivering in the cold, and she almost considered getting it a blanket. No, Megan told herself. If you take care of it, it’ll think it lives here.

“You’ve reached Dogwood Pass Animal Control. Our hours are Monday through Friday, 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. Please leave a message…”

Megan sighed and hit the hang-up button. Animal control wasn’t available, and she doubted the sheriff’s department would consider a stray dog making itself comfortable on her porch an emergency.

The dog curled tighter into itself, burying its brown nose in its tail fluff to keep warm. She checked the temperature on the weather app—thirty-six degrees and dropping.

She couldn’t leave the poor thing out in the cold.

“Alright,” she said, taking a step toward the dog. “Come on.”

It lifted its head, eyes fixed on Megan.

“Come on,” she repeated. It crawled out from under the Adirondack chair and walked right up to her, tail wagging. Its nose and gums were a pinkish brown, and Megan swore a smile broke out on its face. Despite being quite dirty and skinny, his teeth looked healthy. Perhaps it was just lost. She could take it to the animal clinic in the morning to get it scanned for a microchip.

The dog followed her through the back door into the kitchen. It paced around the perimeter of the room, sniffing at the white cabinets and stainless steel appliances she and Brian had picked out when they bought and remodeled the house nearly a decade ago.

Megan pulled a bowl from one of the upper cabinets and filled it with sink water. She set it down on the hardwood floor, and the dog immediately began to drink.

“Good boy,” she said, immediately realizing she didn’t know if the dog was male or female. With a quick peek, she realized it was indeed a he.

As he drank, she picked leaf fragments and thistles out of his fur. He really needed a bath, but Megan didn’t have the energy to put him in the tub tonight. She barely had enough energy left to eat her dinner.

Dinner, she thought. Of course, he would be hungry. She pulled open the fridge and retrieved the remnant of rotisserie chicken and a packet of microwave rice from the pantry. Megan remembered that her mother used to feed their family dog rice when it was sick, so she knew that would be safe. The chicken would probably be okay as long as she didn’t give it too much.

A few minutes later, they were both eating dinner—Megan leaning against the counter, and the dog happily licking out a bowl on the floor.

When he finished eating, he paced the perimeter of the room until he found a warm spot near the air vent. There, he curled up and promptly fell asleep.

Megan wasn’t used to another living creature being in the house with her. She’d slept alone since she and Brian separated nearly a year and a half ago. The dog snored loud enough to be heard throughout the house, and it woke up every few hours, nails clicking on the floors as it found another spot to lie down.

When Megan finally went to bed around 1 a.m., she slept restlessly, hoping the dog wouldn’t make a mess of her carpets or tear the stuffing out of a throw pillow in the middle of the night.

---

She took the dog into the local veterinary clinic at 8 a.m. sharp to get scanned for a microchip, using a length of rope from her potting shed as a leash. It was Christmas Eve, and she needed to get the dog back to its owner as soon as possible. She would be working the night shift this evening, and the dog needed to be out of her hair by 7 p.m.

“No chip,” the vet said. “Haven’t seen any missing dog flyers around town or on Facebook?”

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and gave the dog a few scratches on the chin.

Megan shook her head. She’d checked all of the lost animal groups and shelter pages.

“Well, you could always try to take him over to the shelter,” the vet said, feeding the dog a treat from the pocket of his coat. “But they are usually full, and they aren’t a no-kill shelter.”

Megan’s heart squeezed in her chest. She couldn’t take him to a place like that. That would be as bad as leaving him to die.

“So what do you suggest I do?” Tears burned in the corners of her eyes. She stepped toward the examination table and stroked the dog’s velvety soft ears.

He just needed a bath and a good brushing, and then he would be a very handsome dog. He looked a bit like a golden retriever, but he was smaller than the ones Megan had seen at the park or out on walks. His head was blockier, too, like he was mixed with something else.

The vet checked his watch. “Animal control opens in twenty minutes. I suggest filing a found-dog report and then posting some pictures online—see if you can locate his owner there. Aside from that, the shelter may be able to connect you with their foster network.”

Dismayed, Megan nodded.

She would just have to make the best of this situation, she decided. Starting with a bath.

---

An hour later, Megan was drenched in water, but the dog was clean and significantly better smelling than he had been. Megan was the one who smelled like wet dog.

She purchased a cheap collar and leash and a small bag of dog food before leaving the pet store.

“What do I call you?” She gave him a little scratch under the chin.

He pressed his cheek into the palm of her hand. Something squeezed in her chest.

“Are you gonna be a good boy while I’m at work tonight?” She bit her lip, wondering if he would be okay by himself overnight. He hadn’t gotten into anything last night, and she figured as long as she kept him contained in the kitchen, he would be fine.

So she refilled his bowl with fresh water and then got ready for work. When she returned home the next morning, exhausted and ready for a shower and sleep, she entered the kitchen to find her guest eagerly awaiting her return.

With a sigh, she clipped his leash to his collar and took him outside. He immediately did his business and then was ready to follow her back inside while she showered and readied herself for a few hours of sleep.

