His own dog from way back when, a German shepherd named Wendy—a rescue his mother had given him for his seventh birthday—had been the same way, even though the only training she ever had was what he had been able to teach her. A lot, as it turned out. Wendy had been a very smart dog.
He tried not to think too hard about that, or anything much at all. But that was easier said than done.
Nate needed more help than he was able to give him. He probably had to be entered into some sort of program. Ryan had been his Sergeant for a while and he figured he could make some calls and make it happen. But would Nate even agree to go? Probably not until his daughter was found.
Ryan sincerely hoped she had just taken off on a bender. Watching her father wallow and waste away might have been too much
