Best Friends

by Samantha Glen

  The Wall of Triumph was a collection of all the good things that were happening with animals: the paramedic who crawled down a storm drain to rescue a puppy; the mama cat that braved a fire to rescue her kittens; the German shepherd that saved his elderly owner from being mugged; the pregnant squirrel that adopted orphan kittens; the firemen who rigged up a sling to rescue a foal swept away in a flood.

  The stories came from all over the world, as far away as Calcutta. Faith felt herself wanting to bawl. Someone had taken a lot of time and trouble to put this wonderful reminder together. She felt ashamed at having gotten so caught up in the trials and tribulations of her small neighborhood. With this display somebody was shouting to all who took the time to look that the glass was indeed half full, not half empty.

  “Do you like it?”

  Faith hadn’t heard Francis walking up behind her. “Oh yes,” she said. “Oh yes. Thank you, Francis. I needed this.”

  “It wasn’t me. Michael did it.”

  “Michael?”

  “He said Tomato gave him the idea.”

  Faith nodded. The notion that Michael communed with Tomato the cat was not a surprise to either her or Francis. They had been caring for animals long enough to have experienced their own psychic connections. Francis believed that animals communicated with their persons on every level. “Don’t you know when your pet is trying to tell you something?” he would sometimes say.

  Nor was she surprised at what Michael had created. The Englishman had his own unique way of caring. Faith thought of Sun, and talky Tomato, and McMuffin, the white German shepherd he had mourned for months in stoic silence.

  She understood in that moment how all in the community of Best Friends had their own special gifts. How different they all were, and yet how they all meshed together for the same goal. The people of the canyon did not live in each other’s pockets, yet they interacted for the common good of the earth and the animals.

  Faith felt renewed. Whatever happened in the years to come, as long as they held to their truths, they could go on.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Summertime

  Jana de Peyer was on the phone from Las Vegas. “Faith, you’ll never guess what I’m getting.” Jana’s distinctive laugh sang down the phone line.

  Faith wouldn’t even try to imagine. Just a couple of months earlier Jana had trucked in an A-Frame kit: an honest-to-goodness house packed in boxes. It really was the cutest thing when they put it all together next to the bunkhouse. By popular vote it was decided that Francis should move in, seeing as he had twelve dogs and six cats living with him in one room. “Let me see now. The Governor’s mansion?”

  “Maybe even better.” Jana paused for effect. “Sunrise Humana hospital is renovating their pediatric wards and giving away all sorts of stuff. I’ll be driving up this weekend with a U-Haul full of surgical lights, windows—oh, wait til you see what I’ve got!”

  Faith knew this hospital had only top-of-the-line equipment. She could hardly believe their good luck. They had desperately needed Dr. Christy’s Silver Bullet, but already the quarters were cramped and overcrowded. She dreamed of one day having a real clinic. No, dreamed wasn’t the word. Faith had visualized every operating and recovery room, every detail of what they would need.

  “And listen to this,” Jana trilled. “I got an end piece of linoleum from a company that’s giving half to us and half to Mother Theresa’s group. Not bad company, eh?” Again her laughter made Faith smile. “See you then.” Jana rang off.

  Faith placed the receiver back in its cradle. Knowing Jana, she would arrive with a U-Haul van crammed with everything they could possibly need, bless her heart. All that would be required of Best Friends was some extra money for the building materials, and John should be able to juggle that somehow. Faith wandered out of Octagon Three, deep in thought.

  A whimpering that sounded like a lost child distracted her. Faith looked down at the white beagle mix whining around her ankles. “Aren’t you the neediest little thing, Maddie,” she exclaimed. Faith had quickly decided that Madeleine was too formal a name for the anxiety-ridden mutt she had found tied to a fender last fall. Maddie was a better tag, and there were days when “pest” suited her best of all.

  “Oh, all right then.” Faith stooped to pick up the dog. In one second she was flat on her face in the red dirt. She didn’t have to look around. “Amra!” she shouted. Faith had forgotten the new rule around Dogtown: keep your eyes peeled for the Sheriff.

