For Love of a Dog
Page 25
“We’re going to take care of you, fella.” Her magic worked; the dachshund relaxed, sniffed and then licked at her hand. “We’ll find somebody to foster you and—”
“Me,” Hines said, his dark eyes glowing and his jaw set in a way that said there was no arguing with him. “He comin’ home with me.”
“You sure, Hines?” Isabelle Conti, the shelter’s director, glanced at the aging volunteer’s arthritic hands. “He’s going to take a lot of work.”
“I never been afraid of work, Izzy. Old Moose here needs me. Who knows, maybe I need him, too.” He moved to the head of the table and petted the dog. “I hope you like green beans, old son.” He laughed as the dog eagerly nosed and licked his leathery hand. “’Cause you gonna be eating plenty of ’em.”
They helped Hines put Moose and some supplies in his lovingly maintained 1987 Lincoln Continental and watched as he drove slowly out of the sanctuary’s gravel parking lot.
The lowering sun was painting golden edges on the rose and purple clouds lining the western horizon, and Kate paused to appreciate the gentled light and listen to the rustle of the nearby palms. She slid her hands into her back pockets and lifted her face to the breeze.
Sometimes the magnitude of the career she had chosen seemed overwhelming. Whenever she confronted the heartbreaking ways human failings and animal vulnerability could collide, she found herself making the decision all over again to stand on the front line of decency and compassion. It was her job to treat and care for patients who could not speak for themselves, and whose trust of humans was unequivocal and often undeserved.
She was unaware of her grandmother standing behind her until Nance hooked Kate’s arm through hers and tugged. When she turned, Gran’s sun-weathered face was soft with understanding. Her gran had always seemed to know what was happening with her before she knew herself.
“Come on.” Gran led her back to the main office. “I know just the cure for that look.”
Minutes later, they were on the puppy-room floor, ensconced with eight rambunctious balls of fur, tossing toys, stroking fuzzy new coats and avoiding sharp little milk teeth. It was impossible to dwell on human irresponsibility in the face of such a contagious love of life. The pups threw themselves wholeheartedly into learning and exploring, seeking out Kate and her grandmother and Isabelle. They chewed and licked and tumbled. They investigated toys and the room’s boundaries, tracked through the water bowl and barked at the humans sitting in their play area. They attacked each other and teased their caretakers; it was enough to melt the most jaded heart.
Kate picked up one of them in her arms and cuddled him, inhaling his sweet puppy breath and laughing with delight at the way his little pink tongue licked her face.
“They’re almost eight weeks old.” Nance turned to Kate as if an idea had just occurred. “Hey, why don’t you take one of them home with you?”
Kate rubbed noses with one of the pups, feeling her gut tighten. “Don’t have time, Gran. My life is hectic enough with the practice and the new house—I haven’t even finished unpacking.”
“You’ve been unpacking for six danged months,” Nance said.
“Exactly. I’m too busy. And, of course, there’s the shelter.” She shot a narrow look at Nance. “The one my grandmother keeps roping me into giving away my hard-won professional expertise to.”
“Excuses, excuses.” Nance gave a huff. “You can’t postpone life forever, Kate. Just because he turned out to be a jackass—”
“Gran.” Kate raised a hand to prevent a familiar argument.
“I’m just saying. You need to find someone to share your life with.”
“I have more than a someone, I have a partner and a grandmother and a bunch of friends and this shelter and another whole farm full of rescues and strays.”
“That’s my farm. My animals,” Nance said.
“Yeah? How many times have I heard you say that no one ever owns an animal? That they are all God’s creatures and they’re just given into our care for whatever time they’re here on earth?”
“Fine. They’re in my care. It’s time you got your own to care for.”
“Once again—” Kate grinned, knowing she had won “—not enough hours in the day.” She nuzzled another puppy nose. “Right, Pee Wee?”
Moments later the sound of the shelter door creaking open drifted into the puppy room, followed by heavy footsteps. She looked over to find a large pair of boots—big and well polished—settling in the doorway. She followed khaki-clad legs up to a broad pair of shoulders bearing a badge, and on up to a serious pair of aviator shades. The officer stood with his hands propped on a heavy service belt, looking at them.