The dog was her shadow—lying on the bathmat outside of the shower, sitting at her feet as she ate dinner on the couch. Only when she went to lie down and barricaded him back in the kitchen did he begin to whine.

After ten minutes, she got back up and appeared at him over the barricade she made from dining room chairs and Amazon boxes.

“What’s wrong, buddy?” She checked his water bowl—it was full. He’d already had some of the kibble she purchased at the pet store yesterday, and he had just been outside. He should be content. All of his needs were met.

He sniffed at her from behind the barrier and then took a step back and stomped his little feet.

“You’re fine. You have everything you need.” She returned to her bedroom with its blackout curtains and noise-making machine. But even the roar of the noise maker wasn’t enough to drown out his cries, and twenty minutes later, she returned to find him waiting in the kitchen, watching her intently.

She realized then that he just wanted to be near her. His whining stopped completely when she was in his vicinity, when he could see her, but the moment she rounded the corner and went back to her bedroom, he started crying again.

Reluctantly, she removed the barrier between the kitchen and the rest of the house.

“Fine, but if you get into anything, you’re going straight to the pound,” she said half-heartedly, knowing she wouldn’t actually take him to that wretched place.

For the third time, she went back to bed.

When her alarm woke her in the early afternoon, something warm was curled against her back. She turned and found the dog rolled up like a little cinnamon roll on top of her covers. At some point during her slumber, he’d jumped up into the bed with her and made himself comfortable.

Her knee-jerk reaction was to protest, to kick him out of the bed and make him remain on the floor, where he couldn’t get her duvet covered in that long yellow hair. But the peace on his face and the soft rise and fall of his chest was too much for her, and instead she rolled over and draped an arm over his side, sinking into the lamb-soft fur of his chest.

She had slept alone for so long, and having another warm body in the bed was comforting. The thing about dogs she had heard, but never experienced for herself, was their loyalty, their kindness—something she couldn’t say of her ex-husband. Not after she found him in bed with a woman ten years their junior.

Megan got the house in the divorce and everything inside of it, including the bed in which he’d broken their marriage vows. She kept everything the same except for that bed. She’d taken the mattress out to the backyard, dumped a jug full of old motor oil on it, and lit it on fire. Not her best moment, but it had burned away something in her.

For the first few months of their separation, Megan felt like her husband’s infidelity was her fault. Perhaps she’d been working too much or let herself go and had not given him what he needed to remain faithful. Then she realized that nothing she did could control his actions. She didn’t force him to step out of their commitment, to go for a younger woman, to destroy everything they’d built together since they were twenty-three years old. That guilt and wondering were replaced with rage—and perhaps a little bit of jadedness. She’d been so sure of her relationship with Brian when they were young, so sure that they would be together forever. Look how that turned out.

Megan would be working another night shift, this time Christmas Eve into Christmas morning, and she’d promised that she’d pick up the first four hours of her coworker’s shift so that they could stay home and open gifts with their children before coming into work. She would be away for more than sixteen hours. 

Megan would not be able to leave the dog alone for that long, and after checking her social media, she realized that she was no closer to finding his owner than she had been the day before. No one seemed to recognize the dog, but they all commented on how cute he was and how sweet his face looked. Megan agreed, but she could not keep him—not with her schedule, not with her life.

She would need someone to come let him out partway through her shift. He could probably make it through the night, but he would need a bathroom break before she got home. She considered running out and getting some puppy pads from the store, but she had no idea if he was familiar with them or would know to use them, and the last thing she needed was pee-soaked floors.

As much as she hated to make a last-minute request on Christmas Eve, she walked over to her neighbor’s house with the dog, his leash loosely around her wrist, and knocked on the door.

Her neighbor Lily had several teenage children, all of whom had been doing odd jobs around the neighborhood while on winter break. One of the younger teens, Cassidy, opened the door, and her face immediately lit up when she saw the dog.

“Oh, he’s so cute, Miss Megan.” She crouched down to pet the dog’s ears. “Is this your dog?”

Megan shook her head. “Is your mom home?”

Cassidy straightened back to her full height and called over her shoulder, “Mom! Miss Megan’s here for you!” Then she turned back to petting the dog. “What’s his name?” she asked.

“He doesn’t have one,” Megan admitted.

Footsteps tapped down the hallway, and Lily appeared, wearing an apron.

“Hi, Megan. What can I do for you?” she asked, her voice steady despite the noise in the house—Christmas music layered with chatter and shrieking children. There were at least six of them in the house, Megan knew, though she wasn’t quite sure of the exact number.

“Well, he needs a name,” Cassidy said. The dog was lying down now, belly up, tail wagging, clearly enjoying the attention.

“I was wondering if one of your older kids would be willing to come over and let my dog out in the morning sometime between six and eight. I’m working late, and he’ll need a potty break before I get home from work.”

Before her mom could even respond, Cassidy replied, “I’ll do it. I’m happy to watch Kris.”

“Kris?” Megan and Lily asked at the same time.

“Yeah, like Kris Kringle,” Cassidy said, scratching Kris’s belly.

“Kris,” Megan said. It didn’t quite fit, but it was better than nothing.

“Mom doesn’t let us open gifts until at least ten—after we’ve all eaten breakfast—so I can definitely come over earlier than that,” Cassidy said. “I’ll even take him for a walk.”

