What I was doing was moving along at a pretty fast clip. Lou’s contractors started leveling the ground in the pasture beyond the garage, which would be the main area where the dogs would be concentrated. As I’d hoped, we were able to repurpose the old milk barn into housing for the dogs. Rows of indoor/outdoor pens would be grouped together, with a row for cases that needed more isolation. Dogs just coming out of fighting rings could be unstable at best, and keeping them away from other dogs was vital to their rehabilitation, introducing them to the rest slowly, over time.
An exercise area was quickly constructed with an obstacle course and a kiddie pool for playtime, and the contractors fenced in an extensive pasture for the dogs to run free.
An old shed was insulated and converted into an adoption area, with plenty of room for potential adoptive families to meet their new pup. Another shed was perfectly situated for storage of all the Puppy Chow, chew toys, and doggie beds we’d need, mostly donated, sometimes from stores and sometimes from peoples’ homes. When you looked around a house, there were so many unused things that could be useful to someone else. That twenty-year-old bedspread that’s taking up valuable real estate in your linen closet would feel like heaven to paws that have never known anything but concrete. That bucket of balls in the garage from when you tried to take up tennis is exactly the kind of thing dog shelters needed, and would be put to immediate use.
Dr. Campbell senior was an enormous help. He was able to get us approval from the county faster than we could have on our own, to make sure we’d be open for business as soon as we could get things ready. And with his good standing in the community, anyone who had something negative to say about pit bulls being sheltered in their town was immediately converted after they heard him eloquently speak about these misunderstood animals.
As things began to take shape, I found that I was thinking less and less about the life I left behind in San Diego, and more and more about the life I was creating here in Monterey.
One afternoon I was whitewashing the old milking stalls when I saw a truck with Campbell Veterinary Hospital emblazoned on the side pull up in front of the house. Dr. Campbell had said he might stop by after work to drop off some donations. Wiping my painty hands on my jeans, I headed out into the driveway and saw that it was the son, not the father. I quickly ran my hands through my hair, realizing too late that I’d just striped myself like Pepé Le Pew. Ah, well.
Lucas climbed out of the truck, clad in jeans and a tucked in black button down. (Mercy.)
“Hello! I thought your dad was stopping by,” I said as he walked toward me.
“Disappointed it’s not him?” he joked.
Standing in front of me, he blocked out the sun, making a halo of his hair. I bit down on my lip to stop myself from telling him this very thing.
“Just surprised, is all,” I said, tilting my head back for another halo peek. “How’ve you been?”
“Good, good. You?”
“Busy. Which is good for me.”
“Sounds like things are really coming along up here. When my dad told me he was running some stuff up here, I offered to come so I could see . . . the place.” He grinned.
“Oh, I bet Marge loved that.” I laughed.
“She sure did,” he admitted. “So, give me the tour.”
“The tour?”
“Yeah, I hauled eighteen bags of Dog Chow up here for you. The least you can do is show me around the place.”
“You hauled them in a truck—don’t make it sound like you lugged them up by hand,” I teased.
“I loaded them by hand. Does that count?” he asked, showing me his hands. They were calloused. And looked strong.
“Those callouses from kayaking?”
“Mostly paddleboarding. How’d you know I kayak?”
“Your agent told me.” I rolled my eyes. “She even showed me pictures.”
“Crazy old woman.” He laughed with affection.
I’d stopped by the clinic twice in the last two weeks and never saw Lucas, but Marge made a point to show me more pictures of him.
I hadn’t exactly protested.
“Tour, huh?” I asked.
“As long as you don’t put a paintbrush in my hand,” he teased, reaching out to tug on a piece of my hair that was striped. My skin tingled pleasantly. “So where do we start?” he asked, looking toward the hill. “Up there?”
“Hey, buddy, this is my tour. We’ll start where I say.” I turned and headed up the hill. “We’re gonna start up the hill.”
I could hear him chuckling behind me. I put my hips into it. The chuckle turned into something a little more desperate, and I chuckled right along with him.
Showing him around the property, I pointed out what was completed and what we were still working on. Some of Lou’s volunteers were coming up in a week to help fine-tune everything, setting up the office and things like that. Since we were a satellite operation, we were essentially copying what was working in Long Beach, on a smaller scale. I’d visited Lou several times over the last few years, and always marveled at what a tight ship he ran. I was hoping to copy that as well.