The Dog Who Chose
Max had burst through the weak latch of his crate. Metal clanged, hay scattered, and gasps rippled across the crowd as the shepherd barreled forward.
Straight toward Lily.
She dropped the jar. Coins clattered across the concrete, rolling between boots and benches. But Max didn’t care. He pushed his head into her chest, pressing so hard she nearly stumbled. Then he sat. Still. Guarding.
A hush spread. No one laughed now.
Gerald Bennett, a weathered rancher with calloused hands, broke the silence. His voice was gravel but gentle.
“Let the girl have the dog.”
Vince shot to his feet. “This is ridiculous! There are rules—”
Another voice rose. “The dog already made his choice.”
Rachel had arrived by then, breathless, hair tousled from running. She didn’t scold Lily. Didn’t drag her away. She simply stood at her side, one hand on the child, one on the dog.
The auctioneer swallowed hard. “All in favor of letting the girl keep the dog?”
Hands lifted. First a few. Then dozens. A forest of fingers stretching high.
Every hand except Vince Harding’s.
Max growled low in his throat. Vince sat down.
The vote was unanimous.
