Dusty

by Jane B. Mason

  “And now for the rest of the Sterlings.” Pedro waved an arm in the direction of the small crowd. “This is Frances, our illustrious founder and visionary,” he began, and then took them through a flurry of names and introductions. Roxanne, tall, thin, and imposing, was the lead dog trainer. Frances’s son Martin, the man standing with Juniper, was in charge of maintenance and facilities. His wife, Georgia, was, according to Pedro, basically in charge of everything else. Sylvia believed it—Georgia had a firm handshake and seemed both no-nonsense and competent.

  The two kids they hadn’t met were Forrest and Morgan. Forrest was the only boy in the family, and Morgan seemed the opposite of Juniper … shy and quiet.

  “We will have a quiz in the morning,” Pedro joked.

  Sylvia shook her head in protest. “Sorry, Tío, no can do. Xander and I are still on summer break! Plus, we have to make the drive back to school tonight.”

  Everyone was chuckling when Forrest suddenly blurted, “Hey, where’s the new recruit?” The entire crowd looked around the room for the dog they knew Sylvia had brought but they hadn’t seen, and Sylvia herself was shocked that she’d forgotten about Dusty for the last several minutes. Shelby, though, had slipped behind the desk, where she suspected there were drips of enchilada sauce left from her dinner. She tenderly scooped the dog up and carried him over to her eagerly awaiting family.

  “Everyone, this is Dusty,” she announced.

  Nine pairs of eyes landed on the Chihuahua mix, and eight jaws dropped open (Twig just yawned).

  “That’s the dog you brought from Mexico?” Pedro asked, clearly shocked.

  “Yes,” Sylvia replied as worry swept over her. She knew he was small but hadn’t expected a group of dog people to respond so … negatively. After all, he was a dog.

  Pedro ran a hand through his graying hair. “Hector said he was a street mutt, but all they talked about was his incredible nose. They didn’t mention that he was, he was so … so …”

  “Ratlike!” Forrest guffawed.

  “He could be stunted because of malnutrition,” Sylvia said, feeling both defensive and alarmed.

  “How much does he weigh?” Morgan, the quiet girl, asked.

  “Six pounds,” Sylvia replied.

  “He looks like a mix of miniature Italian Greyhound and Chihuahua,” Roxanne commented.

  “With a little flying squirrel thrown in …” Forrest added with laugh.

  “Yip!” Dusty barked in protest.

  “I think he’s perfect,” Shelby said.

  Cocoa, Frances’s elderly chocolate Lab, sniffed her way up to Dusty. Dusty’s tail went into overdrive, while Cocoa’s swayed leisurely from side to side.

  “He’s not even as big as Cocoa’s head!” Juniper half shouted. “He’s smaller than Twig!” She squeezed the hefty orange tabby cat in her arms, and Sylvia realized that the cat was completely ignoring both dogs.

  Frances’s gaze rested curiously on the puppy in Shelby’s arms. “We don’t usually do DNA tests on the dogs,” she mused, “but I bet this little critter would yield some interesting results.”

  Roxanne nodded—no one could argue with that! Dusty was definitely an unusual mix of breeds.

  Sylvia was relieved that the mood in the room had seemed to lighten … until she turned back toward her uncle. His initial smile for his niece had completely disappeared, leaving a very concerned frown in its place.

  Pedro could not take his eyes off the dog. The question in his mind was not “What is he?” but “What am I going to do with him?” Pedro’s work on the ranch kept him busy all the time. It was his job to connect with people who wanted to know more about or pair with search and rescue dogs, and it seemed as though there were more of them every day! He almost always had a small crew of humans in training on the ranch and was constantly updating his curriculum to keep it fresh. He’d assumed that Dusty would become a canine trainee and be handed off to Roxanne almost immediately but could now see the truth. Dusty was no rescue dog. He was a teensy-tiny mongrel.

  And as of right this minute he was also one hundred percent Pedro’s responsibility.

