Page 89 of Can't Touch This
Because next to him, I felt like an unappreciative teenager while he was an immortal saint.
Without looking at me, he strode up the porch steps, scratched Scar behind the ear, and bundled him up with a nice fat cushion to plop him into the wheelbarrow.
The moment the weary dog was comfy, he pushed off as if it was an everyday occurrence to wheel a Pusky Bull across a perfect meadow while the raucous of unruly dogs barked on the horizon.
I’d stayed pace the entire way from his timeworn mansion, resting my hand on Scar’s back as his tongue lolled and he wheezed, sticking his nose into the air and looking so damn happy it made tears prick my eyes.
When we’d arrived at the river, we’d placed Scar under a large weeping willow in the shade, lashed a leash around his neck just in case he attacked the other dogs, and gave him some fresh water.
We’d had a moment’s peace before the pack arrived.
As the river went from serene to a splashing mess as dogs threw themselves at each other and barked and yipped and swam, I tried to count how many there were but lost track after nine.
Moving closer to Ryder, I asked, “Aren’t you afraid some of them will take off? How will you catch them all when it’s time to go home?”
He smiled. “I have a secret weapon.” Pulling his phone from his back pocket, he swiped on the screen and brought up an app with lots of blinking green dots on a map. “This is that lot.” He waved in front of us to the four-legged fiends. “When I rescue them, and after they’ve been assessed and micro chipped by you, I call up the company who owns the recorders on the chips and assign them to a GPS tracking app that’s normally used for stalking cheating husbands or wives. If a dot goes red, it means they’ve gone ten metres too far and I use a sheep-dog whistle—” He pulled a small plastic horseshoe shaped device from his other pocket “—and call them back.”
Inserting it into his mouth, he puffed. The highest, sharpest whistle erupted.
Every single one of the dogs, including Scar, stopped dead. No tail wags, no tongue lolling. Utter focus and awareness.
“See?” Ryder smirked at the undivided attention. “Works like a charm.” Patting his thigh, he ordered, “Come here.”
As one, a cloud of dogs trotted forward under his complete command. Even Scar, leashed in his wheelbarrow, tried to heel.
I gasped at the level of respect these mismatched mutts had for Ryder. He was their pack leader with no argument or contention.
Once we were surrounded by canines, intensely waiting for the next order, Ryder put the whistle back into his pocket and clapped his hands. “Okay, guys. You’re free. Continue to play.”
Instantly, whatever spell he’d put them under broke and the sheer focus in their intelligent gazes switched to unruly happiness once again. The pack broke up into little groups, leaping and nipping, returning to their river games.
I whistled low. “That’s impressive. I’ve seen owners go to puppy school for months and still fail at controlling a single dog.”
He shrugged. “Like you said last night. It’s all about the internal intentions. They know when I’m relaxed and happy for them to be animals and embrace freedom. But when I whistle, it’s listening and obeying time. Otherwise, they’re out of the pack.”
“You should teach people how to be better carers.” I nudged an algae-covered pebble by my foot. “So many people yell and scream and don’t take the time to understand doggy language.”
Coming toward me, he tucked a loose curl behind my ear.
I trembled at the soft but sexual feel of his finger.
“I’m not saying I know what I’m doing. But I will admit the whistle is useful. I currently have eighteen four-legged brats but once I had over thirty. I haven’t lost one yet, and this way, I can take them on a group walk and not worry about them vanishing on me. Not to mention, when I find their forever home, I give the new owner all the information including the app so they’ll never lose them again.” His eyes turned sad. “Too many pets are lost and put into the system and killed because loving owners never tagged them or bothered to register the microchip correctly. A lot of pointless deaths could’ve been avoided.”
We stood side by side, watching as the dogs slowly calmed from their manic antics and broke off into smaller packs to investigate bushes and interesting smells. One or two detoured to check out Scar in his wheelbarrow but one vicious snarl from the killing Pusky Bull and they quickly kept their distance.
I was worried that Scar would try to jump free and chase them. That he’d feel left out or his murderous training would be too hard to overrule, but the moment the dogs had vanished in a shiver of foliage, he calmed right down and closed his eyes with contentment.
“Ah, peace at last.” Ryder took my hand, looping his fingers with mine. “Now, I believe it’s time for your bath. I can’t believe you’re still wearing the same clothes, you dirty girl.”
I laughed as we walked along the river edge toward a deeper blue swimming hole. “You can’t talk. You’re constantly in dusty work clothes. I can’t tell if your entire wardrobe is an unknown renovation designer label, or if you don’t own a washing machine.”
“Did you just offer to do my laundry?”
I pushed him. “I did nothing of the sort.”
His dark hair caught the sunshine as he glanced at me. “I think you did. I think you were complaining about my lack of cleanliness and like any good girlfriend offered to care for her man in order to keep him fresh and publicly acceptable.”
“I’m your girlfriend now?”