The Dog Days of December

By Kim Fielding

Alone in a new town, psychology professor Shawn Daly has resigned himself to a quiet, solitary Christmas. Then he nearly runs over a stray dog. She's not seriously injured—but it turns out she has other plans for Shawn's winter break. And that cute guy down the block with the friendly Newfoundland dog? Turns out he's a big part of those plans.

Dogs may bring shedding fur and a heap of responsibilities. But they may also be just the right thing to give the holidays—and a love life—some sparkle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tin Box Press
• Release date: Nov 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223332299

Kim Fielding

Kim Fielding is pleased every time someone calls her eclectic. Her books span a variety of genres, but all include authentic voices and unconventional heroes. She’s a Rainbow Award and SARA Emma Merritt winner, a LAMBDA finalist, and a two-time Foreword INDIE finalist. She has migrated back and forth across the western two-thirds of the United States and currently lives in California, where she long ago ran out of bookshelf space. A university professor who dreams of being able to travel and write full-time, she also dreams of having two daughters who occasionally get off their phones, a husband who isn’t obsessed with football, and a cat who doesn’t wake her up at 4:00 a.m. Some dreams are more easily obtained than others. Blogs: kfieldingwrites.com and www.goodreads.com/author/show/4105707.Kim_Fielding/blog Facebook: www.facebook.com/KFieldingWrites Email: [e-mail] Twitter: @KFieldingWrites

Book preview

chapter

one

She was cold and hungry.

There had been a time when she’d had a warm bed and dishes full of food. People called her Good Girl and scratched the delightful spot behind her ears. Sometimes they’d sneak her extra treats from their plates. Other times they’d go out into the yard with her and throw a ball, and when she brought it back they’d throw it again and again, until she was wonderfully tired. And then she would sleep at their feet or even—once in a while—on the couch next to them.

She’d been very happy.

But then there were a lot of boxes, and all the people’s things were put into them. Her people took her to a new house with new people and told her to be a Good Girl, and then they left. She tried to be a Good Girl even though she missed her first people. But the new people didn’t explain their rules. They didn’t take her for walks or throw the ball. And one day they were gone for a very, very long time, and even though she knew it was Bad, she couldn’t help it: she peed inside the house. The new people put her outside and kept her there. She had never felt so lonely. And one day when the wind blew the gate open, she ran away.

She’d been regretting that decision. At least the new people had fed her. Now she never had enough to eat. People yelled at her and chased her away; sometimes they even threw things at her. And tonight—when the space between the alley garbage bins offered little shelter and the wind blew gritty little pieces of ice into her eyes—she was cold.

Well before dawn, she gave up on sleeping and began a slow wander down the alley in search of food. She found a hamburger wrapper, which was exciting at first but proved to be empty, without even a scrap of cheese or bit of sauce left behind. By now she was thirsty as well, and that was a problem; there were no puddles, and even if there had been, they’d be frozen.

She followed the alley for several blocks, snuffling at frozen leaves and bits of old plastic. When the alley ended at a wooden fence, she followed it until she came to a street. The sky had begun to brighten by then, and cars zoomed by quickly. She used to like riding in the car; it meant she might go to a park full of thrilling new scents and maybe other dogs to play with. Sometimes it meant she was going to the vet. She didn’t like that as much, except afterward her first people would do drive-through and get her a Puppuccino. Her stomach rumbled at the memory.

She knew about traffic: stay on the sidewalk and make sure no cars were coming when you needed to cross the street. Today, though, she was so tired and hungry and cold that even keeping her head up took too much effort. She was careless. She stepped off a curb onto the blacktop—and was deafened by the squeal of tires.

The man in the car rushed out, wrapped her in his coat, and gently carried her to the passenger seat. It’s okay, he kept repeating while he drove. It’s okay.

The vet’s name was Dr. Kate and she had very gentle hands even on the sore spots. She’ll be all right with a little TLC, she said to the man, who had been shown into the small room. She’s only a little bruised.

The man looked relieved as he reached over and gave her a lovely little scratch behind the ears. She doesn’t look all right, he said doubtfully.

She’s too thin. And because she was dehydrated, we gave her some fluids. She appears to be only two or three years old, but she’s probably been out on her own for a while. A healthy diet, a good bath, and some solid rest—she’ll be good as gold.

The man nodded. Is she microchipped?

"No. But there are some online databases for lost dogs, if you want to check those.