Pastries

The rain downpours, hitting my umbrella with thumps. Weaving my way around downtown in search of my car. The smell of pastries wafts from the brown bag by my side, forever at the perfect temperature, just waiting for me to devour them.

I know the alley to my right has no shop there, just a little unused dead end, but I glance anyway, the movement instinctual. Despite the dark storm clouds above and the rain obscuring my vision, I see the furry lump hidden in the corner of the alley. It's an animal, but what kind?

Slowly I creep forward, giving it space as I try to make out what it is. Slowly, a canine head lifts from the ball of black. It's a black German Shepherd. A grumble emits from its throat, low in a warning I hear. “Ok, I won’t get any closer.” Slowly, I crouch, setting my bag of goodies on the ground.

The dog has no collar, nothing saying it belongs to someone. It rises from its position, lifting its back leg high in pain. Its coat does well to hide how skinny it is, but the dip where the stomach connects with the ribs is obvious. 

“It’s ok. I promise I won’t hurt you,” I whisper. She sniffs the air, looking between the bag and I. A sigh escapes me, I was really looking forward to my treats. My arm lifts and the dog growls, “I’m just grabbing you a piece. What do you like,” I ask hoping the more I talk the more comfortable she will be. “Here,” I take out a pastry I know has nothing harmful to dogs in it. “I really like these, and it’s still nice and warm.” 

My umbrella rests on the ground, who cares about getting wet when you’re rescuing a dog. A piece crumbles off in my hand. It tumbles out my hand towards the dog, who sniffs it cautiously before eating it. For my offer, she gives me a step. “See, tasty right?”

The pastry is almost completely gone before she is eating out of my hand. She licks my hand clean, the both of us are now thoroughly soaked. “Does this mean you’ll come home with me?” As if she understands, she looks me in the eye. 

My feet prickle in sleepy protest when I stand, umbrella and bag in hand. “Let's go sweetie,” I say, hoping her hobbling self will follow me the short distance to my car. 

She does, slowly, but she does. It takes half of another pastry to get her in the car. But once she is in, my car is thoroughly soaked with both her in the back and me in the front. She pants the whole drive home. She’s lucky I don’t live in an apartment complex, or else I wouldn’t be able to take her in. She limps into the house, slinking low to the ground as she enters. “Let me see if I can find you anything to eat for tonight, then tomorrow I’ll go buy you some food.” My wet bag of pastries plops onto the counter, momentarily forgotten.  

Chicken from last night stands out as the best option, along with some leftover rice. A plastic bowl is elected as her food bowl. The microwave blares its annoying alarm, revealing steaming food that was once meant for me, but has been sacrificed for a good cause. Good thing I have cereal. “I got you some real food,” I announce, turning around to see no dog in my small kitchen. 

“Doggie? Where did you go?” The soaking wet dog is on my couch. Normally, I would be very upset, however, she is hurt and looks comfortable, so all I do is bring the bowl to her. “How did you get up here? Your leg probably isn’t broken with how you’re doing, so that's a good sign.” I set the bowl on the couch in front of her, I already have to clean the cushions, at least I can let her be comfortable while she eats. 

She inspects the food for a fraction of a second before she sits up and begins devouring the food. She allows me to sit beside her, I don’t touch her, but she seems to like my company. The bowl falls off the couch once it’s empty, because of her licking the bowl clean. She slides off the couch, catching herself before her foot can hit the ground. I guess I should see what's wrong while she’s occupied. 

I kneel beside her, looking at the leg. A scrape goes down the side, not bad, but should probably go to the vet to make sure it’s not terrible. Her paw is at the perfect angle for me to see the bottom. A thorn pokes out. “Aww, you have a splinter. Poor baby,” I murmur. 

Quickly yanking the thorn out before she can realize what's happening. She yelps and spins around, looking ready to bite me. “I know, I’m sorry. But that really needed to come out.” She sits down, keeping an eye on me while she inspects her foot. Licking the beading blood away. Her honey brown eyes lock onto mine after her inspection is done. She sneezes in my face before resuming her cleaning of the bowl. 

Seems like we have come to an agreement. 

