Rescue Mutts: Bohdi's Aspen Adventure

by Andrew Kole

  But in order to get those yummy ribs, he needed a plan. A clever dog, he thought for a long moment, then surveyed his surroundings: bucket, pallets, broken mop.

  “That should work,” the mutt said out loud to himself.

  The mutt used his nose to flip over the bucket and hopped on it. From the bucket, he jumped to the pile of wooden pallets. The top pallet was stacked vertically. The mutt nudged it and the pallet dropped, creating a bridge from the stack of pallets to the dumpster. He didn’t even need that broken mop! Satisfied with his work, the mutt trotted across and dove happily into the dumpster filled with delicious half-eaten ribs.

  The back door to the restaurant opened and Taylor Hopton, wearing her Hickory House uniform, hauled a huge bag of trash out.

  But just as she was about to toss it in the dumpster, she spotted the mutt.

  “Hey! How’d you get in there?” Taylor asked.

  The mutt, barbeque sauce smeared all over his whiskery chin, grabbed his bone and backed away protectively. He had a real mistrust of humans – in his experience, they mostly wanted to take his food away.

  “It’s okay,” Taylor said, gently. She held her hand out so he could sniff it. The mutt did, then looked up at her face. She smiled down at him with nothing but compassion in her eyes. But he still wasn’t convinced. Taylor continued, “Maybe we can get you some- thing real to eat. What do you think?”

  “No more scraps?” the mutt asked. Being human, all Taylor heard was a little woof. But she sensed an opening.

  “I know there’s a rack of ribs inside with your name on it,” Taylor cajoled.

  The mutt dropped the bone and stepped toward Taylor.

  “Here we go.” Taylor reached in and gently picked him up. The barbecue sauce smeared on her hand. She wiped her hand on her apron. “Gross.”

  “I think you mean yum,” the mutt said.

  Taylor scratched the mutt’s head as she carried him inside.

  

  Thirty minutes later, Taylor was on her bike. In the basket on the front, the mutt lay like a Roman after a feast. His little belly was so full of ribs he almost regretted how much he had eaten. Almost. He didn’t know who this girl was, but she was the best human he’d ever met.

  Taylor pulled her bike up in front of a run-down building. The sign out front read: “Aspen Animal Shelter – Adoptions Available.” Next to the building was a large fenced-in play area. But far more important than what it looked like, was the fact that the shelter was home to dozens of rescued animals, waiting for their forever homes. Taylor herself had found her forever home here. The entire Hopton family was devoted to rescue in more ways than one. Not only had they logged decades of service in search and rescue, but they’d also been running the animal shelter for years. And they

  sheltered more than dogs.

  Fifteen years ago, Marcy Hopton saw a basket on the front steps of the animal shelter. She expected it to be full of puppies, or kittens, as so often happened. Instead, she found a human baby in it. Taylor. Even though Marcy was single, she decided she was destined to be this baby’s mom. And with the help of Amos, she adopted Taylor. They’d been a family ever since. Though now, they were a sadder and smaller family.

  Taylor scooped the sleepy mutt out of the bike basket and carried him toward the front door of the shelter. When he heard dogs barking in the kennels, the mutt took a good look around. His whole body tensed. He was being taken to... a shelter! He’d be locked in a cage! It was a trick. A trap! And he’d fallen for it like a real chump.

  The mutt wiggled, trying to leap out of Taylor’s arms. But Taylor held tight, saying “Hey, take it easy, you’re okay.” The mutt didn’t believe her. He struggled, feeling helpless as she carried him through the ominous metal door.

  

  The walls of the small office were covered with dozens of photos and news stories about the infamous Hopton rescue family, including pictures of Amos, Indy, and Marcy, highlighting all the skiers, snowboarders, and hikers they had saved from the mountains over the years. The news stories covered their years of triumphs, but no one had framed the story of the most recent tragedy

  –the avalanche that had cost Indy a leg, and killed Marcy.

  The six months since his daughter’s death had been hard on Amos. The creases in his face were deeper, his smile slower to come. He sagged as he sorted through the mound of unpaid bills piled on his desk. Amos sighed heavily as he put all the bills that read “final notice” into a stack of their own.

  Lying in a well-worn dog bed in the corner of the office was Indy. He wasn’t the same dog he was before the accident. Some of his spark was gone. And all of his purpose. Indy’s ears twitched at the sound of footsteps in the hall, but he didn’t lift his head.

