Head Over Paws

by Debbie Burns

  He watched the man dump a mound of mouthwatering kibble into a bowl at his feet and listened as the man beckoned him with clicks of the tongue and motioned with his hand. This same man had lifted him up out of the water, kept him from sinking until the river had tried to swallow them both at the same time.

  He was pleased to know the man had been spit out the same way he had. Terror had kept the dog moving when he’d reached the water’s edge. He’d run and run until he was certain the river was too far away to catch him.

  As the fear abated, the dog had felt the pull of his master’s whistle, even though he’d not heard it on the wind—he’d not heard his master’s whistle for some time now—and he’d returned home on legs so weak they were hardly under his command.

  Upon return, the dog had discovered that the only home he’d known—the quiet pen behind his master’s home—had been swallowed up and swept away. The dog had been dozing up here where his master had stayed, hoping for his return and dreaming in fear of the river swallowing up the house just as it had his pen. The people returned and woke him, and the smell of food drifted across his nose.

  Hunger beckoned the dog forward. When the man and the woman retreated several steps from the mound of food awaiting him, the dog became emboldened. He wobbled forward off the porch. From inside the big, rolling thing that carried humans from place to place, a caged dog barked.

  The dog had no fear of the caged dog; there’d been no real aggression in his warning bark, just an attempt to claim a dinner that couldn’t be reached.

  “Good boy,” the man called out over and over, beckoning the dog forward with words his master had used when he was young. As he’d grown older, he’d learned “Here, boy” and “Come, boy” and “Sit, boy.”

  This man’s tone was softer than his master’s. The gentleness in it guided him forward in spite of his hesitation and weakened body.

  Hunger and solitude had been his companions since the long quiet at winter’s end when his master had stopped coming, had stopped bringing him food and fresh water. That had been before the rains began.

  The dog had lived here in the pen behind the house since he was small and weak enough that munching a single piece of kibble in his sharp milk teeth had been nearly impossible. That was too many seasons ago for the dog to have kept track of.

  For so long, life had been easy and predictable. The dog had counted on a short visit from his master each morning that ended with a bite or two of the man’s food—something grainy and greasy and delicious and nothing like his dry, plain kibble—and a second visit toward the end of each day as the sun dipped low in the sky. It was during this late-in-the-day visit that his master would open the dog’s pen and let him run about the yard and in the woods all the way to the river. These were the dog’s happiest times, as he stretched his legs and left his scent in his favorite spots: bushes and tree trunks and rocks and human things that had been abandoned in the tall grass. In too short a time, his master would whistle and call the dog home. Waiting inside his pen would be a bowl spilling over with fresh kibble and another with water.

  Rather than rush inside, the dog would sit at his master’s feet, his tail wagging in anticipation. Most nights, his master would reward him by stroking one ear for a short time. Then he’d point to the kibble and dismiss him with an “Eat, boy.”

  The dog learned to heed his master’s whistle and to return with haste, no matter how far he’d run or what scents beckoned him to explore. The faster he returned, the more likely he was to be rewarded with this bit of gentle stroking. The few nights that scents had held the dog’s attention too long and he’d not heeded the man’s whistle, he’d been greeted on return with a swift kick in the haunches instead.

  His master’s visits had become less and less predictable, stretching back to when the days were the longest in the year and the scorching heat was nearly intolerable. Some nights, he wouldn’t come at all. Others, he wouldn’t open the pen to let the dog run free while he filled his bowls with food and water.

  Then, as winter ended and before the rains came, his master stopped coming altogether. The dog’s hunger had become so immense, surely he would’ve succumbed to it had he not had been lucky at catching a squirrel and then later a large bird who’d come in to scavenge on remains of kibble that was no longer there.

  When the rains came, he preyed on a few small frogs and bitter-tasting moths. When the river had first swept into his pen, the dog drank and drank until his belly hurt. He waited and waited, but his master didn’t come.

