Everyone Wanted the White Puppy—But He Wouldn’t Leave Without Her

Chapter 10

The repairs at Pine Hollow took longer than expected, and Frost remained with Silas for another week.

No one made a formal decision about extending the three-day arrangement. Jo simply stopped mentioning the date, and Silas stopped asking when Frost had to return.

Every day, before or after his shift, Silas brought Frost back to the shelter to see Willow.

Willow was improving. Her left hind leg was still weaker than the other, but she could place more weight on it now, and she could move for longer periods without stopping. The exercises were simple. Silas placed small treats a few steps apart and encouraged her to walk from one to the next. Frost followed every session as though he had been assigned to supervise it, sitting close, watching every step.

Willow reached the first treat and ate it. She reached the second. When Silas placed the third one down, Frost moved in from the side. Willow saw him coming. Before he could reach the treat, she leaned her shoulder into him and pushed him away just far enough to take it herself.

Frost stared at her.

Silas smiled. “Finally, someone who can manage you.”

Willow chewed slowly while Frost sat beside her, looking deeply disappointed by the outcome.

Her confidence grew over the next several days. She still favored the injured leg when she became tired, but she was beginning to act less like a patient and more like a puppy. One afternoon, Frost carried the old rubber ball into the small exercise area and dropped it near Willow. When Silas called him away for a moment, Frost turned his back. By the time he looked again, the ball was gone.

Willow stood several feet away with it in her mouth.

Frost froze.

Willow took two awkward steps backward. Frost followed. She turned and moved away as quickly as her leg allowed, and Silas watched them circle the room and laughed.

“Now you know how everyone else feels when you steal something.”

Frost ignored him and continued after the ball. It was not much of a chase. Willow tired quickly and finally dropped the toy. Still, she had taken it because she wanted it, not because anyone had placed it in front of her. That mattered.

A few days later, Silas was held at the police station longer than usual. Frost stayed at the house, and by late afternoon, Jo was preparing to take Willow outside before the shelter settled down for the evening.

Willow was resting near the front of her kennel when a vehicle turned into the parking lot. Her head lifted. Jo paused. The engine stopped outside.

Willow stood. Her left leg was stiff for the first few steps, but she crossed the kennel before the front door even opened.

Silas entered a moment later. Willow was already waiting.

There was no Frost beside him. No ball, no treat. Silas walked closer, and Willow came directly toward him when Jo opened the kennel gate. She stopped against his leg and rested her head there.

Silas lowered one hand behind her ear.

This time, he did not stop.

Willow leaned into the touch, her eyes closing, and Silas stood there in the quiet of the shelter hallway with his hand behind the ear of a dog he had not expected to love, and something in his chest loosened by a degree he had not known was clenched.

Jo watched for a moment, then continued with her work.

That evening, Silas returned home to find Frost at the front window. The white head disappeared as soon as Silas parked, and by the time he opened the door, Frost was standing in the hallway with his tail moving.

“Long day,” Silas said.

Frost followed him into the kitchen. Silas opened the refrigerator. Frost sat down. “No.” Frost stayed exactly where he was. “That isn’t for you either.” Frost stayed where he was. Silas pointed toward the doorway. “Out of the kitchen.”

Frost moved two feet backward, which appeared to be his interpretation of the request.

Silas shook his head and continued preparing dinner. The conversation meant nothing, and it had become part of the evening. Silas spoke. Frost listened when it suited him. Sometimes that was enough.

Later, Frost disappeared down the hallway. Silas expected him to return with another sock, or the old rubber ball, or some other treasure he had decided belonged to him. Instead, Silas noticed the door to the spare room standing partly open.

He walked toward it.

Inside, an old storage box sat near the wall. For fourteen months, Silas had left it closed. He stood over it for several seconds before lowering himself to the floor. Then he lifted the lid.

Atlas’s collar rested near the top. Beneath it, the old working leash, a few small items from their years together, and photographs Silas had not looked at since packing them away. One picture showed Atlas stretched across the sofa, taking up nearly the entire cushion, while Silas sat crushed at the far edge, grinning.

Silas held the photograph longer than the others.

Then he found a folded piece of paper. His own handwriting was across the front.

Buy Atlas a new bed.

Silas stared at the words. He remembered writing them after Atlas had flattened another dog bed and started sleeping on the rug instead. It had been nothing important — something to do the next day. He had never done it.

He set the paper beside the photograph.

For months, the memory that came first when he thought of Atlas had been the last day. The clinic. The final hours. The empty drive home. But the box held almost none of that. It held ordinary things. A worn collar. A photograph on a sofa. A reminder to buy a bed.

Frost appeared in the doorway carrying Atlas’s old rubber ball. He walked over and placed it beside Silas.

Silas did not reach for it. Frost waited. When no game began, the puppy lowered himself onto the floor beside Silas’s leg and rested his chin on the floorboards.

Silas stayed there with the open box. After a while, his hand found its way onto Frost’s back.

The next morning, they returned to Pine Hollow at their usual time.

Frost entered the hallway ahead of Silas and immediately headed toward Willow. He slowed before reaching the kennel.

Willow was lying on her side. Normally, she would have been standing by the time Frost came near. Even on slower mornings, she would lift herself and move toward the wire. This time, she only raised her head.

Frost stopped. He moved closer and lowered himself beside the kennel.

Jo came down the hallway. “She didn’t finish dinner last night.”

Silas looked at Willow. The area around her left hind leg appeared more swollen than it had the day before. He crouched near the wire.

“Willow.”

Her eyes moved toward him. She tried to shift her body, then stopped.

Frost pressed himself closer to the kennel.

Silas’s smile from the previous afternoon disappeared. For the first time in days, nothing about the morning felt ordinary anywhere.