  Taylor walked into the office carrying the scruffy, struggling mutt. “Found another one, Grandpa.”

  Amos looked askance at the filthy mutt. “Sure smells like a stray.”

  “I think he’s been on his own for a while. He doesn’t trust me.”

  The mutt finally broke free of Taylor’s hold. He leapt out of her arms. But there was no escape from the tiny office.

  Irritated, Indy looked over at the mutt. “What is wrong with you?

  Taylor’s just trying to help.”

  The mutt snapped, “I don’t need any help.”

  Indy didn’t care enough to argue with him. “Whatever. You want to be an idiot, I can’t stop you.” Indy got up and turned to lie down fac- ing the wall. As he moved, the mutt noticed the former rescue dog only had three legs. His back left leg was missing.

  Momentarily distracted from his own plight, the mutt asked,

  “What happened to you?”

  Indy had seen hundreds of dogs come and go from this shelter over the years. He was not interested in bonding with this stranger and didn’t care to talk about the avalanche.

  “None of your business.”

  Amos and Taylor pored over the shelter map, trying to figure out where to put the mutt. But the shelter was overcrowded and finding a spot for him would be tricky. Taylor had an idea, “Maybe we could bring him home. With us.”

  Indy and Amos both looked at Taylor in disbelief. Amos asked, “Really? This is the dog you want?”

  Taylor looked at the scruffy mutt who had resumed his search for a way out. “I’m not sure who else will.” She turned to Amos. “Can we adopt him?”

  Amos looked at his granddaughter thoughtfully. Maybe having a new dog to take care of would be good for her. Something to get her mind off her mom’s death. It had been a long time since he’d seen that hopeful look on her face. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

  Taylor threw her arms around her grandfather and gave him a big hug. “Thanks!”

  Indy frowned. The last thing he wanted was this annoying mutt coming home with them.

  Amos said, “He’s going to need a name.”

  Taylor looked at her new dog to be and smiled. To her amazement, he smiled back at her. Amos noticed this and said, “What about calling him Happy?

  Taylor thought that Happy was a pretty good name, but not the right name for this particular dog. “No.”

  “What about Ajax, after the mountain?” Amos said.

  “That’s a good name too, but... I don’t think so,” responded Taylor, who then went into deep thought. “What was the name of the first dog you ever took into the shelter?”

  Amos scratched his head, “Let me think... Bodhi.” Amos then added, “Like the tree.”

  “I like the name, it’s cool,” Taylor said. “But, I don’t want to name him after a tree. I mean... I’m sure he likes lif
ting his leg on trees... but, I don’t want to name him after one.”

  Amos took a long moment to think. “We could spell it differently,”

  Taylor’s mind was spinning, “I like different. What are you thinking, Grandpa?”

  “The Bodhi tree is spelled B-O-D-H-I... How about we spell his name, B-O-H-D-I,” Amos said.

  Taylor turned to Bohdi, “What do you think?”

  The little mutt didn’t hate it: Bohdi. He then cocked his head and smiled.

  “Bohdi it is. Let’s get you home.”

  Bohdi relaxed a little at the mention of home. “Houses have less security. I can work with that,” he thought to himself. He then let Taylor scoop him up.

  

  Amos, Taylor and Indy lived in a Victorian farmhouse built in the 1890s, located in the historic West End of Aspen. The house was homey and friendly, but badly in need of a paint job. Amos’ ratty pickup sat on the cracked driveway. At the end of the driveway was a charming, often repaired, faded yellow mailbox. Overhead, grey clouds gathered and the wind picked up. Rain was on the way. Inside the cozy farmhouse, Taylor soaped up a very grumpy

  Bohdi in the bathroom’s claw foot tub.

  “You’re ruining my smell! Do you know how long it took me to create the perfect bouquet?” Bohdi asked, as if Taylor could understand dog, which of course, she couldn’t.

  “I know you hate this. But you have to be clean to live here.” Careful to avoid Bohdi’s eyes, ears and nose, Taylor poured a cup full of rinse water over Bohdi’s head. He snorted in displeasure.

  The door opened and Amos poked his head in. “How’s it going in here?”

  Seeing the opportunity for escape, Bohdi leaped out of the tub and streaked past Amos, drops of water flying behind him. Bohdi barreled down the stairs, and past Indy who was lying on the living room couch. He stopped only when he reached the front door.

  “How does this thing open? I gotta get out of here.”

