Lost Dog (A Gideon and Sirius Novel Book 3)

by Alan Russell

  How do I love thee? Let me count the filets.

  Sleep came on quickly and thoroughly. That’s why it was so difficult emerging from my deep slumber. I awakened to Sirius’s insistent pawing and whimpering. Usually that’s how he awakens me from my fire nightmare, but since I wasn’t sweating, hyperventilating, or going up in flames, it was clear something else was causing his alarm.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Sirius offered a single, excited bark. I knew it wasn’t the call of nature; he has a dog door that leads out to the porch.

  My partner nudged me, insisting I get up. “Okay, okay,” I said.

  He ran to the bedroom door and then back to me. It was his way of telling me to get a move on.

  “Yes, boss,” I said, looking for my slippers and the one old robe I own.

  While dressing I heard the nearby yipping of coyotes. “It better not be those coyotes that have you riled up,” I said.

  Hearing coyotes in our neighborhood wasn’t uncommon, and I knew of several cat owners along the block who’d lost their pets to the predators. One neighbor with a home-surveillance system said he regularly recorded a pack of coyotes using our street as a throughway. We weren’t far from an urban canyon, the pack’s likely home.

  Sirius had never been bothered by the coyote yips and howls before. This time, though, something was different.

  “Has Timmy fallen down the well again, Lassie?” I asked.

  Sirius barked at me, not hiding his impatience. It was clear he wanted me moving at warp speed. I didn’t stop to get a leash, confident that Sirius would stay at my side as he always does, but as soon as I opened the door, he voiced a sound new to me, a growl that carried as if it had been snarled out of a bullhorn. It was an announcement and a call of the wild.

  Then he raced off. Usually he runs silently. Not this time. He was announcing himself like an oncoming locomotive.

  His roar caused a stir among the coyotes. Their alarmed cries filled the air. I did some calling of my own.

  “Sirius! Sirius!”

  I ran in the direction where I’d seen my partner race off. Sirius is much bigger than a coyote, but it sounded as if he was ready to take on the whole pack. I cursed myself for not having brought a bat, and stopped long enough to grab a few cobblestones out of the dry creek that runs through Seth’s front yard.

  The stones proved unnecessary. Judging by the retreating yips, the coyote pack was in full retreat.

  “Sirius!” I called again.

  Fifteen seconds passed and I shouted his name once more. This time he reappeared. His posture was a combination of triumph—“Look! I dispatched the enemy!”—and guilt. Sirius knew he’d run off without my leave.

  “Hier!” I commanded.

  His posture lowered near to the ground, his skulking body language asking my forgiveness.

  “Was ist los?”

  The German translation is: What is going on? Sirius knew what I was really saying was, “What the hell were you up to?”

  He pressed himself against my side, and his eyes went from the ground up to mine and then back to the ground. He whined, a short little note. Imagine a child trying to say there’s a good reason he shouldn’t be punished for violating some rule. It was almost as if Sirius was saying, “There’s a very good explanation for what I did.”

  “Sitz,” I said, and he immediately sat.

  His obedience didn’t come without offering up a plaintive note, though. His head kept moving, this time looking from me off into the distance. Something was out there, he was telling me. His body was tensed. He didn’t want to stay put; the only reason he was at my side and doing what I was asking of him was to make me happy.

  “Okay,” I said. “Voraus!”

  I gave him leave to “go out.” He sprinted away, but before he was out of sight, he stopped to turn around and bark at me. I was being told to follow. Then Sirius continued running down the road. Before I lost sight of him, he stopped long enough to turn around and bark at me once more. It didn’t take a dog whisperer to understand he was telling me, “Hurry up, Jack.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said.

  Slippers aren’t very good for jogging, but I made do. By that time Sirius had turned the corner and come to a stop. In the darkness I could just make out a shadowed form that Sirius was hovering over. As I drew closer, I could see movement. A dog was struggling to rise to its feet. Quivering limbs spoke to its will, but the effort was too much and the dog collapsed in a heap.

