We had bypassed the place where the big dogs were kept, the room where the cats were crammed. What could be left?
With a grunt, Evelyn pushed open the door at the end of the hall. It was brightly lit and quiet. A private room, perhaps? Sweet solace. The only thing better would be for her to plunk a bowl of food in front of me.
She lowered me to the other side of a low cinder block wall. That was when ‘they’ woke up. Puppies. A dozen of them.
No. Just ... no.
My feet were barely on the floor when they exploded from their sleeping pile and attacked, licking and yapping, running in mindless circles. One of them peed right next to me, then proceeded to pounce on my ribs, knocking the air from my lungs. Gulping in a breath, I crawled on my belly toward the wall. Three or four more pooped in random places; moments later other puppies raced through the mess.
I watched in horror, shocked at their disregard for cleanliness. From behind, someone sank their teeth into my back. I yelped in pain, but they only bit harder. So I whipped around, my teeth gnashing.
“Hey!” Evelyn grabbed me by the scruff, pulling me away. “Don’t start anything. Got it?”
I leered at her. What had I started? Was I not supposed to defend myself? Should I just let these heathens maul me?
But now she was getting a dose of it. Two pups had latched onto her shoelaces, while a third bit at her pants leg. She grabbed a metal scooper and banged it on the ground. They scattered. She shoveled up their piles of poop, mopped up several puddles, then spritzed it all with some foul-smelling liquid from a plastic bottle. No wonder they all kept pooping in new places. Who would want to go anywhere near where she had sprayed that toxic stuff?
Next, she brought out several bowls of kibble and placed them around the floor. Chaos reigned momentarily as everyone fought for a spot, but very soon each puppy had a place. Even I found a bowl where only two puppies were inhaling their meal, their long tails swinging happily back and forth. Suddenly, I was very conscious of the fact that I had only a nub, but more than embarrassed, I was hungry. And so I ate. Until my belly nearly burst.
When they were each done, some of the puppies waddled off, yawning. Others played again, but more lazily, as if resisting the pull of sleep. This was a routine they knew well, which made me wonder how long they had all been here and if any ever left.
When Evelyn finally went, I showed my teeth freely. For the most part, they left me alone, but occasionally one forgot my warnings and tested me again. One by one, they wandered off, leaving me in blessed solitude.
From the nearest corner, another pup studied me. She was brown with black streaks, a whip-like tail, and sleek fur. Her muzzle was narrow, her ears folded close to her head. There was nothing aggressive or idiotic in her mannerisms. A little taller at the shoulder than me but lighter in body, she was graceful in her movements, with kind eyes and elegant long legs.
Unassumingly, she drifted closer, walking a few steps, sitting for a while, passing glances at me, yet looking away the moment our eyes caught. When another pup ran up to her, she averted her gaze, ignoring his playful bow.
We understood each other, this pup and I. Kindred spirits. Old souls reunited from some former life. Or so I would have thought if I believed such things. But I saw in her eyes an intelligence that was lacking in the others. And a certain regality, a gentle aloofness. Like that of a cat.
It was then that I decided, for the first time in my life, that I would make a friend.
I ventured closer and closer. We held gazes longer. Eventually, we sat nose to nose. The room was once again quiet. All the others were sleeping soundly. She lowered her head, turned her muzzle sideways, and licked my chin soothingly, but only enough to declare that she submitted to me, even though I had not demanded it of her. To let her know we were on equal terms, I did likewise. Soon, we were curled next to one another, her head resting across my withers.
Gradually, we drifted off to sleep, content in our newfound companionship.
—o00o—
The door latch clicked open. A man ambled in. He peered down at us through thick framed glasses, his glance moving observantly from pile to pile.
Evelyn appeared behind him as the pups raised their heads, yawning and stretching. “You said you don’t have any other pets right now?”
“A fish tank, but that’s it. A school of tetras, a few angelfish. They’re pretty, but more work than company.”
“What did you say you’re looking for again, Mr. Beekman?”
