Chapter 4 - The Fields of Edmond
The drive to Edmond on that crisp Saturday morning felt less like a journey and more like crossing an invisible boundary into a different world.
The morning fog still clung low to the flat Oklahoma plains, burning off in thin, silver wisps as the early sun clawed its way over the horizon. Dad’s Ford truck rumbled down the interstate, the heater humming a steady, comforting rhythm against the chill creeping through the window seals. For the first time in my life, I wasn't watching the miles tick by with a sense of dread, wondering what rule I had accidentally broken or what punishment was waiting for me at the destination.
We pulled into the parking lot of the private dog-training facility just north of town shortly before eight o'clock.
A high chain-link fence enclosed several acres of packed earth, agility ramps, and low wooden hurdles. Standing near the center of the field, holding a thick leather leash attached to a sprawling, high-energy adolescent Belgian Malinois, was a tall man with broad shoulders and the weathered, sun-baked face of someone who spent every waking hour outdoors.
Grant Miller.
Dad cut the engine, and we climbed out of the truck. The morning air was sharp, smelling of damp grass, cedar shavings, and distant diesel exhaust.
Grant spotted us, gave the Malinois a sharp command to down-stay, and walked over toward the gate with an easy, unhurried stride. He wore a heavy canvas handler’s vest filled with training treats and tennis balls.
"Arthur! Good to see you made it," Grant said, shaking my father’s hand with a firm, calloused grip before looking down at me. "And you must be Tessa. Your dad’s told me you're looking to help out with the younger socialization group today."
I nodded, clutching the strap of my canvas backpack a little tighter. "Yes, sir."
"Call me Grant," he said with a friendly, crinkling smile that didn't feel forced or performative. "No 'sir' required unless I'm tripping over my own boots. Come on back. We've got a couple of eight-week-old German Shepherd puppies in the puppy yard who are currently convinced that every falling leaf is an existential threat to their existence. They need someone calm and patient to convince them otherwise."
He unlatched the gate and led us through the secure double-perimeter fence into a sunlit training yard surrounded by low wooden barriers.
Inside the yard, tumbling across a patch of dead Bermuda grass, were three bundles of black-and-tan fur with oversized paws and ears that flopped in opposite directions. The moment they saw us, they scrambled to their feet, letting out high-pitched, comical yips and tripping over their own hind legs as they charged over.
Grant knelt down, unhooking a small gate. "Go on, Tessa. Sit down right there on the grass. Let them come to you on their own terms."
I hesitated for a fraction of a second, the old habit of freezing in place trying to pull at my muscles. Then I looked back at Dad, who was leaning against the wooden post with his hands in his pockets, watching me with a quiet, reassuring nod.
I walked forward, lowered myself down onto the dry grass, and crossed my legs.
Within three seconds, a warm, squirming ball of fur scrambled directly into my lap, pressing its wet nose against my chin and letting out an eager, breathless puppy sigh. Another one trotted up, clamped its tiny milk teeth gently onto the lace of my sneaker, and started gnawing with fierce, joyful determination.
I let out a laugh—a real, genuine sound that I hadn't heard myself make in years.
Grant stood watching us, crossing his arms over his canvas vest with a satisfied nod. "Good temperament. They know a safe person when they smell one."
Dad walked over, crouching down beside me as one of the puppies managed to climb up onto his shoulder, licking his ear with unbridled enthusiasm. Dad laughed, a deep, rumbling sound from his chest that made the tension in his shoulders finally melt away completely.
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"Looks like she's hired, Grant," Dad said, wiping a slobbery puppy kiss off his jaw.
"She's got the job for life," Grant replied. "And Arthur? There's coffee in the office if you want to grab a cup while the kids get acquainted. We’ve got a long morning ahead of us."
