A low whine sounded from behind a thick juniper bush at the corner of the building. Matt and Cady stepped around it to view the back of the house. A porch spanned the rear of the building. Half of the railing spindles were broken, and the wooden steps were rotted.
Cady pointed. “There.”
A young white-and-brown pit bull mix stood near the sagging back door. He was tied to a post by a thick, dirty rope. Piles of dog feces surrounded him. The smell was overwhelming, and there wasn’t a clean spot big enough for him to lie down. His ribs protruded, and his coat was matted and filthy.
“Poor baby,” Cady crooned in a high-pitched voice. “You’re so thin.”
Matt approached the bottom of the steps slowly, looking for signs of aggression. The dog whined softly again. Matt pulled a piece of chicken from his pocket and extended it toward the dog. Its posture softened as it sniffed Matt’s fingers and carefully took the food. No snapping but also no hesitation or distrust. Amazing.
Matt scanned the thin body. “Young male. Forty pounds. At least ten pounds underweight. Infested with fleas.”
“There’s no food. Do you see water?” Cady stepped around Matt to get a better look. She’d have none of his overprotecting. He should have known better.
“There’s an empty bowl.” Matt snapped pictures. Documenting cases was an old habit from his days as a sheriff’s investigator.
“I’ve seen enough,” Cady said, her voice final. “Let’s get him out of here.”
Matt leaned forward and untied the rope on the dog’s collar. “Are you going to be a good boy?” he asked in a high-pitched tone. The dog responded with a wag.
“Watch your face, Matt.”
The dog seemed friendly, but most dogs didn’t bite out of aggression. It was usually a reaction to fear or pain.
Not wanting to risk falling through the rotted steps, Matt leaned forward and scooped an arm around the dog’s middle. “Don’t bite me, OK?”
The dog didn’t struggle at all as Matt lifted him off the porch. Instead he licked Matt’s face.
“OK. There’s a good boy.” Matt set him on the ground and gave his square head a rub.
Crouching to the dog’s level, Cady opened the loop on her lead and slipped it over his head. “You’re such a pretty boy.” She gave him a treat from her pocket.
Unbelievably, the thin tail whipped back and forth, and his skinny body wriggled with joy.
“How can these neglected dogs still love people after what’s been done to them?” Matt scanned the rest of the dog for injuries, but he seemed sound.
“Humans don’t deserve dogs,” Cady agreed.
Matt patted the dog’s side. “Let’s get him out of here.”
“You are going to feel so much better very soon.” Cady stood. The dog seemed happy to fall into step beside her, as if he knew he was being rescued.
She led him alongside the house back toward the front yard. Matt brought up the rear. They emerged onto the sidewalk. The setting sun blinded Matt, and he held up a hand to block it.
“Hey! You can’t just take that dog!” a tall bald man yelled from across the street. He pulled his head out from under the hood of a battered F-150 and stepped around a toolbox on the ground.
Matt reached for Cady’s arm, pulling her behind him. The dog pressed his body against her calf.
“We have permission from the owner of the house,” Matt said.
“Well, that dog belongs to my friend. It ain’t yours.” The man was in his fifties, in saggy jeans and a T-shirt stained with what looked like motor oil. Despite being older and lean, he had a wiry and wary look that put Matt on alert. The man walked a few steps closer, clearly not afraid. He held a wrench in one hand and slapped it into his opposite palm.
Matt wished he still wore a badge and gun. “Where’s your friend?”
In the background, Matt saw Brody’s dark form leap silently from the open van window onto the sidewalk.
“He went to visit somebody,” the man said. “He’ll be back in a day or two.”
“He isn’t supposed to be living here.” Matt kept his voice even. “You know he doesn’t own this place.”
“People do what they gotta do.” The man shrugged. His tone dropped lower, more threatening. “You still can’t just take a dude’s dog.”
Cady slipped out from behind Matt. “Hi, I’m Cady. What’s your name?”
“Cady,” Matt warned under his breath.
She ignored him.
“I’m Dean.” The man’s posture softened as she smiled at him.
Cady’s face went serious. She gave the dog a worried look. “The dog is in pretty bad shape.”
Dean frowned. “He looks OK to me.”
Brody padded down the walk until he stood about fifteen feet behind the man. Matt gave him the hand signal to stay. He obeyed, but his focus was 100 percent on Dean. If Dean acted aggressively, Brody would take him down.
“He’s underweight. He’s covered in so many fleas he’s lost some of his fur.” Cady pointed to a bald patch on the dog’s hindquarters. “Your friend left him without any food or water. When did he leave?”
“Yesterday.” Dean’s gaze swept over the dog, as if reassessing him. “No food or water, huh?”
“No.” Cady reached into her pocket for a business card. “I run a dog rescue. You can give my card to your friend when he gets back, and he can contact me about the dog. We’re going to take him to a vet for treatment.”
Dean waved off her offer of a card. “Nah. I ain’t never really looked good at the dog, but I can see you’re right. He’s way too skinny.” He stepped back, his voice full of respect. “You go on your way. I’ll go back to minding my own business.”
“Thanks.” Cady led the dog toward the van.
Dean gave her a quick head bow, then turned back to his truck repair. He hesitated as he caught sight of Brody on the sidewalk. With his ears pricked forward and intelligent eyes riveted on Dean, the dog was intimidating.
“Brody, fuss,” Matt called.
Brody jogged past Dean and fell into a heel position at Matt’s side. Shaking his head, Dean leaned under the raised hood of the pickup.
Matt opened the cargo door and picked up the pittie. Cady opened the crate in the back, and Matt slid the dog inside and closed the door. The dog turned around once and curled up on an old towel.
Matt lifted Brody into the rear seat of the van. “You’re not supposed to jump in and out of vehicles since you hurt your shoulder, but thanks for backing us up.”
Brody wagged his tail.
Matt and Cady climbed into the vehicle. Cady opened a bottle of hand sanitizer. Matt held out a hand, and she squirted some into his palm. The pittie was covered in filth and fleas, and Matt was glad they’d brought Cady’s vehicle.
“Good thing one of us has people skills. That was masterful de-escalation,” Matt said as Cady pulled out onto the street. “You turned a potential confrontation into a positive encounter.” He had been ready to go all brawn, no brain.
Cady laughed. “I’ve done this a few times.”
“More than a few, I’m sure, and that worries me.” Matt glanced at his sister. Her profile was misleading. Her freckles made her look younger than thirty-three. But she’d been rescuing dogs for six years, since her disaster of a marriage and subsequent nasty divorce. Just thinking of that time made Matt’s hand curl into a fist as he remembered the satisfaction of plowing it into her ex’s face. But he didn’t bring it up. One, she didn’t know about that. She thought her ex had decided to stop stalking and harassing her on his own. And two, except for never dating, she seemed to have gotten past that terrible time.