Hannah's List (Blossom Street #7)(23)

Opening her door, Macy hurried outside, disregarding the fact that all she had on were her cotton pajamas. Her toothbrush was still in her mouth. She grabbed the trembling dog by the scruff of his neck and urged him onto the sidewalk.

Her heart pounded furiously as she led him toward her front steps. He was terrified enough to allow himself to be dragged, offering no resistance at all. Macy drew him into the house and closed the door. He was a large, long-haired brown dog of indeterminate breed--or breeds. Once inside, he stared up at her with a forlorn expression that would've softened the hardest of hearts. His pitiful brown eyes seemed to thank her for coming to his rescue. He continued to tremble as she bent to stroke his head.

She removed the toothbrush from her mouth and saw him gaze at it longingly. "Nope, this isn't very tasty," she said, tucking it behind her ear. The dog thumped his tail.

"Who are you, fellow?" she asked. Not surprisingly he had no collar and she doubted he'd have a microchip or a tattoo.

The poor dog looked as if he'd been lost for quite a while. He was emaciated, his thick hair matted with mud and grime.

"You're hungry, aren't you?"

He sat down on his haunches and stared at her with trusting eyes.

"You might as well come into the kitchen and I'll see what I can find, but be warned--I only have cat food." As if he understood every word, he got up and trotted behind her.

Snowball stood guard over his dish; he took one look at the dog, arched his back and hissed.

"Hush," Macy said. She placed her hand on the dog's head. "You'll have to pardon the lack of welcome from Snowball. Don't take it personally."

She removed a can of cat food from the small stack on her shelf. "Sorry, this is all I have. I hope you like salmon." From the looks of this mutt, he'd eat practically anything.

She was right.

He gobbled down the cat food almost as fast as she could spoon it onto the paper plate. The dry food disappeared just as quickly and when he was finished he gazed up at her as if to plead for more.

"Poor boy," Macy whispered. Lovie and Peace strolled casually into the kitchen to inspect the newcomer. Snowball, on the other hand, viewed him as an interloper and was having nothing to do with him.

Lovie edged close to the dog and began to purr. He's kind of cute, she seemed to be saying. Can we keep him?

"No, he can't stay," Macy informed her. "He's lost and we need to find his owner, or, failing that, a decent home."

Peace joined her friend, apparently taking up the dog's cause.

"Not you, too!" Macy groaned. "Okay, just for tonight, but that's it." She regarded the dog a second time. He was filthy. "However," she added, "if I let you stay the night, you're going to have a bath."

As she took the pet shampoo out from under the sink and opened it, all three cats scattered in different directions. "I wasn't talking about the three of you," she said with a laugh. Lovie and Peace hated water, although Snowball rather enjoyed playing with it. He frequently stuck his paws or his tongue under the faucet. It was a brave front, Macy suspected, aimed at showing up the two females. But he wasn't any fonder of baths than they were, no doubt recalling the time he'd escaped into a muddy, rainy night and come home to face the consequences--being doused with this same antiseptic-smelling shampoo.

The dog cocked his head to one side.

"You need a name," Macy said. She wasn't sure why animals found their way to her door. It'd started when she was a child. They seemed to sense her love, her appreciation and her joy in their presence. While mice and spiders terrified her family and friends, Macy saw them as utterly fascinating. She couldn't imagine a home without pets, or herself without a host of animals.

"How about Sammy?" she suggested.

The dog lay down on the cold kitchen floor and rested his chin on his paws.

She patted his head. "Okay, Sammy it is. Now, don't you worry, we'll find you a wonderful home." Seeing that he was such a well-behaved dog, she couldn't help speculating on what might have happened. Had he wandered off when someone opened the door? Or perhaps he'd escaped from a farm miles away. Worst of all, he could've been abandoned, maybe because his people had moved to some apartment building with a no-animals clause. She'd make an effort to return him if he had an owner--and if that owner was looking--but she suspected the task of relocating him would be up to her.

"We're going to clean you up and make you good as new," she murmured. He didn't seem to mind the cats' food and she figured he'd have no problem with their shampoo.

She led him down the hallway to the bathroom. Snowball hissed from Macy's bed as if to declare that this was his territory and Sammy had better not trespass.

"Oh, honestly, Snowball, your hiss is worse than your bite. Now, be nice. Sammy's our guest." She went into the bathroom, the dog at her heels, and filled the tub with warm water. She read the label on the shampoo bottle. Thankfully it would eliminate any fleas.

It took some doing to convince Sammy that he needed a bath. By the time she'd finished, she was soaked from head to foot and the bathroom looked as though a tornado had struck. Towels lined the floor and mud spatters reached all the way to the ceiling. Brushing Sammy's hair proved to be an impossible task, so Macy sat on the floor with a pair of scissors and did what she could.