He pushed his glasses higher up onto his nose. “Something calm and quiet, I suppose. I don’t need something that’s going to run wild and knock me over, you know? I just want something that will sit next to me while I read in my recliner. Something that won’t need to walk miles and miles every day. One lap around the block is enough when the weather’s fair. Most of the time it can just do its business in the backyard. I live alone, so it would be nice to have a dog to talk to and take care of.”
Evelyn crossed her arms. “Would you like to look at the cats? We have several that —”
“Good heavens, no.” Mr. Beekman sucked his chin back, as if the notion was preposterous. “I’m a dog person, through and through. I want a pet that will care whether I come or go and bark when someone comes to the door.” His gaze swept from pup to pup as they began to scamper curiously toward him. He bent over the low wall and held his hand out. A fat yellow puppy nipped at his fingers and he pulled his hand back.
“Is there one here you’d recommend? I might even consider an adult. Something more settled. I’m a nurse at Fox Hollow and I was thinking of taking my dog to work with me. The residents always enjoy it when family members bring pets in. I thought it might be good for them to have one that visited more regularly.”
“Hmm, maybe an older puppy, then.” She scrunched her mouth up. Then her eyes lit. “You’d like Tinker!”
He scratched at his head. “Which one’s Tinker?”
“That one.” She pointed toward me.
I sat up. My name wasn’t Tinker, but if he wanted to call me that, I just might answer to it. It would take some getting used to and was a bit feminine, if I might say, but I could adjust. If he took me, I would have a home, a place all to myself. He’d said he didn’t have any other dogs and didn’t want a cat. I could be an ‘only’. It’d be just me and him. No one else. Maybe he lived out in the country, far from the road with a big, big yard? Yes, that would be better than running loose, cold and alone, never knowing when I would eat next. I could answer to ‘Tinker’. I took a step forward.
But then I remembered my new friend. I didn’t want to leave her. So I turned around and settled back down next to her. Opening her eyes, she looked up at the man.
He looked down at her adoringly. “That’s Tinker? The brindle one?”
“Yes,” Evelyn cooed, “it is.”
Like that, my hope was snuffed out.
He reached down to pick her up and brought her to his chest. She folded in his arms like an infant being cradled. He rocked her gently as her tongue flicked out to tickle his chin. “I don’t know. She’s almost cat-like, don’t you think?”
“I can see where you’d say that. Aaron said the same thing the day her owner brought her in. It was an elderly woman who was scheduled for surgery that required a long recovery and didn’t have anyone to care for her. Sad situation. Not the dog’s fault she’s here at the shelter.”
“I imagine it seldom is.” He looked at me for the briefest of moments. “Shame I can’t take the whole lot of them. They all deserve a good home, I’m sure.”
If there was even a chance he might take us both ...
My ears perked. I trotted over to him and stood on my hind legs, lifting a paw to scratch at the short wall to get his attention. But he had already turned away and the other puppies were clawing at me, pulling me down.
I caught one final glance of Tinker’s doleful eyes before I was buried under a tangle of legs.
chapter 9:
Hunter
Severe primary accidental hypothermia. A fancy way of saying that the iciness of the river had been what saved Hannah from the quicker death of drowning. Hunter wasn’t so sure it had been a mercy. There were risks, complications. The prognosis was not promising.
Technically speaking, hypothermia was termed ‘severe’ and considered life-threatening when the core body temperature dropped below eighty-two degrees Fahrenheit. At that stage, the chances of cardiac arrest increased dramatically. At its lowest, Hannah’s body temperature had been sixty-eight. She had been submerged for more than forty minutes. Forty minutes of her lungs not drawing air, her heart not beating. How was it even possible that she could survive?
As a veterinarian, the only victims of drowning that Hunter had ever seen had not survived. Still, he understood the medical complexities of it all. When Hannah’s lungs could not draw air and her body temperature plummeted, her metabolism slowed to a rate just sufficient enough to keep her alive and keep her internal organs — heart, liver, lungs, and brain — from shutting down entirely.