  “Amra,” Faith sighed as she sat up. The malamute trotted around to look at her, tail wagging like a metronome. Rhonda, as always, was at his heels. Faith met the mischievous amber eyes and swore the animal was grinning.

  Amra had discovered that he could sneak up behind an unsuspecting person, thrust his haunches between their legs and, with a toss of his head, upend them. The saucy trick was the best fun, and Amra’s new goal was to tumble as many persons as possible.

  “Need a help up?” Tyson strolled over and extended a hand.

  “Thanks,” Faith groaned.

  “The Sheriff’s having a good time today. I found twenty-two bowls under his favorite bush.”

  That was another habit Amra had adopted, confiscating feeding bowls and hiding them while Tyson and Faith did their rounds.

  The two of them walked Amra across Victor’s line and watched him bound on down the lane. Little Rhonda straggled too far behind her mate to be among the privileged, and so was obliged to stop on a dime at the invisible barrier.

  It took the malamute a few seconds to realize that “Deputy Number One” wasn’t with him. He stopped, stared down an enclosure of German shepherds, then yelped at Faith to escort him back out of the Dogfather’s domain. Amra lay down beside his mate and covered her small head with wet, sloppy kisses. Rhonda finally agreed to being placated, and the two canines ambled happily away to play.

  “I wish I never had to leave the property,” Faith said wistfully. She looked at Tyson. “I don’t suppose you could go to town and pick up a prescription for me? I need to see John.”

  Tyson nodded. “Do you need anything at IGA?”

  She picked up the forlorn Maddie. “I’ve got a list in the trailer. Thanks, Tyson.”

  Jana arrived with everything, including the kitchen sinks. As Francis said, “How can we not build the clinic?”

  Every morning now Faith greeted Paul, Steven, Virgil, Gregory, and Francis, watching with mounting excitement as the clinic’s foundation went down and the framing rose up like magic. Even her mood swings seemed somewhat muted, and she was making a real effort to stay away from Denny’s Wigwam cafe and curio shop and that addictive strawberry ice cream.

  Faith found herself enjoying the camaraderie of the old “upper body brigade.” She realized she had been spending too much time alone in her trailer, and she promised herself to hang out with her friends more.

  August brought the relief of extra hands to help groom, medicate, scoop the poop, socialize with the animals, repair fences, paint—all the little jobs that needed to be taken care of on a regular basis.

  There was a sense of happy anticipation in the air. The men and women who had committed to Best Friends seven years before—Faith couldn’t believe how quickly the time passed—were visiting more frequently, making plans to wrap up their businesses and bring all their collective energy to Angel Canyon. Some had even begun poking around Kanab, looking for possible places to stay while they figured where they would build on the property.

  The animals never stopped coming, and rabbits and a one-winged owl were added to the mix. When a ragged troop of white geese were unexpectedly dumped at The Village, Michael hunted down a secondhand wading pool and the orange-beaked gaggle made themselves right at home.

  Nathania Gartman loved it all.

  The Alabama woman’s first love was children. Nathania liked nothing better than to dress up as “Daffydil” the clown and visit the terminally ill in the hospital.

  By nature shy and serious
, as “Daffydil” Nathania metamorphosed into a colorful, playful character in a costume of multi-colored iridescent pants, red-and-yellow shoes, and a beribboned, oversized forest green jacket that swamped a scarlet polka-dot shirt.

  The eyes of the frail boys and girls who would never leave their beds would grow big when Nathania produced her enchanted lightbulb and wizard’s coloring book. A youngster had only to blow lightly on the pages for pictures to appear and rainbow into color.

  The visit always ended with the magical appearance of stuffed animals, toys, games, and books from Daffydil’s voluminous pockets. It was no wonder that when Nathania moved to Las Vegas to work with Jana and Raphael she quickly became the most beloved visitor to that city’s children’s wards.

  Nathania had hiked the canyon with Michael the summer before anyone had moved onto the land. “I’m so happy. I’m so happy,” she cried, tears tracking her high cheekbones.