  And now his pen had been swallowed by the earth and this docile stranger was offering him a heaping mound of kibble.

  The dog crept forward, lulled by the kibble and the gentleness in the man’s tone. The man had tossed a piece or two of it in his direction. He swept them up with his tongue. His mouth watered as the meaty, salty kibble disintegrated over his tongue and ignited a fresh fire across his taste buds. His empty stomach knotted in anticipation. More, more, the dog wanted more.

  He crept forward and sank onto his haunches as he reached the bowl. He dipped his head and tried to gulp the food in the same way he gulped in air after an exhausting run, only the individual pieces lodged in the back of his throat, and he coughed and choked and needed to try again.

  He was eating just slow enough not to choke again when he realized the man was kneeling beside him, stroking the length of his body the same gentle way his master had stroked his ear. The dog wagged his tail but didn’t lose a beat in consuming this unexpected meal. Before his hunger was satiated, the man clipped something onto his collar and the woman slipped the bowl of food from his reach.

  The dog whined for it, but the man patted him reassuringly. “Easy, boy, easy. Thin as you are, we don’t want to end up shocking your system.”

  The man’s tone was soft and nonthreatening, and the dog knew he meant him no harm, nor did the woman with the salty-smelling water rolling down her cheeks.

  He wagged his tail and waited, hoping the bowl would be placed within reach again. Instead, the man swept him up in his arms again. This time, the dog trusted that the river wouldn’t separate them.

  Chapter 9

  By the time they crated the dog, tied the crate down in back, and Olivia had a minute to check her phone as they headed to the feed store, she found four missed calls and a slew of texts from Ava. Her heart sank into her belly. She was grateful her sister had driven all this way to pick her up, but she wished for a bit more time with Gabe. She desperately wanted to explain herself. To say something beyond “Oh, someone broke your heart and called off a wedding? Well, same here, only I was the caller, and we were much closer to heading down the aisle.” But as it was, her sister had pulled up to the makeshift rehab behind the feed store a few minutes ahead of them and was getting out of her Jeep when they pulled up.

  As Gabe slipped the truck into park, Olivia resigned herself to chalking up any sort of follow-up conversation as a missed opportunity. She probably wouldn’t have been able to find the right words anyway. For any of it. How did she tell him the few minutes they’d spent making out had seemed more real and more relevant than anything had in longer than she cared to remember? The truth was, it was naive to hope an impromptu make-out session in Gabe’s truck hours after they met might actually lead to something.

  Leaving her purse and jacket inside the cab, Olivia jogged over to her sister and pulled her into a tight hug. Bad timing or not, it was good to see her. “Thanks for coming. I know driving down here wasn’t what you envisioned doing today, but at least we’ll have time to talk on the way home. I want to hear everything, starting from the beginning.”

  Ava groaned into her ear before they pulled apart. “If I start there, we’ll need more than three hours.”

  Olivia gave her sister a closer look. She was dressed for a day of showing property in pressed pants that flared at the ankle, four-inch heels, and a fitted suit ja
cket, and she clearly knew some sort of miracle cure because her perfectly made-up eyes didn’t look puffy at all.

  “You look great, Sis.”

  That was Ava; her marriage was falling apart, but looking at her, no one would have a clue. If Olivia had cried like that earlier today, she’d still have a stuffy nose, and her eyelids would resemble a pair of used tea bags. While she sometimes had to work at not feeling insignificant around her year-older sister, she also knew that Ava deserved all the amazing success that had come her way, especially in terms of how far she’d gone in her career as a real estate agent.

  Aside from their height—they’d both topped out at five feet, eight inches—and similarities in face shape, most notably in the eyes and nose, people rarely guessed they were related, much less sisters. Ava had blue eyes and raven-black hair and spotless skin. Olivia’s hair was bright red, her eyes a muddy hazel, and she had an abundance of freckles.

