Read With a Little Luck: A Novel for Free Online Page A

that it will change.
    — BRET HARTE
     

Chapter Three
     
    As much as my name means “luck,” I sure haven’t seen much of it in my life. At least as far as matters of the heart are concerned. My longest relationship with a man has been with Moose, my seven-year-old Wheaten Terrier/Golden Lab/Tasmanian Devil mutt of a dog.
    I got Moose when I was with Natalie, shopping for her fifty-two-year-old cat, Dudley. Okay, the cat’s not fifty-two, but she’s had him forever, and he was already old when she got him. He’s probably only fifty-one. The pet store had an adjunct rescue set up in front of the glass doors, daring all who entered to pass by the seven cages full of unwanted dogs without completely crumbling. I triedto stare at the floor, but Moose’s enormous head caught my eye just as I walked into the store. Sadness … guilt for not stopping … a connection? I couldn’t stop thinking about him while we walked through the store, looking for a toy to add to the collection of sixteen thousand un-played-with cat toys Natalie already had. Her cat, mind you, doesn’t play with a toy for more than a nanosecond before Natalie gives him a new one. At most, he’ll sniff it. I think Nat once saw that bumper sticker that said “He who dies with the most toys wins” and took it to heart. She really wants Dudley to win. Sadly, she may never see him win, because it is practically guaranteed that that cat will outlive her.
    I found myself drifting down to the dog aisle, drawn to a big rawhide bone. I thought,
That moose of a dog might like something to chew on while he sits in his cage and hopes that someone will take him home
.
    So I bought the bone.
    I explained to Natalie that I was just getting him a gift, but I think she knew better from the minute I walked up to the register.
    “Do you think it would be okay if I gave one of those dogs this bone?” I asked the emotionless cashier as I motioned to the cages outside.
    “Sure, I think it would be fine,” she replied in a monotone. “But we’re separate from them, so you’d have to ask the people running the rescue.”
    “Fair enough,” I said. “If they say no, I’ll just chew on it myself. Probably good for the teeth.”
    And … nothing. Not a smile to note that I was just making a joke. Not even a twitch. She just looked at me like I needed to move on and let the next person go ahead. Which I suppose I did. Seeking validation from pet-store cashiers wasn’t on my checklist for the day, but it would have been a nice bonus.
    I stepped outside, and Moose’s tail started to wag like he was already my dog, happy to see me coming back outside to clear up this whole misunderstanding of him being in a cage. I felt a tug at my heart and willed myself to look away. As I walked to one of the two people running the show, I sneaked a glimpse back to see if he was still looking at me even though my back was turned. He was. And his tail was still wagging.
Perfect
.
    “Hi,” said the woman with the clipboard. Her hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed since 2004.
    “Hello,” I said, and awkwardly held out my bone. “Would it be okay if I gave one of your dogs this rawhide?”
    “You just bought that inside?”
    “Sure did,” I said, resisting the urge for an I-just-happen-to-carry-chew-bones-around joke.
    “I suppose it’s okay, then. Who’s the lucky dog?”
    “That one,” I said, and pointed to Moose, who wasn’t named Moose. Yet.
    “Would you like to play with him?”
    Yes
. “No, that’s okay,” I said.
    “You should. He’d love it.”
    Twist my arm, then. I walked over to his cage, and the woman unhinged the latch and slid the door open. You know the rest without me having to say anything. We got into my car, and he lay down on the passenger seat. He craned his neck over to my side and rested his head on my leg. I truly believe I was meant to happen across Moose that day. It was fate or luck or whatever you want to call it, but Moose and