  “Let’s bring this little guy out to my trailer, and I can show you the ranch on the way,” Pedro said, trying to sound upbeat. He could tell by Sylvia’s furrowed brow and worried eyes that she saw his reservation about Dusty, and he didn’t want her to feel bad. It wasn’t she who’d told him about the dog or conveniently left out the details regarding his size. That would be his brother, Hector. Sylvia was just a person who needed help with a dog, a dog she couldn’t help but assist on the side of the road. And though Pedro couldn’t deny feeling a bit over a barrel—canine “pets” other than Cocoa weren’t allowed on the ranch, and he didn’t really have time for a dog, anyway—he had agreed to take on the dog over the phone and at the very least needed to find him a home.

  “Great,” Xander said, speaking for both of them. Shelby handed Dusty to Sylvia, and the Sterling kids clamored to come, too—all except Shelby, who still had to answer the welcome center phones. Pedro led everyone out the back door amid chatter and Georgia’s reminders about chores and bedtime.

  Back in Sylvia’s arms, Dusty sat up straight, his ears pricking with the sounds of the ranch. The sun was low on the horizon, and birds were chirping as they winged their way across the inky pink sky. And the smells! Earth, grasses, sage, people, and dogs. Dogs, dogs, dogs! Dusty’s nose quivered. Somewhere nearby there were a lot of dogs.

  “I live out on the edge of the property,” Pedro explained, “so we can show you everything between here and there.” He pointed to a large gray building in front of them. “That’s my work territory,” he said. “The handlers’ lodge. It’s where the folks who come here to learn how to be dog handlers live, as well as where they do their classroom training.” He paused, then added, “The goal is for each of them to become trained enough to be paired with a dog … hopefully the right one.”

  “Pedro has the hardest job of all,” Forrest explained, his eyes alight. “Training the humans!”

  They kept walking, passing a small wood-shingled house on the left. “That’s where my grandmother lives with Cocoa,” Juniper announced. She was still carrying the tabby, and Sylvia was amazed that the cat still wasn’t reacting to Dusty. It was as if the little Chihuahua were invisible. Dusty, for his part, seemed too busy checking out this new place to care much about the cat, either.

  “When Grandma first started the center it was just her and one dog, but now it’s huge!” Forrest crowed gleefully.

  Sylvia nodded in agreement, sensing the pride the Sterling kids had in the ranch. Sylvia could see why. The Sterling Center was an incredible place doing incredible work.

  “As of last month the center has successfully trained forty-eight teams for SAR certification,” Morgan informed everyone. “Did you know a trained search and rescue dog can do the search work of thirty humans? They can cover more ground and safely go places people can’t. We estimate that the Sterling dogs have saved over thirty-five lives.”

  “That’s amazing,” Xander said. He’d heard about SAR dogs, but hadn’t really understood how essential their work was during rescue efforts. He hadn’t known that they saved so many people.

  “Totally,” Sylvia agreed.

  “Yip!” Dusty agreed, too.

  “This is where Roxanne runs the dogs through their training paces before they get into more advanced practice and terrain,” Pedro said as the group passed through a relatively open area with low shrubs, a covered training arena with balance beams, ladders, barrels and tubes, and a shade structure with seating. A small trailer fitted with a giant window stood at the edge of the space.

  “That’s the observation trailer,” Forrest explained. “So we can watch what’s going on with the dogs in training without disturbing the process.”

  The group kept walking and soon came across a giant woodpile. Pedro steered them toward a large building in the distance, and Sylvia felt Dusty squirm in her arms, tail
wagging.

  “Yip!” he barked. “Yip, yip, yip!” The smell of dog was getting stronger with every step, and within a couple of minutes they were inside the canine pavilion, which as far as Dusty could tell was a doggy castle. His nose and tail were both on overdrive, quivering with excitement. They strolled past the kennels, where the dogs lounged happily on their beds or trotted up to the doors to say hello.

  “This is where I work,” Forrest said, waving an arm grandly. “And sometimes Morgan, too. The dogs need a lot of care between feeding and grooming and watering and exercising,” he said. “They’re like elite athletes, and we’re their entourage.”

  Dusty’s tail was wagging like mad, and his eyes were bright. The whole ranch smelled good, but this place smelled like bowls of kibble and lots of dogs, and he could see soft beds where pups were dozing. It looked and smelled like happiness—like doggy heaven—and he was sad when Sylvia followed the man back outside. He wanted to stay in there forever!