  As I approached, the dog offered up a deep growl. Sirius responded by gently licking one of the dog’s wounds. If I was being anthropomorphic, I would have said he was telling the dog, “There, there.”

  I heeded the growl and stayed my distance. The dog was medium-size, a mixed breed with spotting on the chest, and looked to be mostly hound. I was pretty sure the dog was female based on how Sirius was treating her. Generally he gets along better with females.

  There wasn’t enough light for me to see very well, but it was clear the dog was hurt. I wondered if the coyotes had gotten to her. She was panting, and her coat was dirty.

  “It’s okay,” I said, speaking in my most calming voice.

  The dog growled, but this time without as much throat. Sirius redoubled his licking, vouching for me.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” I said, and moved a little closer.

  Maybe the dog believed me. Maybe Sirius had sold me as one of the good ones. She watched me closely, but stopped growling. I noticed she turned her head to follow my movements. The reason for that could be seen in the milky patch of her left eye, an indication she was probably blind in that one. Sirius seemed to know that already. He’d positioned himself on the side of her bad eye.

  “How are you, girl?” I asked.

  Even in the dim light I could see she wasn’t doing well. The pads of her feet were worn and bloody, and she continued to pant. Everything was telling me the dog was dehydrated.

  “Sirius, stay,” I said.

  The command was probably unnecessary. It looked like he wasn’t about to leave his companion.

  I turned around and began jogging home. The neighborhood was quiet, and there was no traffic. As I ran, I considered my options. No one was on duty at animal control; personnel wouldn’t come on until the morning. That meant it was up to me until then. I thought about covering the dog with a blanket and making sure she had plenty of fluids. But what if the coyotes returned? I couldn’t leave an injured animal to that fate. That meant I had to find a way to bring the dog home with us. Luckily I had some specialized equipment that might help me transport her without getting bitten.

  Once home, I raced around and gathered everything. Instead of taking the time to put on a full bite suit, I just put on an arm sleeve. Then I grabbed a gallon of water, a bowl, a blanket, a glove, and some dog treats. Everything got tossed into a garden cart, which I pulled along behind me. I was halfway down the front pathway when I heard a familiar voice in the darkness.

  “Are you running away to join the circus?”

  I suppose I did resemble a runaway. “You seem to have forgotten I already work there.”

  Seth Mann joined me. Though he must have been awakened by the noise, he was still smiling like the Happy Buddha he physically resembled. “So, where are we headed to at two thirty in the morning?”

  “Sirius is standing guard over a dog that looks like she’s been through the wringer. He ran off a pack of coyotes that I suspect had the intention of making a meal of her.”

  “That explains the roar I heard, followed by the annoyed sounds of you calling Sirius’s name.”

  “He tends to be hard of hearing when there’s a damsel in distress.”

  “Is that an ongoing problem?”

  “I would categorize it more as a display of testosterone than I would a problem.”

  “There are always neuticles,” he said.

  “New to what?”

  “Neuticles,” he said. “Fake balls for male dogs
that get neutered.”

  “You’re kidding. Or should I say, ‘Are you nuts?’”

  “One of my clients swears by them. He says his dog’s behavior is much improved since he was neutered. The only reason he hesitated having the procedure done was that he didn’t want his dog’s appearance altered.”

  “Your client is crazy.”

  “He says half a million dogs are walking around with neuticles.”

  “The thought of that gives me the willies.”

  “I blame myself for initiating this line of conversation.”

  “You should. And you should also know K-9 dogs are purposely left intact. There are situations that call for ample aggression, and that means balls to the wall and no neuticles need apply.”

  “Say no more. The topic is now closed.”

  “You don’t need to be testes.”

  Seth sighed. I was at least hoping for a groan. The appearance of Sirius, who came bounding over to see one of his favorite people in the world, spared Seth from more puns.