  It was no surprise that back in high school, guys had looked her over like a pheasant hidden in the grass whenever her sister was around. Ava had known how to make their secondhand clothes look fashionable, how to project a you-could-complete-me vibe, and somehow perfected the best angle to turn up her chin to look ridiculously but genuinely demure.

  But as put together as her sister seemed—even now—one of the dozen texts she’d sent had been to declare that they’d be swinging by the nearest Wendy’s on the way home for a giant Frosty, her number-one comfort food. For Ava, Frosties even topped their grandma’s chicken pot pie, which was famous countywide. Not Olivia. When trouble mounted, Olivia couldn’t think of anything better to drown her sorrows in than that pot pie.

  Thinking of the pot pie reminded her of how much flack they were going to get when their family figured out they had been this close to home and hadn’t stopped by. Earlier, Ava had made it clear she wasn’t in the space to see anyone tonight. Not with what was going on with her marriage.

  Even though Olivia knew avoiding her family wasn’t going to help douse the rumors that were most likely already beginning to circulate, she wasn’t about to object. Starting out, she’d had no intention of showing up at the farm today. Knowing her intense make-out session would soon be the talk of the town didn’t make her want to show up there any more than before. Besides, it had been a long day, and she had a lot to process.

  Behind them came the solid thwack of a truck door being shut. Olivia was pretty sure even a toddler would’ve caught something significant in the look Ava directed her way after setting eyes on Gabe. “Uh, yeah, you know I’m going to want the full.”

  It was a whisper but not the quietest, and Olivia hoped it didn’t travel far. Head angled away from Gabe, she gave her sister her most ferocious glare, which only produced the slightest of eye rolls. “He didn’t hear,” she added an octave lower.

  Gabe headed over, stretching out his hand in Ava’s direction. “Gabe Wentworth. Nice to meet you.”

  “Pleasure’s all mine.” Olivia couldn’t remember ever shaking her sister’s hand, but she was willing to bet Ava’s handshake was a confident one. “Ava Graham.”

  It was Olivia’s turn to roll her eyes. Pleasure’s all mine. Did anyone honestly say that anymore? At least one person did, it seemed. Thankfully small talk was kept short since there was a dog needing their attention.

  Olivia helped Gabe haul the bulky crate inside, and Ava trailed along after them. “Oh, he’s a pointer, isn’t he?” As much as her sister worked hard not to acknowledge her rural upbringing, Ava still knew a thing or two about hunting dogs.

  They headed through the open sliding doors of the big shed, and Olivia spotted Rhonda and Karen in back feeding the crated dogs.

  “Well, I’ll be… You two did it!” Rhonda dropped the scoop back into a giant bag of off-brand kibble, and they walked over together for a look inside the crate. “When you didn’t come back right away, I wasn’t sure what to think.”

  “You wouldn’t believe what a close call it was,” Olivia said, giving them a shortened version of Gabe’s heroics and sharing how the dog had run off after making it out of the water. “There were two kids with us, watching as well,” she added. “The ones who reported it. I’m hoping they resurface because the guy was filming the rescue, and Gabe and I both kind of feel like they may have more information on the dog than they shared.”

  Rhonda looked at Gabe appreciatively. “I’d never recommend anyone walk into a flood, but it sounds like you saved a life, for sure.”

  “He absolutely did.” A new rush of admiration swept over Olivia as she made eye contact with Gabe. He was confident, heart-stoppingly cute, and kind. How crazy was it that she’d kissed him with no reservation like that?

  With a blush heating her cheeks, she found it safer to focus on the dog who was standing with his back pressed against the top of the crate, balancing on all four legs as if he were on a ship sailing through stormy seas. His head hung low, and he looked from her to Gabe with warm-brown eyes that seemed both cautious and gentle. “I’m pretty sure this poor guy’s strength was closer to giving out than I care to think about.”

  Gabe nodded to an empty place at the end of the third row. “Over there okay?” He looked at Rhonda for an answer, all but ignoring the comments about his heroics.