  The spirited woman had seen the possibilities of Best Friends from the beginning. To her, their animal Eden meant not only a place where all manner of furred and feathered creatures could find refuge in beautiful, safe surroundings, but a place to bring children. “We can hold seminars—educate. And I can teach, and truly be able to say that not one animal will be put to sleep,” she declared to Faith on her first visit to Dogtown. “Unless, of course, they’re in desperate pain and dying,” she added quickly.

  Faith used her sleeve to wipe the sweat from her forehead. She thrust a dozen feeding bowls into Nathania’s arms and led the way out of Octagon Three to the waiting Nissan truck whose bed was already packed with the dogs’ dinners. “All in good time, Nathania. All in good time. Right now we’ve got five hundred dogs to feed.”

  Nathania cruised the vehicle expertly along the narrow lanes, but Faith noticed that she did not rush to join her when they stopped at the enclosures. “It will go quicker if you come inside and help me,” she called, not unkindly.

  Nathania hesitated. Slowly she extricated herself from the driver’s seat and watched Faith enter a compound of lively black Labrador mutts. Still she hung back, seemingly hypnotized by the fifteen dogs that jumped, barked and whipped around like crazy beasts as Big Mama put down dinner in their preferred eating spots. Faith felt Nathania’s reluctance. “What’s the matter?”

  Nathania’s face flushed beet red, and Faith knew it wasn’t from the sun. “I’m frightened of dogs,” the Southerner finally managed. “I was attacked by a cocker spaniel when I was five.”

  Faith placed the last bowls and shut the gate behind her. She took Nathania by the shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I wanted to be part of whatever y’all were doing. I’m not scared of cats or geese. I figured I’d get over being terrified of dogs, but . . .” Nathania’s whole body was a picture of distress.

  “Oh, dear. Oh, dear,” Faith repeated. “How about little dogs?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, stay with me while I finish this lot, and then we’ll let David and Tyson take over.” Faith smiled at the miserable Nathania. “Hang in, girl. You don’t have to like dogs, you know. There’s lots of other animals around here.”

  Nathania presented herself at Dogtown the very next weekend. “I’ve decided I want to do this,” she announced, her small face solemn with determination. “If you can do it, Faith, I can do it.”

  “Good girl. Let’s start with the basics. Food.”

  Faith walked her new student into Octagon Three. She knew from long experience that the concentration required to mix the kibble and moist, to count the pills, to measure the morning’s medicine, could be as calming as any meditation—especially in the beginning. In preparing their separate dishes Nathania would also start to see the dogs as individuals, instead of as an amorphous mass of four-legged creatures to fear.

  The teacher didn’t push. She let Nathania doggedly lag her rounds all day Saturday and Sunday. She noticed when the woman forgot herself one time and leaned into an enclosure to hand Faith a bowl. Nathania almost smiled when a Rottweiler’s head bumped against her hand . . . almost.

  On Labor Day weekend Faith was called to pick up a pup that was hanging around the town’s transportation yard, and had to leave Nathania with Tyson.

  The dog was a juvenile Chesapeake. Faith was immediately reminded of the derelict conditions of the puppy mill she had tried so hard to forget all summer. She told herself she must be getting overwrought. This young dog with his poor conformation so resembled the clutch of pups she’d seen a few months earlier. But that couldn’t be. The bitter-faced man she had confronted last spring chained his breeding stock too tight; he would never let one free to wander into Kanab.

  The dog was all bones, and it didn’t hesitate to jump into her truck when coaxed. “You look like a Bailey,” she told the bedraggled animal. “We’ll put you with the little dogs to wet your feet. You’ll feel much better in a few days.” Faith’s soothing tones continued on the eight-mile trip back to the sanctuary.

  To Faith’s surprise, Nathania was actually inside the far enclosure John had just fenced for a new pack of small canines. The Southern woman’s smile could have lit up an auditorium. “They like me,” she marveled. “There’s a westhighland-something in here, and he rubbed up against my leg. Watch, Faith.” Nathania cautiously approached a sleeping, white-furred mutt. “Hello. Hello,” she said. The westie opened one eye and promptly went back to sleep. Nathania looked so disappointed, Faith felt like hugging the courageous woman.