  Sirius led us back to his friend, who growled at our approach. Seth pulled up short and gave me a look.

  “I’m pretty sure her bark is worse than her bite,” I said. “Everything I’ve seen suggests she’s doing it more out of habit than intent.”

  Sirius played the role of ambassador, moving back and forth between his friend and the two of us, assuring everyone that all was well with the wagging of his tail.

  “I think she’s blind in her left eye,” I said. “I’m favoring her good eye so as not to spook her.”

  I filled a bowl with water, and then slowly, carefully, drew close to the wounded dog.

  “How about some water?” I asked. My voice was high and unthreatening.

  I placed the bowl on the ground. She tried to stand and drink, but her legs were too wobbly, prompting me to reposition the bowl so she didn’t have to get up. She immediately started drinking and didn’t stop until the bowl was empty. With measured, deliberate movements I retrieved the bowl, filled it once more, and again placed it within reach of her muzzle. She quickly finished most of what was there.

  Seth asked, “How do you say, ‘I come in peace?’ in caninese?”

  “I am a firm believer in the time-honored method of bribery.”

  I gave Sirius a sweet potato-and-duck strip, and then offered one to his friend. She seemed shy about taking it from my hand, but when I put it on the ground, she made quick work of it.

  Each of the dogs was given another strip. Bit by bit I narrowed the distance between me and the wounded dog. She was mindful of my proximity, but no longer looked threatened by it.

  Speaking in a calm, happy tone, I said to Seth, “You can see by her pads they’re almost worn away. There’s a lot of cracking and bleeding on them. She’s traveled a long way and gotten a few wounds along the way. I’m not sure if those coyotes took a few bites out of her, or whether it was dog versus car, with the car winning.

  “She’s not wearing a collar. My idea is to drape the blanket over her body. If I can get her comfortable, I’ll try and lift her into the wagon. I’m going to take it slow, reading her body language every step of the way.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Seth asked.

  “As wobbly as she is, she still might think about making a run for it. I want you standing between her and the open road. I also want you monitoring her and looking for the same things that I am. I’ll be listening to the seriousness of her growling and watching for any sign of her hackles rising. You see how she’s looking at me? That’s a good thing. If she begins averting her gaze, that could signal trouble. One of the big telltale signs in a spooked dog is whale eyes. That’s where you see the whites of a dog’s eyes in the corners and rims. Dogs bite when they feel threatened. Of course I’m going to do my best to present my padded arm as the only potential target.”

  “Is your Last Will and Testament in order?”

  “I’m more worried about the possibility of needing to order my own set of neuticles.”

  “You’re lucky dogs pick up on tone and vibes more than what’s being said,” said Seth, referring to how we’d been doing all of our talking in overly polite tones. “You sound as slick as a used-car salesman.”

  “Thanks so much for that comparison,” I said.

  “Unctuous becomes you.”

  “Fuck you very much,” I said, sounding like I was offering him the greatest of compliments.

  I offered another treat to Sirius and his friend. As they were eating, I gently spread the blanket over her body.

  “So far so good. Now’s the tough part.”

  I talked to the dog all the while I repositioned myself: “That’s a good girl. You’re a very good girl. Does that blanket feel nice?”

  When I squatted down next to her, Sirius came over to my side. Most of the time when I get down low, he thinks we’re playing a game. He wagged his tail while I worked my hands through his mane. His friend was watching us. I felt emboldened enough to reach a tentative hand out to her. She sniffed my hand for a few seconds and seemed to be reassured by whatever she smelled.

  “That’s a good girl,” I said, gently stroking her.

  I wanted her to get used to my touch. At first she didn’t feel or look relaxed, but she didn’t growl, raise her hackles, or offer up whale eyes.

  “That’s right,” I said. “You’re doing so well. You’re a good girl.”

  I continued with the platitudes, and the petting, until her posture grew less rigid. Sirius helped the effort by doing his version of a licking massage.

