Tangled

14 Ava: Husky (III)

The husky is still here.

A call to Animal Control is simple enough, even though it feels like I’m betraying her loyalty to me. I feed her bits of deli meat I brought down from my apartment, and she goes into doggy custody with little fanfare.

My day is bleak without her, but somehow, when Carlos and I are closing, I hear a scratching at the front door and glance up to see the now–familiar sight of my little Siberian buddy.

Okay, she isn’t really that little, and has to weigh at least fifty pounds, but to me, she’s a baby.

Carlos laughs behind me, a hearty sound that starts deep in his belly and bursts out to reverberate through the store. “I think she’s keeping you, Ava.”

I let her inside, smiling when her cold nose gives my leg a gentle boop as she passes. “Hey, girl. We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

She snuffles and tosses her head, chattering at me in that unique husky cadence. I ruffle the fur behind her

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14 Ava: Husky (III)

ears with a sigh. “How did you escape, hmm? I hope you didn’t leave a mess.” I remember a viral video of a dog that went wild after escaping its kennel within a shelter somewhere, and the mess it left in its wake. If I

recall correctly, that dog was also a husky.

Carlos snorts as the dog yips at me. “You may as well take her upstairs. I doubt she’s going anywhere. I have a feeling that the dog has chosen you. My mama would say it’s a spiritual connection. You should name her.” He taps her furry little snout with a grin, then shoots me a meaningful look. “Names have power.”

I jolt, finding wonder that someone put into words what I felt toward the mischievous, yet devoted to a bizarre level, stranger dog. But he’s right. I can’t keep calling her “the husky“, or “the dog“, can I?

Then again, I’ll be calling Animal Control again in the morning, so there’s that.

As if understanding my thoughts, she yips again and circles in agitation, chattering and groaning as her head bumps against me hard enough to throw me off balance. “I am not taking you for a walk every time you want to go potty,” I warn her, but my voice sounds like I’m happy–talking to a child. “I’m calling Animal

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14 Ava: Husky (III)

Control in the morning, so you better go home if you have one. Otherwise, it’s back to the kennels.” I rub and scrunch my hands all over the fur at her neck, laughing when she falls over and exposes her belly to me, tail wagging against the floor.

“Come on, you silly little monkey. We need to close up. I’m serious, you need to go home.”

She blows out a little chuff, and I get the distinct feeling she’s doing the dog equivalent of rolling her eyes at me before following us out the door. She tries to follow me upstairs to the front door of my apartment, but I point at her with narrowed eyes. “No. You go home now. Find your family. I can’t take care of

you.”

Whine.

cute you are, I just can’t. I don’t have the space. I don’t have the money. I’m

curls up at the bottom of the steps and stares at me

mournful eyes!

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Husky

my apartment, feeling like the worst

***

exclaiming how odd the camera footage is. If their words are

she somehow escaped from one camera to the

No one knows how.

radar tingles at their words, but hello, she’s a husky. Not a wolf.

foxes, coyotes, panthers, and other wild animals? Sure.

but hell no.

again when we close

store.

Mrs. Elkins even stays late one night to watch it happen, clucking her tongue and

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Husky

photos of her and encourages me

taken to calling her Selene, after the Moon Goddess that most wolf shifters believe in.

Come home with me. I’m pretty sure Animal Control is tired of

yips in an excited canine melody and

not that great. You won’t have a lot of room, and I’m serious about you having to find a place to potty on your own.

head under my hands and leaning into me with her full weight. I’m used to it

She huffs.

guess I’ll have to order some dog

and I swear she’s side–eyeing me.

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Ava: Husky

a dog. You eat dog food.

and croissants for the rest

a whine. I throw up my hands. “I’m arguing with a dog. I’ve lost my mind. It’s official. Come on, Selene,

as I unlock

my purse and breathe in the musty smell of old boxes as she begins to sniff everywhere, her nose twitching

new home.

heart and settles something I didn’t even realize was unsettled

into the bedroom. My sense of smell is only a little stronger than a normal human’s, and far inferior even to the domestic dog. I

centers around a pile of boxes I still haven’t sorted through, off to the side of the

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Ava: Husky (III)