  Rhonda nodded. “Sure.” She looked at her coworker. “Have we got any blankets left? The poor fellow looks like he could use a bit of comfort right now.”

  “There’s one or two left,” Karen said, heading for one of their supply tubs. She sorted through it and returned with a faded-blue plaid blanket and offered it their direction. “I’ll let one of you two do the honors.”

  Gabe cocked an eyebrow in Olivia’s direction after they’d set the crate a foot or two from the crated dog at the end of the row. From Olivia’s best guess, it was a border collie/Dalmatian mix. “Be my guest. And here,” he said, fishing through his pocket. “Might as well give him the last of these.”

  Olivia ignored the rush from their fingers brushing together and sank to a squat in front of the pointer’s crate, letting him sniff the blanket through the bars. When he didn’t seem frightened by it, she opened the door slowly and placed it at his feet. Then she rewarded him with the last two treats, which he inhaled in the space of a second or two. He looked at her hungrily, clearly hoping for more, but Olivia scratched him behind the ear instead.

  It had taken most of the ride here for her tears to stop flowing. She was a sucker for hunting dogs anyway, and this one seemed so docile and sweet. And he was clearly underweight. By quite a bit. If the owner had pulled up while they were there, it would’ve been all she could do not to give him or her a swift kick in the shin. What sort of person kept a dog locked in a pen and didn’t provide adequate access to food?

  The same sort who left him to drown.

  Olivia shuddered. Thank goodness he was safe. She couldn’t imagine a greater horror than watching helplessly and Gabe not being able to get him out in time. “He’s so thin.” She swallowed hard. “There’s no excuse for a dog to be this thin.”

  “Agreed,” Gabe said. “Underweight as he is, added to the fact that he was left in a locked pen during a flood, is enough to warrant a neglect confiscation, I suspect. And if you’d seen the house… I should’ve taken pictures. I didn’t think about that until now. It looked abandoned. Worse than abandoned. More like a junkyard. And I suspect it wasn’t any cleaner inside the pen before it flooded than it was in front of the house.”

  Karen gave a disheartened shake of her head. “I can count his ribs from here, though I’ve been in this business long enough to have seen worse. But I know when you risk life and limb to save one of these fellows like you two have, it gets personal. I’m sure you’d like to hear otherwise, but we’d risk our license being called into question if we didn’t follow procedure.” She turned up her hands and looked at the dog who was still standing on all fours and looking between
them. “Like it or not, his owner has seventy-two hours to claim him. What I can do is list your grievances with the county. When there’s a neglect complaint, sometimes it can move things faster. Don’t hold your breath on it though.” She gave an apologetic shrug of her shoulders. “In the meantime, I’ll post this guy’s picture online. Maybe someone will come forward with more information.”

  “I know the perfect shelter to take him if no one comes forward,” Ava piped up. “I went to a fund-raiser there recently. It’s no-kill, and they vet adopters heavily, so he’d be sure to be in good hands.”

  “Near you?” Olivia asked.

  “Yeah, like ten minutes away, maybe less.”

  “You know, I’m going to have to come back for my car,” Olivia added. “If that works out, my sister and I could come get him when we do.” She hooked a finger around one of the bars, and the pointer leaned close to give her finger a sniff. His nose was warm and dry. Hopefully he wouldn’t get sick from having expended so much energy in his already-weakened condition. “He’s such a sweetheart. I’d adopt him myself, but without a place of my own, that’s out of the question.”

  Rhonda patted Olivia’s arm as she stood up. “If the shelter will take him, call me. I could use one more animal off my plate. Most days I feel like I’m playing solitaire when it comes to finding places to take these guys.”

  “So that you know, underweight as he is, we stopped him short of a full meal tonight,” Gabe said, hooking his thumbs in the back pockets of his jeans and drawing Olivia’s attention to his wide, rounded shoulders. “I’d recommend smaller meals more frequently over the next few days. Plenty of water and a real checkup as soon as he gets where he’s going.”