  “It’s showtime,” I said to Seth. “I’m going to lift her now.”

  I put a padded glove on my hand and then draped my arm with the bite sleeve around her midsection. She growled, and I said in my most soothing voice, “It’s all right.”

  Her growls grew increasingly louder as I lifted her up. The cart was only two steps away. Over her growls, Sirius and I both spoke; he offered encouraging sounds while I said, “That’s a good girl.” I think she was more swayed by Sirius’s reassurances than mine. With great care I deposited her into the wagon. I took a step back and let out half a minute’s worth of pent-up air.

  “I think you’ve earned yourself a drink,” said Seth.

  “Just so long as it’s not the hair of the dog that bit me.”

  CHAPTER 5

  LITTLE ORPHAN ANNIE

  After converting the laundry room into what felt like a miniature M*A*S*H unit, we began working on the patient. Sirius played the role of mother hen. It quickly became apparent I wasn’t the best Florence Nightingale. My shaman friend proved a much better nurse, and he was the one who applied the Betadine solution to the dog’s wounds, as well as the Neosporin to her paw pads.

  “Dogs sweat from their paw pads,” I said, offering up a tidbit of information learned during my time with Metropolitan K-9, but really just pretending to be useful while Seth did his careful work. “I’m thinking we should leave the pads exposed.”

  “Normally I’d opt for booties to stop her from licking at the Neosporin,” he said, “but I think she’s at her limit now, and I don’t want to push her any further than we already have.”

  He stepped back from his work and gestured to his patient. “What do you think?”

  The question wasn’t directed to me, but to Sirius, who’d been at his side assisting the entire time. Sirius began sniffing at the shaman’s handiwork.

  “Maybe it’s the patient you should be asking,” I said. “What kind of job did he do, Little Orphan Annie?”

  The dog surprised me by turning her head toward me. She was responding to some cue, some familiar word. I thought about what I might have said and ventured a guess.

  “Does that feel better, Annie?” I asked, emphasizing the name.

  If I hadn’t been looking, I wouldn’t have seen the small movement of her tail.

  “I think our patient’s name is Annie,” I told Seth.

  Once more there was an almost imperce
ptible movement of her tail.

  “Good girl, Annie,” said Seth.

  Annie wasn’t the only one exhibiting approval. Sirius finished with his examination of Seth’s work and began wagging his tail.

  “You approve, Dr. Sirius?” asked Seth.

  “Wasn’t it you who lectured me about the perils of giving Sirius human titles?”

  “It’s not like I’m claiming Sirius is a board-certified surgeon. His doctorate is honorary.”

  “What in?”

  “Canine Studies, with a minor in Interspecies Relationships with Difficult Humans.”

  “Really?”

  “The important word is ‘honorary.’”

  “His degree should be in Thinkology.”

  “What is Thinkology?”

  “That’s what was written on the diploma Ray Bolger received in The Wizard of Oz.”

  “Fine, Sirius’s honorary degree is in Thinkology.”

  “On second thought, I don’t think his degree should be in Thinkology.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because after the Scarecrow was given his diploma, he immediately demonstrated flawed thinking by citing the Pythagorean Theorem and stating, ‘The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side.’”

  “And what’s wrong with that?”

  “Pythagoras really said that the square of the hypotenuse, which is the side opposite the right angle, is equal to the sum of the squares of the other two sides.”

  “I am impressed by your knowledge of mathematics.”

  “Don’t be. I memorized the facts in order to support the movie trivia.”

  While the two of us had been discussing Dr. Sirius’s credentials, the good doctor had taken it upon himself to sidle in next to Annie. She seemed a lot more comforted by his contact than she had been by our doctoring.

  Both dogs settled into the blankets that had been laid down on the floor. I filled up a water bowl, and next to it placed a bowl of kibble. The dogs already looked as if they were asleep.