Even if they could get Hannah’s heart going again and get her breathing on her own, the real danger lay in the damage already potentially done to her brain. Brain cells deprived of oxygen, especially for as long a time as Hannah had been underwater, can suffer irreversible harm.
“The possibility of brain damage is very real,” Dr. Townsley had told them.
“How real?” Hunter had said pointedly. “Ten per cent, fifty ... ninety?”
“I can’t really say. Each case is unique. Young children’s bodies are surprisingly resilient. But to be honest, I’d be surprised if she didn’t suffer some detrimental effects, given the length of time she was without oxygen. That could be anything from a slightly delayed recovery to permanent brain damage.”
“You mean ...” Jenn said hoarsely, “she could be a vegetable?”
“It’s possible.”
When neither Hunter nor Jenn said anything more, Dr. Townsley added, “If you want us to discontinue resuscitation efforts, we will.”
“No, don’t stop,” Jenn pleaded. “Whatever you do, don’t stop.”
Hunter took it all in as if from a distance. He wondered if Hannah could hear those around her — or if her soul had already departed and they were only putting off the inevitable. Again, his hand drifted to his chest. He had died before — and survived.
By all accounts, Hannah should have been dead, well beyond the point of return. When they pulled her small, limp body from the river, Hunter thought for sure she was. She had looked like the remains of a water nymph, hauntingly beautiful in a morose way — her wet hair hanging lank, her skin translucent, her lips an icy blue. That had been late morning. It was now approaching evening.
Hunter’s mother, Lise, and his stepfather, Brad Dunphy, had come to the hospital and taken Maura home with them hours ago. Jenn had been beside herself with worry, pacing the corridor outside Intensive Care, stopping at the end to stare through the glass window of the door through which Dr. Townsley would occasionally appear to give them updates. Two hours had passed since the last report. Not knowing how she was doing was more unbearable than the first unpromising reports.
Jenn flattened her palms against the door leading to ICU. “She’s coming.” She spun around and dropped into the chair where she’d left her coat, as if she’d been sitting there all along. Her head folded forward into her hands. “Hold me, Hunter. I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”
Watching the door, Hunter draped an arm over his wife and placed a kiss beside her ear. “We’ll get through this, honey. It’s going to be okay.”
Raising her head, she bit her lip and nodded, barely holding back a fresh spate of tears.
The doors swung open. Dr. Townsley trudged toward them, dark smudges of fatigue beneath her eyes, her hair a disheveled mess. She inhaled slowly, let it out.
“Is she going to make it?” Jenn prompted, hands clenched in her lap.
Dr. Townsley untied her surgical mask and stuffed it in a pocket. “Yeah ... she is.”
With a sob of relief, Jenn collapsed against Hunter. He stroked her back soothingly. But one glance at the doctor’s face told him that wasn’t necessarily good news.
“So her heart and lungs are working on their own now?” he asked.
Dr. Townsley directed them to follow her into her office around the corner. Once inside, she shut the door and gestured for them to sit.
“She’s breathing without help, yes. Her heartbeat’s growing stronger. We had to inject her with heparin during rewarming to prevent clots from forming. Fortunately, she didn’t suffer any broken bones or a head injury during her accident. Either of those would have exponentially increased the potential for internal bleeding. She opened her eyes momentarily, but we haven’t been able to get her to respond yet. Not surprising, though. There is some dilation in her pupils now, which tells us she is regaining some brain function.”
She rifled through a stack of papers on her desk, pulled out a few, and hastily signed them. “I want to caution you, however, that she still has a long way to go. We won’t know the extent of the effects on her brain for days, or weeks even. She has an extended recovery ahead of her — and I can’t make any promises as to which way things will go. Anything could happen still.”
“Such as?” Hunter said.
“Well, possible complications include pneumonia ... arrhythmia and ventricular fibrillation ... She could still go into cardiac arrest.”
Jenn stood. “You mean, after all this, she could still die?”
