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ago. He’s a miniature Australian shepherd, maybe twenty-Þ ve pounds. He’s a blue merle, which means his fur is a multicolor mix of white, black, brown, and gray. One ear is solid black and the other is sort of gray and sticks up a little bit. And he’s got beautiful blue eyes.”
    The woman paused, seemed to collect herself. “Anyway, if you still have him and he Þ ts this description, would you please call me?” She left her name again and her number and the machine clicked, signifying the end of the message.
    Natalie swallowed, a sudden discomfort settling in the pit of her stomach. She looked over at Chino, who was chewing happily across the room, and absently wondered if dogs recognized voices after long periods of time. He didn’t seem to be paying her any mind and for that, Natalie was grateful.
    My dog ran away from my parents’ place in PenÞ eld about three months ago.
    “Well, how irresponsible are you and your parents?” Natalie said aloud to nobody. “I mean, seriously. Three months ago?”
    She did some quick math in her head and realized that Chino would have been on his own, wandering around the city with no food or water at his disposal, for over two weeks before she found him. No wonder he was so frightened.
    The smell of beef assaulted her as she stretched herself out on the ß oor next to him and stroked his fur as he chewed. After a couple minutes, he shifted slightly and adjusted his positioning so she couldn’t quite reach him, making her laugh. “Oh, excuse
    • 64 •
    FINDING HOME
    me, Mr. I’m Chewing a Bone Right Now So Don’t Bug Me by Petting Me. Forgive me for distracting you.” Becoming serious again, she sighed as she watched him, thinking how much she adored having him around, how much he’d brought to her over the past two months. She’d never had a dog growing up, and though she came from a loving home with wonderful parents, she’d never really fully grasped the concept of unconditional love until she had Chino in her life. Now she got it, got what dog lovers were always talking about. Chino didn’t care if she was in a rotten mood or had PMS or bad breath. He loved her regardless, without limits and without speciÞ cs, and she was loath to give that up, especially as she was just beginning to get used to it.
    The ringing of the phone saved her from more wallowing, but then her heart began to pound. What if it was this Sarah Buchanan again? Cursing herself for being too budget-conscious to splurge on Caller ID, she held her breath until the machine picked up.
    “Hey, it’s me.” Andrea’s voice Þ lled the room and Natalie exhaled in relief. “Where are you? Pick up.”
    Natalie snatched up the handset. “I’m here.”
    “You’re screening? That’s new.”
    “Yeah, well, I just walked in.”
    “I’m coming over. What do you feel like on your pizza?”
    Forty-Þ ve minutes later, they sat in Natalie’s tiny living room, stufÞ ng themselves with a mushroom-and-green-pepper pie and replaying Sarah Buchanan’s answering machine message.
    Andrea grimaced. “Maybe it’s not him.”
    Natalie blinked at her.
    “Okay, okay. It is him. Those ears are a dead giveaway.
    But…it’s been three months. Three months . And remember what kind of shape he was in when you found him.”
    “I know. I can’t get it out of my head.”
    “How do we know she’s not abusive to him? I mean, how do we know she’s not the one who starved him? Maybe she’s some whacko, animal-cruelty person.”
    • 65 •
    GEORGIA BEERS
    “Anything’s possible.” Natalie studied Chino as she chewed her pizza. He dozed contentedly on the braided rug at their feet.
    “He doesn’t even beg. He’s so good.”
    “He is.” Andrea rubbed her bare toes over his silky fur and he sighed.
    “He sits, he lies down, he shakes hands, he comes when he’s called.”
    “He’s a miracle doggie.”
    “My point is somebody trained him. Somebody—probably this Sarah Buchanan—spent time and