  “Maybe you can help me with the one I’ve got in my truck,” she said. Nathania related her hour’s adventure while they made their way back to Faith’s vehicle. “Tyson was busy,” she started. “And these little dogs just kept barking and barking.”

  “They do that,” Faith said.

  “Well, I figured it was now or never. I got bowls and walked into this pen. Faith, I was scared to death. And then this westie came over and rubbed against me. It felt like I was being loved all over.”

  Faith smiled at Nathania’s awakening. She made no attempt to restrain the Chesapeake that jumped from her truck as soon as she opened the door, and glanced around in trepidation of these new surroundings. Nathania froze as he snuck around her legs, sniffing. Faith knew what would come next. Nathania had been around dogs all afternoon. She smelled of dog. The Chesapeake would react accordingly.

  The animal didn’t disappoint. He sniffed and sniffed and circled the paralyzed female. Finally he rubbed his filthy head against her thigh and leaned his whole skinny body on hers.

  “His name is Bailey,” Faith said briskly. “Would you mind escorting him to the enclosure we just left? And stay with him. He may need reassurance. Oh, and make sure the others don’t get on his case. I’ll get some treats for him. You okay with that?”

  Nathania nodded as if in a dream. She picked up the Chesapeake’s leash and, in imitation of Chief Dog, talked the new arrival back to the far enclosure.

  “You got it, girl,” Faith murmured, watching. “You got it.”

  By Halloween, Nathania Gartman had not only conquered her-fear of dogs (although she still kept a wary distance from Tyson when he walked the “biters”), but had fallen in love with Coyote, the shepherd-husky mix that the Grand Canyon rangers had brought to Best Friends in the early days. “Coyote’s so sweet he should be our greeter,” she declared. “The children will love him.”

  “All in good time,” Faith reminded her. “All in good time.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Chesapeake Bay

  Faith pretended not to hear the obstinate jangling on her bedside table. She rolled over and pushed her face into the pillow. The Ides of March were already living up to their name. It was a cold wind that blew outside. She was tired and her bed was warm. But whoever was calling wasn’t giving up. Faith stretched an arm from under the blanket and picked up the phone.

  “Sorry it’s so late,” Officer Crosby’s voice apologized.

  Faith squinted at her watch in
the darkness. “It’s after eleven, Doug. What’s up?”

  “We’ve got an emergency here. You remember the breeding kennel you inspected last May?”

  “How could I forget.”

  “The guy pulled a gun on his wife and she called it in.”

  “What?”

  “We’re on our way to pick him up. She’s pressing charges. Can you get the dogs?”

  “What do you think?”

  Doug Crosby chuckled. “Atta girl.”

  It took Faith less than five minutes to dress, pull on her boots, and knock on Tyson’s trailer. “I need you to chum up some of the dogs and free up a run,” she said to the sleepyhead. “We’ve got a kennel full of Chesapeakes coming in.” She hesitated. “See if you can rouse Francis. I have a hunch we might need his help.”

  A chaos of police cars and sheriff’s vans awaited Faith when she arrived at the frame house. Blue lights inscribed flashing circles into the dark. Radios crackled incessantly.

  Six officers tromped down the starved weeds in the frost-killed garden, and Faith was just in time to see the sullen breeder, his arms handcuffed behind him, being escorted down the steps of his porch by three deputies. The police looked most serious. Kanab didn’t get much violent crime. A man brandishing a gun with possible intent to harm was a grave matter in these parts.

  “How many can you take?” Doug Crosby asked as he walked her around to the backyard.

  “I have nine kennels with me. I’ll take the ones in worst shape and get the others tomorrow.”

  “Gotcha.”

  The Chesapeakes were frantic. They rushed their tiny pens to the limited length of their chains, shattering the night with their terrified howling. This didn’t disturb Faith in the least, but something else bothered her.

  “Where are the rest of them? I only count fifteen. There were twenty-five when I was here last. I know there have to have been some litters, and he couldn’t have sold that many.”