  Forrest jogged ahead toward a massive pile of debris. “This is our rubble pile!” he said. “It’s meant to be like a collapsed building after a disaster. It looks accidental, but my dad spends a lot of time with a skid loader making this thing as close to the real thing as possible so the dogs can really learn how to search.”

  Sylvia shuddered as she imagined people trapped under the enormous pile in front of her—it was easily the size of a football field. Twisted pipes, chunks of concrete, rebar, steel beams, splintered wood … it was literally a disaster zone. She instinctively squeezed Dusty in a hug, suddenly glad he would never have to climb on or in the hazardous pile.

  “Don’t worry, I’m going to find a good home for Dusty,” Pedro said, as if reading her thoughts. “A nice family for him to live with.”

  Sylvia swallowed and nodded. That sounded terrific.

  “Okay, kids, thanks for your tour guide assistance,” Pedro said. “I can take it from here.”

  Juniper let out a groan of disappointment. “It’s not even dark yet!” she complained.

  “You heard Mom,” Morgan said, putting a hand on Juniper’s shoulder. She quickly shrugged it off but turned to follow her older brother and sister down the path to their house. All of them knew better than to test their mother.

  The three kids gave a final wave goodbye, and Pedro led Xander, Sylvia, and Dusty toward his little trailer at the edge of the ranch. On the way they paused briefly at the newest addition to the training center, a recently donated bus. The wrecked vehicle lay on its side as if it had been totaled in a crash.

  “We are always increasing our facilities,” Pedro explained. “We want our dogs to experience as many possible scenarios before they leave here, because it helps lessen on-the-job trauma and gives them better success rates in the field. This bus was in an accident about a month ago and was donated last week.”

  The huge vehicle lay near the edge of a wooded area littered with giant boulders. Dusty’s body stilled and he stifled a whimper when it came into view. Sylvia’s hand flew to her mouth.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed.

  There were no glaring headlights, but it was a stark reminder of the bus that claimed Dusty’s pack.

  The small dog whined, which Pedro hadn’t heard before. Up until now he’d seemed happy. “Was he in a bus crash?” he asked quietly.

  “Not exactly,” Xander explained. “Sylvia and I were on the bus that killed Dusty’s family. Sylvia found him in the gutter right afterward. She snatched him up and snuck him onto the bus.”

  Pedro instinctively reached out a hand and stroked Dusty’s soft head, recommitting to the tiny pup. He was a lucky dog, and Pedro hoped he could keep the luck going, even if Dusty couldn’t stay on the ranch.

  Sylvia sensed what Pedro was thinking and her heart warmed. She gave Dusty a kiss behind the ear. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “You will be safe here.”

  Fifty or so yards away, at the top of a crested hill surrounded by scrub pine, stood Pedro’s trailer. Pedro held the door wide open. Inside, the small home was cozy vintage, with dark wood cabinets, linoleum floor tile, a colorful patterned rug, and comfy furniture in the living room. The bedroom was small but had a window that overlooked the ranch.

  “It’s not much, but it’s all mine,” Pedro said from the kitchen. He filled a bowl with fresh water and set it on the floor for Dusty, who thirstily lapped it up. “Ours,” he added. “For now.”

  Sylvia’s heart squeezed as she watched the dog drink. She didn’t want to leave him, but it was time for her and Xander to go. They had to get to school and this stop hadn’t been on their original schedule. After Dusty drank his fill, she picked him up one last time.

  “We have to take off, little guy,” she said. He felt her reluctance. His triangle ears drooped as he remembered the first time she picked him up—out of the ditch on the side of the dark road. He remembered the yelling bus driver and his mama and sisters lying still on the pavement. He remembered how sad he was, how hungry and scared. Sylvia had held him close in her sweatshirt, hiding him from the bus driver. Protecting him.

  With his ears still low, Dusty extended his neck and licked her face again and again, each lick a thank-you. He knew she had saved him. Once by bringing him onto the bus. And twice by bringing him to this good place.

  Sylvia wiped a tear from her cheek. “You’re going to be okay, Dustito,” she whispered, her nose touching the soft fur of his muzzle. “My uncle will find you a wonderful home.”

  “You can find your way back to your car?” Pedro asked.

  Xander and Sylvia nodded yes in unison.