“Got an injured dog in the cruiser,” came a deep, authoritative voice. “Hit by a car and lost a lot of blood. I don’t want to move her.”
“I’ll take a look.” Kate was on her feet in a flash and hurrying for the makeshift surgery. Behind her she could hear Isabelle say that they didn’t usually take in injured animals, but he was in luck—one of their volunteer vets was on premises.
A minute later, she emerged with her stethoscope draped around her neck, snapping on a pair of gloves. The officer, Nance, and Isabelle were already out the door, so she dashed after them. A black-and-cream highway patrol cruiser sat in the gravel drive, its engine running and light bar flashing, sweeping the area with red and blue.
The big officer opened the rear passenger-side door and hesitated a moment before waving Kate toward a blanket-wrapped form lying on the back seat. Before she could completely duck through the door, a growl set her back outside. A shepherd rose out of the shadows onto the seat beside the injured dog, ears up, every muscle taut with warning.
“Come on, you stubborn—She’s going to look at your friend.” The officer was around the car in a flash and opening the far door, dragging the shepherd back to clear the way for her. “He was with her when I found her,” he explained as Kate took a deep breath, slid into the foot well and got busy with her stethoscope and penlight.
“Pupils reactive. Heart is slow but steady—good so far.” She carefully felt the golden’s prominent ribs and rear quarters and ran her hands gently over the injured leg. The scrape of bone against bone said it all. “She’s got at least one fracture. I need X-rays to see how bad it is, and she needs fluids right away. I may have to do some surgery.” She glanced over her shoulder at the shelter and frowned.
“I don’t have all of the equipment I need here.” She looked at the officer, who was half in, half out of the cruiser, restraining the unhappy shepherd. He seemed to have the big, rangy dog in hand, and the fleeting thought occurred to her that having things under control was probably his norm. At that moment, she envied him. “She’ll have to go to my office,” she said, popping off the gloves. “I hate to ask, but can you drive her over there? She shouldn’t be moved more than necessary.”
“Just tell me how to get there,” he said, his voice full of certainty.
Kate inhaled sharply as if she’d been holding her breath.
“Why don’t you ride with the dog?” Gran said as Kate emerged from the back seat. “I’ll bring your Jeep over later, and Isabelle can pick me up.”
It sounded reasonable. She nodded and handed her keys to Gran. As she slid back into the rear seat, she was aware of the officer releasing the shepherd into the front seat with a warning and then closing the rear door. The shepherd climbed over the hardware in the front—computer, radio, scanner, racked gun—not the least bit intimidated. He turned and put paws on the seat back to watch what was happening behind him. The officer slid behind the steering wheel and managed to click his seat belt and crank the wheel with the palm of his hand at the same time.
“You’ll want to hang on,” he called over his shoulder.
She scrambled for room beside the injured dog and found a seat belt jus
t as they took off, gravel flying. She jerked against the restraint as the cruiser’s tires grabbed the asphalt of the county road.
Lights and sirens for an injured dog; this was a first for her. She glanced up at the officer in the front seat and caught a few more details: strong jaw with a hint of a scar beneath a Florida tan. Dark hair cut high and tight—military, for sure. Judging by his erect bearing and contained physicality, he could handle himself—probably had handled himself.
She gave directions, then stroked her patient and murmured quiet reassurances. When she looked up, wary eyes in a brooding shepherd face were watching her. Distrust. She’d seen that look a thousand times in animals and sensed that she’d need the officer’s help at the end of this mad dash. Turning back to her patient, she carried in her mind’s eye the image of the shepherd anxiously nosing her patient’s head.
“Thanks for doing this, Officer...”
“Trooper. Stanton. Nick Stanton.”
“Kate Everly. DVM.”
“I gathered.” He seemed to glance at her in the rearview mirror; it was hard to tell where he was looking behind those shades. “Lucky you were there.”
“My grandmother is on the shelter’s board. She ropes me into helping regularly.”
He nodded and said nothing more.
Clearly a man of few words.
Copyright © 2017 by Betina Krahn
ISBN-13: 9781488012402
For Love of a Dog
Copyright © 2017 by Janice Hess
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