Hot Diggity Dogs

I snuggled up with my pillow, eager to put an end to a day from hell. Two of my sponsors had pulled out of the event I was planning, and I was running out of time to find more. Tomorrow would be better. It had to be.

“What do you think, Doxy? Did I make a mistake by moving to Broken Bend?”

The miniature dachshund worked her head under my hand in an attempt to get some attention. I probably shouldn’t have brought one of the rescue dogs home with me, but Doxy looked so sad when I walked through the center on my way out at the end of the day. And honestly, I needed a friend.

I’d moved to the tiny town of Broken Bend, Texas a couple of weeks ago to take a position as the Marketing Director for the non-profit group Pups for Progress. I’d left my parents and my best friend, who was also my sister, behind to trade my boring nine to five for a job where I felt like I could make a difference. On a positive note, I’d also left my no-good ex. Knowing I was working for a great cause fed my soul, but I was lonely.
Doxy got up, turned around in a few slow circles, then nestled against my chest. Why couldn’t people be more like dogs? Unlike my ex, they didn’t care how much money I made or how big my waistline was. Maybe it was time for me to give up on men and surround myself with dogs instead.

I’d just closed my eyes when my phone vibrated. It bounced over my nightstand, and I scrambled to catch it before it fell to the floor.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Joy, it’s Shelby from the rescue hotline. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“No, of course not.” A quick glance at the clock showed it was just after nine o’clock. What kind of loser would I be if I admitted to being in bed, halfway to dreamland at nine on a Friday night?

“Good. We’ve got a situation going on downtown and no one else is picking up their phones tonight. Any chance you can handle it?”

“What kind of situation?” I’d been told when I started at Pups for Progress that I might, on a very rare occasion, get a call to pick up a stray dog. Volunteers usually handled that, but if no one was available, they wondered if I’d be willing to help. Of course, I’d agreed. But now, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I had second thoughts.

“There’s a stray roaming around the downtown area. Should be an easy pickup. The guy who called in said he can hold him for you by the Hot Diggity Dogs truck.”

“The what?” I flipped on the lamp and tossed off the covers.

“It’s a food truck that sets up downtown on the weekends. Pretty smart idea if you ask me. All those folks coming out of the bars are probably hankering for something to chow down on after last call.” Shelby clucked her tongue. “I shoulda come up with an idea like that.”

“Where do I need to go?” I was already pulling on a pair of leggings under my nightshirt. “Can you text me an address?”

“Like I said, it’s a food truck. There isn’t an address. I think it’s parked in front of the tequila bar tonight.”

“Got it. What do I do with the dog after I pick it up?”

“Shelter’s locked up for the night. You’ll need to take it home with you and bring it by in the morning.”

“Okay. I’m heading out now. Thanks, Shelby.”

“Let me know if you have any trouble.”

“Will do.” I ended the call and looked at Doxy.

She looked so comfortable sitting in the middle of my bed. I knew I should put her in the kennel I’d brought home with me, but I’d only be gone a little while. The poor thing came from a puppy mill where she’d spent most of her life in a cage. I didn’t feel right about making her kennel up.

“You promise to be good?” I ran my hand over her back.
She stared up at me with big brown eyes full of trust.
“Don’t leave the bed, okay?”

I left her in the bedroom and hurried down the hall to grab my keys by the back door. Less than a minute later, I’d shoved my feet into my sneakers and slid behind the wheel of my car.

The drive to downtown Broken Bend only took a few minutes. I saw the Hot Diggity Dogs truck parked right where Shelby said it would be. Music filtered out of the door from the tequila bar, but it wasn’t loud enough to cover up the sound of some guy yelling.

I tucked my keys in my pocket as I moved toward the truck. The serving window was open, but I couldn’t see anyone inside. I rose to my tiptoes, but the extra couple of inches didn’t help.

“Excuse me,” I shouted toward the window. “I’m here to pick up a dog.”

“Come around to the back,” a man yelled. “Quickly, please.”

He sounded pissed. Seeing as how this was my first dog pick up, I wasn’t prepared to deal with much beyond taking possession of the animal. With apprehension rising in my chest, I rounded the corner of the truck.

The guy had his back to me. His hands were raised, and he clutched a metal tray in each like a shield. He’d cornered a giant black and white dog between the building and the truck.

“What’s going on?” My gaze bounced back and forth between man and dog.

“Are you here to take him?” the guy asked.

“Yes. I’m Joy Chapin from Pups for Progress. What happened?”

With his back still to me, all I could see in the dim light from the streetlamp was a set of broad shoulders and a full head of hair.

“This dog snuck into my truck and tried to take off with my meat again. He’s a thief.”

I peered around the guy and took a better look at the dog. A string of sausages hung out of the giant beast’s mouth. Even though he was huge, he didn’t look vicious. Stifling a laugh, I bit down on my lip.

“You think that’s funny?” The man turned. Anger flashed in his bright green eyes. He towered over me, at least six feet tall to my five foot two.

I choked back my laugh. “No, not funny. I’m sorry about your, um, sausages. I’ll just take the dog and let you get back to…”

“Can you make sure he doesn’t get loose again?” He lowered his hands.

The dog must have sensed a chance to make a break for it. He charged toward us. The guy lunged for him but missed.

One second, I was standing on the sidewalk, a leash in hand, ready to rescue my first dog. The next, I was crushed underneath a wall of man, lying horizontal on the sidewalk in front of a crowd who’d gathered. His giant hand plastered against my breast.

So much for making a good first impression.