Megan nodded, waiting for Lily’s approval. “I’ll pay her, of course,” Megan said.

“That’s fine,” Lily replied. “I didn’t realize you had a dog.”

Megan hesitated before replying. “He’s not mine. I’m just watching him for a few days.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him, Miss Megan,” Cassidy said.

---

The night shift passed without much fanfare. On Christmas morning, the residents and staff enjoyed strawberry French toast for breakfast, and several families came in early to visit with or pick up their loved ones.

Around 8:30, Megan’s phone rang.

“Hello?” she asked through a mouthful of French toast.

“Megan, it’s Lily. Kris slipped out of his collar, and we can’t find him.” Her voice warbled on the other end of the line. “We’re not sure where he went.”

Megan set her fork down, and it clattered against her plate. Kris—the dog—was missing.

“What do you mean he slipped out of his collar?” Megan asked, not quite understanding what Lily was saying.

“He was pulling on his leash, and it went over his head. He ran away. We’ve been looking all over the neighborhood, and we can’t find him. Is there anywhere you think he would go?”

Megan stood abruptly, a hand pressed over her mouth. Everyone in the dining room turned to her expectantly, wondering what all the ruckus was about.

“No, I have no idea,” Megan said. “Keep looking for him. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

She checked her watch. She still had about two and a half hours to go before she could leave. Who was there to call? She didn’t want to bother anybody on Christmas morning. She’d already bothered her neighbors enough by asking them to take Kris out, and now they were out looking for him.

Megan ran a hand through her hair just as another hand landed on her shoulder. She turned to see Jenny, one of her friends from book club, whose mother was a resident at the nursing home. She must’ve come to pick up her mom while Megan was eating breakfast.

“Everything all right?” Jenny asked.

Megan shoved her phone into the back pocket of her scrubs and wiped a few tears that had gathered in her eyes. “My dog is missing,” she said, realizing after the words came out of her mouth that they weren’t entirely accurate. Kris wasn’t her dog. He was a stray dog that she had been watching for the past two days, but Jenny didn’t need to know that.

“Oh goodness,” Jenny said, pulling Megan into a hug. “Do you know where he could be?”

Megan shook her head and relayed the message from Lily. Jenny nodded and then pulled her phone out of her purse. “Give me a minute. My husband and kids are at home. Maybe they can help look for him. We’re only a couple of streets over from you.”

“Oh, you don’t need to do that.” Megan shook her head.

“It’s not a problem,” Jenny replied. “Our big celebration is on Christmas Eve, so they’re just lounging at home.”

Megan bit her lip, adrenaline still thundering through her veins. She wouldn’t be able to leave until her relief came in, and she worried about Kris—not just because it was cold outside and projected to snow later, but because she had started to care about him. The thought of coming home and not seeing his sweet little face made her heart sink.

What if he got hit by a car or attacked by another animal—a bigger dog, a coyote? Dogwood Pass was in the middle of nowhere; wildlife was not in short supply.

“Let us help you,” Jenny said, her phone pressed to her ear.

“Okay,” Megan replied.

---

Two hours passed, and there was still no word on Kris. Lily and her family were still out looking for him, all six of her children scouting the neighborhood. Jenny’s husband and kids had been driving around town, searching for any signs of Kris. Megan knew that the more time passed, the less likely it would be that they would find him, but she wouldn’t give up hope on the little guy.

She had just about twenty minutes until her relief would come in, and then she could go home and start looking for him. Maybe he was already back at her house, waiting under the Adirondack chair on her porch, but she knew the truth. Lily would’ve called her if he’d turned up there.

The final twenty minutes of work ticked by like a countdown to Christmas in childhood—agonizingly slow. Megan wondered if she would ever get out of there.

When her relief finally came in, she clocked out, gathered up her things, and headed for the front entrance just as the front doors whooshed open.

No one walked through. Instead, something trotted through—filthy but smiling.

Kris.

Sure enough, he wasn’t wearing his collar, and his coat, which Megan had spent the better part of an hour cleaning the day before, was caked in mud and filled with leaves and debris.

Megan dropped to her knees, not caring that Kris was smelly and dirty and bound to stain her scrubs. She opened her arms, and he ran to her, licking her face with his wet pink tongue.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she pulled her phone out of her pocket, dialing Jenny’s number to share the good news, and then Lily’s. Everyone was relieved, happy to get back to their Christmas festivities, but even happier that Kris was found safe.

Several of the residents who weren’t occupied rolled or wheeled themselves over to the action in the lobby. Megan sat on the floor with Kris curled up in her lap, panting happily after his long adventure.

“That your dog?” one of the older women asked, taking a seat on her rollater.

Megan didn’t know how she would take care of Kris day in and day out—she didn’t know if her heart had space for him after being drained by her divorce. But she knew for certain that she loved this dog, and he loved her back. She couldn’t send him away. Not after today. She would take him to doggy daycare, find him a professional sitter, or even take him to work with her—the residents seemed to like him already. 

“Yes,” Megan said through tears, smoothing a few briars away from his face. “Yes, he is.”