  Pedro took Dusty into his own arms—or hands, since the pup was so tiny—and together they stood on the porch and watched Sylvia and Xander walk past the bus wreck and beyond the canine pavilion. Pedro could feel Dusty’s ribs so easily he could have played him like a twelve-string guitar, and he held him as gently as possible. When Sylvia and Xander were moving specks in the fading light, the pair stepped back into the living room of the trailer.

  It wasn’t a forever home for Dusty, but for now it would have to do.

  Pedro awoke the next morning with the sense that something was not quite right, and it took several seconds for him to realize that there was no pillow cradling his head. He opened his eyes and saw a tiny, black-and-white Chihuahua stretched out contentedly on his pillow, his back left paw just a few inches from Pedro’s nostrils.

  Rising up on an elbow, he inspected the burns and scabs on the pup’s paw pads. A visit with a vet was today’s first order of business. He watched as Dusty stretched and opened an eye, and then craned his cradled neck to give Pedro a lick.

  “Good morning to you, too,” Pedro replied with a chuckle. The pup had gone to sleep on a folded-up blanket next to Pedro’s bed, and he wondered how long he’d stayed there before deciding to make his way to higher ground. And then … how had he climbed up? Pedro’s bed was a good twenty inches off the floor!

  Dusty finished his greeting and gingerly got to his feet, stretching. “I guess it’s a good thing you weigh next to nothing, walking around on those sore feet,” Pedro said. “Sorry you had to survive on the street, little guy. But that doesn’t change the fact that that’s my pillow!” He snatched it gently out from under Dusty, who reluctantly leaped off the bed.

  Dusty watched Pedro eat a bowl of cereal, his mouth watering. Drool pooled on the linoleum floor beneath his head. Pedro felt bad that he hadn’t thought to bring some kibble up to his trailer. “You’ll have your own breakfast soon,” he promised. He drank the last bit of milk from the bowl and dropped it in the sink. As he turned to go, an unsavory smell wafted up to his nostrils. The tiny Chihuahua crouched directly over his slippers, his face a mask of concentration. Pedro heard a tiny, gassy explosion echo in the room. Dusty looked up at him with a mixture of relief and apology.

  “Really?” Pedro said as he picked up the dog with one hand and the slipper with the other. The smell was worse up close.

  “Really,” he answe
red himself as he carried both outside and dropped the slipper near the door. They were running late and he’d have to deal with it later.

  In the canine pavilion, Morgan and Forrest were already doing the regular morning dog care. Pedro set Dusty down and went to wash his hands.

  “Hey, little rat,” Forrest greeted with a smirk while Morgan got a bowl and put a small amount of kibble in it. She didn’t think her brother was being kind, but wasn’t sure how she felt about this new recruit … for the first time in ages she herself hadn’t fallen in love with a dog the moment he or she arrived. It was an odd situation for sure.

  While Dusty gobbled up his breakfast, Georgia arrived at the pavilion with Dr. Jessica, the on-call vet who came to the ranch on an as-needed basis.

  “I figured our tiny guest would need an exam,” Georgia said, her brown eyes traveling to the dog, who was busily licking every last speck of food from a bowl that was twice the size he was.

  “Gracias, Georgia,” Pedro replied. He still had the uneasy feeling that he was in a bit of a pickle—he didn’t have the time or the energy to find a home for this little guy—but was keenly aware of the fact that having the ranch’s resources at his fingertips was a blessing. Making sure Dusty was healthy and ready for adoption was a big step toward actually getting him adopted. “Good morning, Dr. Jess,” he added.

  Jessica’s eyebrows shot up so high they nearly touched her hairline, showing her surprise as she appraised Dusty. “He’s not exactly your typical rescue dog, is he?” she noted.

  Forrest hooted loudly. “Dusty, a rescue dog? Now that’s hilarious!”

  “He’s not a recruit,” Georgia explained. “Pedro’s niece brought him last night—she found him on the street in Mexico and thought we could help find him a home.”

  “It may as well have been right here in California,” Dr. Jessica said. “We’ve had twenty dumped puppies come into the shelter in just the past two weeks.” She sighed, feeling the weight of the battle. “I hope we can find homes for them as well.”