My bowl clatters in the sink, followed by hers. “I would give you more, but I think if you eat too much you’ll puke. And I really don't wanna clean up dog puke.” She retreats to the couch, foot touching the ground now, but still limping. She settles down with a sigh. Perfect, now I don’t have to figure out where she’s gonna sleep. 

Quickly and as silently as possible, I eat a pastry. Apparently not quiet enough though, because her head shoots up, her eyes glaring at me expectantly. “Fine,” I say through a mouthful. She takes the bit from my hand as gently as if she were a cat. 

I go to bed, pleased with the fact that I rescued a dog and that she seems to like me already. 

Groggy, I open my door, almost tripping over a black mass of fur. “Well good morning,” The very tip of her tail moves. A smile spreads across my face, “Well someone is in a good mood this morning.” I stumble down the hall to the kitchen. Opening the backdoor for her to escape outside. I guess she’s potty trained then. 

Food is served, with a little bit of the last pastry with it. “Today, we have to take you to the vet and get you some food. That is if you're not lost or anything.” That one thought ruins my mood. I go through the motions of getting ready, one thought on my mind. What if she does have an owner? What if she’s just lost and has people looking for her? 

I call the vet, ensuring a spot for her this evening. But I have to get her into the vet. Well, I guess I have to get her a collar and leash. And while I’m at it I should get her a small bag of food, just in case. 

I throw the couch cushion into the washer. At least she’s dry now and I don’t have to dry her. She probably still is not comfortable enough with me for that. 

“Alright sweetie, let's go get you a collar and stuff.” Her head tilts, she seems more awake today than she did last night. She hops into the car, seeming ready for whatever. 

“Alright, you have to stay in here, because you don’t have a collar and leash. But I promise I’ll be real quick.” I scurry through the store. Grabbing only the necessities, and also some treats. Because thoughts are definitely necessary with the lack of pastries. 

I slide into the car, “I’m back! See I wasn’t that long.” Her tail thumps three times behind me. My heart stops for those three beats. “Here you go sweetheart,” my hand reaches back, treats waiting for her sweet tooth. 

The car rumbles to a stop in the vet parking lot. “Alright, let's go see if you have someone waiting for you and get that leg checked out.” I open the car door where she sits expectantly. She eyes the collar in my hand wearily. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” She’s as still as a statue as I click the collar around her neck. The tension leaves her body as I pull away. 

Leash in hand, we waltz into the vet, where she once again tenses up. “Hi, I have a vet appointment today. She doesn’t have a name because I’m not sure if she belongs to someone, but,” I trail off, unsure what to say. But the lady seems to remember me from earlier this morning because she waves me towards the second room. 

The vet comes in, chip scanner in hand. “Nope, nothing. Do you want to surrender her to us?” he asks innocently.

“No!” I exclaim a bit too loudly. “Sorry, I. I think I’ll keep her. Could you look at her leg? She has a scratch, and I want to make sure it’s not infected.” He smiles, kneeling down to look at my dog's leg. “Let's see what we have.” He pulls away from his inspection when she grumbles slightly. 

“It doesn’t seem to be infected, but I would like to bandage it and put an ointment on it just in case. I think you’ll have to do it though because she does not seem to like me.” She’s stiff the entire time I wrap her leg, with the vet's guidance of course. He wishes me luck when we leave. I think I don’t need it though, I think we’re getting somewhere. 

We feast for dinner that night. She enjoys some kibble with the remaining bits of rice mixed in, and I enjoy pizza. She apparently really likes the crust. 

A realization dawns on me. “I have to give you a name.” The two of us sit on the ground, I feed her crust and treats, trying out names. “How about Shadow? No, it matches but it doesn’t fit.” She swallows a treat whole, unamused with my name suggestions. 

“You like pastries. Maybe something having to do with those? Cinnamon?” She steals a treat; no response means not her name. “Something sweet, something sweet.” I trail off, looking at her, waiting for her to announce her name. 

Her brown eyes bore into mine, begging for a treat. “HONEY!” She jumps, wanting the treats more than how scared she is. “How about honey, to match your eyes!” She licks my hand, most likely for a treat, but I take it as she likes the name. 

“Honey it is, Honey.”