“She is, indeed,” Daniela said. “I think all kids are.”
“Never been around them,” he said.
“This is your chance,” she said.
“I can hardly relocate to Alaska,” he said. “It’s not like finding dogs is my typical kind of work.”
“What is your kind of work?”
“Hmm. Guess I need to think about that. It’s a little hard to describe, and you’re right. I was healing and trying to forge a new path for myself. I’ve been helping out a group, finding work for veterans. Then I heard about a bunch of people doing searches for these dogs. When I found out one was up here, I asked for the assignment.”
She smiled at that revelation and filed it away to think about later. “Still, it seems strange to me that the government would shut down such an important program.”
He looked at her with a wry smile. “Does it really surprise you?”
“Maybe not,” she admitted. “It always seems like the money’s going in the wrong direction when the government is involved.”
“Lots of times it does,” he said. “So, in this case, we’re trying to make sure the dogs end up having a good life.”
“Doggy,” came the voice of the very single-track-minded little girl in the back seat.
Both adults laughed. It was only a fifteen-minute drive to the feedstore, and Weston looked around with interest. “It’s been a few years since I was here,” he said. “I have to admit. It doesn’t look like it’s changed much.”
“It grew a little,” she said, “then the stock market contracted, and some of the stores shut down. I think the population has stayed the same over the last ten years, and the businesses changed some, depending on what could make a go of it.”
“Exactly. I’m sure the cruise ports are still making big money, aren’t they?”
“More than big money when it comes to the overall economy,” she said quietly. “But there’s almost a love-hate relationship with them.”
“I think that’s the same the world over,” he said.
Before long she took a series of turns and pulled into a large parking lot. At the end of the parking lot was a feedstore.
He looked at it and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been in this one.”
“It hasn’t been in this location long,” she said. “It was in town before but much smaller.”
“Maybe that’s why,” he said as he hopped out. He stopped and looked around and saw some trees lining the parking lot and a wooded area off another hundred yards or so. “I suppose the dog could be hiding in there,” he said, as he pointed toward the woods.
She looked at him as she leaned into the back and unbuckled Sari from the car seat. “Sure,” she said. “But I’m sure they are also hunting the alleyway, looking for anything edible.”
“That’s very possible,” he admitted. “This dog’s not exactly used to hunting and hasn’t ever been allowed to hunt for her own food.”
“I guess the dog’s been fairly regimented with its K9 training, right?”
“The K9 training can vary, depending on what the dog will do. In this case, she was use to sniffing out IEDs and people. Though I’m sure a certain amount of survival training was included in that.”
She nodded, and, with Sari in her arms, they walked toward the front of the building. He kept searching out the side area, looking for any sign of a dog.
Inside, the place bustled with business. He waited until he could get one of the guys’ attention.
“Can I help you find something, sir?”
“I called about thirty minutes ago but ended up coming straight here,” Weston said, “about a dog I’m looking for.”
A look of recognition appeared on the guy’s face. “Oh, right, that was me you were talking to. Come on. I’ll show you where we usually see them.” He led the way to the back. “The dogs are usually seen in this area, but I haven’t seen any today.”
“That’s always the way, isn’t it?” Weston said.
The younger man laughed. “Exactly. But go ahead and call her, and see if you can get any to come in closer.”
“Do you have dog treats inside?”
“All kinds,” the kid said. He pulled out an open package from behind a register at the back door. “We often give them the treats from here. So go ahead and grab a bunch, if you think it’ll help you get close to the dog.”
Weston reached out his hand and grabbed several. Leaving Daniela and Sari inside the building, he walked toward the rear parking lot. He started calling for the dog, using the same military whistles she would be used to. An almost weird stillness filled the air, but no dog came running as he walked past the vehicles parked in front of pallets of feed still to be taken into the warehouse.
Then he thought he caught a furtive movement. Pausing to let his eyes adapt to the strange scenery around him, he caught the same movement off to the right. Slightly he turned to watch and could see a dog in between the pallets, staring at him. He crouched down slowly. “Shambhala?” And then ordered her, “Come.”
The dog bared her teeth and backed away, and he saw her missing back leg. If he needed a sign this was the dog, that was it.
“Shambhala,” he said, his voice firm but neutral.
The dog hesitated, growling, obviously confused and not certain about what to do. Weston took two steps forward, and her hackles rose, and she resumed growling.
Then he noted the dried blood on her shoulder. He frowned, then crouched down again. “Shambhala, come here.”
The dog whined and took a hesitant step toward him.
He nodded and held out his hand with a dog treat. “Come.” Obviously the training was warring with the
