“ Good girl. Is this for real?” He felt dazed, punch drunk. He petted her, distracted. Maybe that weird hot chocolate was still affecting him more than he thought? A pet dog getting dumped happened often enough he could believe it. But a service dog? Those were expensive and precious.

He looked at the dog. Was she a service dog? She had to be. She retrieved his items- she smelled his scent all over them- and she knew how to use pressure therapy and tactile stimulation to calm and redirect him. Her behavior mirrored Cookie’s. He couldn’t say for certain but he was very sure she was somebody’s service dog.

“Who do you belong to?” Surely, if someone lost their service dog, they’d be looking for her. The dog laid her head in his lap; he stroked her soft ears. He looked around again. People passed right on by.

A homeless service dog, trained in just the right capacities he needed, waltzed into his life out of the blue. He had better odds of winning the lottery, or walking again. He tried not to get attached, but she was very sweet.

He stared down at her, stroking the coarse fur between her gray blue eyes. “You remind me of someone.” Probably Mr. Walton’s wolfdog. He brushed the sensation aside. The dog was one hell of a coincidence. He hoped her owner showed up soon. He was already getting attached.

The dog raised her head and trotted to the front of the booth. Along the way, she picked up his discarded bib in her mouth and deposited it on a folding chair.

“What are you doing? You’re a loon.” Cookie had never done anything like that. The bib sat next to Rosie’s purse. Maybe the dog smelled his scent on the purse.

Two little girls snatched up handfuls of candy. Very few people added to the donation jar. The dog put her huge head on the table by the jar and yipped loudly. The girls jumped, squealed, and ran back to their equally startled parents.

Luc’s heart jumped in his throat. “Bad girl! Get back here!” Thinking only of the dog, he rolled forward. “Come here, you lunatic!”

Ignoring him, gaze focused on the parents, the dog yipped again. She pawed the air like she wanted to shake paws. Her tail wagged, thumping two chairs. Her massive paw kept tapping the jar.

The girls’ mother stared. “I think she…wants us to donate…” She looked from the friendly, insistent dog to Luc’s wheelchair. Her face crumpled in sympathy. “Oh, Harold.” She elbowed her husband. “Put a few bucks in.”

She turned back to the dog while her husband fumbled with his wallet. “What a pretty pooch. His name’s Luna?”

“Y-yeah. Her name’s Luna.” Luc mumbled. Luna the Lunatic- it fit, given how the dog just randomly appeared and fit into his life like a missing puzzle piece. The dog yipped at the name, tail wagging. His lips twitched; he almost smiled. Looked like she approved.

He didn’t know the family; they weren’t locals. All their attention stayed on Luna, who lapped it up. He felt safe, with Luna as his shield. He had room to breathe. He discretely sat his pacifier and Fiji on top of his bib.

He helplessly wet his diaper and hoped it wouldn’t leak. His diaper bag was at home. He and Rosie had been distracted, fighting over him going. In the time crunched chaos, his diaper bag was forgotten.