“She’s been through a lot, Mrs. McHugh.” Dr. Townsley straightened, her eyes flashing with indignation. “It’s a miracle she’s gotten this far. May I remind you that —”
“When can we see her?” Hunter placed himself between Jenn and the doctor. More than anything he wanted Hannah back just as she’d been a day ago: a happy, healthy child, even with all her inherent challenges. But he wasn’t sure how much of this roller coaster Jenn could take.
When Dr. Townsley hesitated to answer, Hunter said, “We know she won’t be able to respond, but we feel it’s important to be with her. We need to see her.” Before it’s too late, he almost added.
Dr. Townsley turned her face toward the door, as if attempting to conceal the sigh that escaped her. “All right. Follow me.”
—o00o—
“She looks like an angel,” Jenn whispered.
The reference sent a stab of long ago memories through Hunter. When he was a boy, the age Hannah was now, he’d had his first cardiac event. He’d been playing ball with his Australian Shepherd, Halo, in the yard, when suddenly he felt faint. After that, he wasn’t aware of anything going on around him. They rushed him to the hospital and in the time that his heart was not beating, Hunter had heard things, seen people. People who had died. He had a sense they were waiting for him, yet were surprised to see him so soon.
The doctors had brought him back from cardiac arrest four more times before he turned nineteen. It was a condition called hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. Simply put, his heart didn’t work right, so he was given a pacemaker in his twenties and his health improved.
Still, dying hadn’t been as bad as most people feared. The experience for him had been precisely like so many others reported: a light at the end of a tunnel, voices calling, speaking to him, then telling him to go back. It was as if he were waiting for a bus, but whenever one came by he realized it was not the one he was supposed to get on.
It was all so long ago now. His recollections had blurred. Sometimes, he wondered if he had only imagined it all. The mind was a powerful thing.
As he gazed at Hannah, his heart filled with love. She looked so ... delicate. Someone had taken the time to brush the snarls from her hair. Gone was the pink hooded sweatshirt with cartoon characters holding hands on the front. Shiny foil blankets wrapped her body, except where tubes and wires were attached. The heart monitor next to her bed beeped at a constant rate. Her pulse was st
ill sluggish, her blood pressure on the low end, but her chest was moving up and down steadily.
They sat with Hannah for a long time, holding her hand, stroking her hair, speaking softly to her. The nurses drifted in and out to record her vital signs and change the IV drip.
“She’s doing well, relatively speaking,” Dr. Townsley said from the doorway. She was dressed in street clothes, trendy and tight fitting, and wearing a pair of three-inch-high silver heels, her hair freshly washed but hanging damp down her back. A jacket dangled from her fingers, sleeves trailing the floor. “I’m on my way home for the time being. Dr. Pruitt has been apprised of her condition. I told him to call me immediately if anything changed.”
“Thank you,” Jenn said. “For everything.”
She shrugged. “I know it sounds cliché, but I’m just doing my job.”
“But not just anyone could have given her another chance, Doctor,” Hunter said, going to her and offering his hand.
Dr. Townsley stared at it for a moment before shaking it once lightly, then pulling her hand back and sticking it in her jeans pocket.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Hunter said, “what brought someone as brilliant as you here?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, her voice flat. “I do mind. It’s personal.” She turned, went a few steps out into the corridor, then came back. “Maybe I go where I do because in places like this, Dr. McHugh, people aren’t used to seeing miracles every day. I’ve worked in facilities where the brightest minds in the medical world are on staff. Fact is, nobody appreciates brilliance if it’s commonplace. Go someplace like Sierra Leone or Namibia, save a life, and they think you’re a god among men.” She flung her leather jacket over her shoulder, smirking. “Or goddess.”
She marched off down the hall, her steps ringing in the empty corridor. Hunter and Jenn exchanged a glance.
“Personable, isn’t she?” Jenn remarked.
He returned to Hannah’s bedside. “I wasn’t going to say it.”
“Yeah, but you were thinking it.”
“You always could read my mind.”
Say That Again Page 5