A Groom of One's Own (Appies, #3)

by Emma St. Clair

“Which of you needs a hug from a hottie today?” I ask and am rewarded with a lot of enthusiastic butt wiggles and shrill, desperate barks. But as I pace, my mind keeps circling back to one dog in particular. The one dog I probably shouldn’t bring out to meet someone. Still. I leave the kennel for the main back room, where a small black dog trembles in the single row of small kennels. The latest stray Animal Control picked up isn’t adjusting well to the shelter. To put it mildly. The vet had to sedate her so we could shave off the clumps of matted fur covering her body. She’s trembling, and every time a door slams or a dog barks from the kennel room, she jolts. I’ve grown so used to the steady barking, I almost don’t hear it anymore. But Doris practically had a panic attack when we walked her in there, so for the time being, we’re keeping her out here in the row of small kennels usually reserved for dogs recovering from surgery. I’ve been talking to Doris all morning, attempting to win her over with kind words, which have been ignored, and dog treats, which have been left untouched in a small pile near the front of her kennel. The look she gives me is pitiful. “Hey, girl,” I say. She gives the tiniest thump of her tail. Progress? “You definitely look like you need a hug. Do you want a hug? That’s the question.” Her pointy ears flick back, almost like she's saying, A hug, you say? Hard pass. But I can’t shake this feeling. The same instinct that often helps me pair the right...