  Taylor and Amos finally caught up to Bohdi. Taylor was hold- ing a towel. Bohdi looked at it suspiciously. “Uh-uh. No way.”

  Taylor pulled a treat out of her pocket. “You want a treat, Bohdi?” Bohdi sniffed the air. It did smell pretty good. He could always get out of here later. After a snack. He gently took the treat

  from Taylor’s hand and let her dry him off with the towel.

  “See? This isn’t so bad.” Taylor finished toweling him off and gave him another treat as a reward.

  “Eh, not so bad. I guess,” Bohdi conceded.

  Taylor and Amos smiled as they stepped back to get their first good look at a clean Bohdi. His tri-colored fur stuck out in odd whirls, because that’s just how it was. He was still too thin, but other than that, he really was an adorable dog.

  “Tomorrow we’ll take him to the vet and get his shots. But for now, he cleans up pretty nice,” proclaimed Amos as he tied a slightly faded purple bandanna around Bohdi’s neck. He then stepped back to admire the newest member of the Hopton family.

  Taylor gave the little dog a hug. “Welcome home!”

  Amos and Taylor headed into the kitchen to make themselves and the dogs dinner. Bohdi called after them, “Don’t get used to it! I’m not sticking around!”

  Bohdi looked over at Indy. “Hey, Tripod, help a brother out... How do I ditch this pop stand?”

  Indy got off the couch. Loomed over Bohdi threateningly.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  Bohdi backed off. “Whatever. Sorry. Can you help me get out of here or not?”

  Indy slowly made his way to the door. Using his front paws and his mouth, he turned the knob and the front door swung open. Beyond the porch, rain bucketed down and a stiff wind tossed the tree limbs. Bohdi hesitated.

  Indy asked, “What are you waiting for?”

  Bohdi stared at the very nasty weather. And felt how nice and warm and dry the house was. “Maybe, maybe... I’ll just wait until it stops raining.” Taylor’s voice called from the other room. “Indy! Bohdi!

  Dinner!” Bohdi turned his back on the open door and headed for the kitchen. Indy watched him go, then nudged the door shut against the storm.

  The morning sun shone brightly through the windows of the Victorian house the next morning. Moisture from the rain made the maple and oak leaves glisten with the yellows and oranges of fall.

  Inside the house, Bohdi gulped down his breakfast. Indy limped over to him. “Okay. The storm is over. Time to go.”

  Bohdi licked the bottom of his bowl, getting every crumb. “I’ve been giving it some thought, and, this whole regular food thing isn’t so bad.”

  “I knew it. You’re just a user. Get what you can, from whomever you can.” “Oh, come on. Those humans don’t care about me. Once the novelty wears

  off, they’re going to toss me to the curb. That’s what they do. I might as well get some grub before that happens,” Bohdi said with conviction.

  Indy blinked, surprised. “Is that how you ended up on the streets?...

  Somebody threw you out?”

  It was. Bohdi was adopted as a puppy, young and cute and full of energy. It wasn’t long before his family decided he was full of too much energy and was too much work. One day they just drove out on a rural road, and let him go. At first, he waited, thinking they would come back for him. But after a few lonely days, and very, very hungry, he gave up. He’d been on his own ever since. And that’s the way he liked it. No way to get your heart broken if you didn’t care.

  But telling Indy what really happened to him would hurt too much. So, Bohdi snapped back, “None of your business.” Indy knew from personal experience that “none of your business” was often code for “it’s too painful to talk about.”

  Hearing that, Indy softened toward Bohdi. “Amos and Taylor aren’t like that, they really care. And they’ve been through enough. It’s only been six months since the boss...” Indy stopped, stumbling on his own painful truth.

  Bohdi realized he might be close to getting an answer about

  what happened to Indy and to this family. “What? What happened?”

  Indy took a deep breath. “Taylor’s mother. Amos’ daughter. My person. She died.” Indy thought: And it was all my fault. But he didn’t say it. Instead, he said, “So, if you’re going to leave, go now. Before Taylor gets attached to you.”

  “She won’t get attached,” Bohdi responded.

  “She will,” Indy insisted.

  Bohdi wasn’t going to give in. “She won’t. I’ll prove it to you. I’ll stay for the winter. Be nice to have a roof over my head and regular meals anyway. In the spring, I’ll go. And she won’t care at all. Believe me.”

  Indy shook his head. “You’re wrong. She will care. And in the spring, you’ll love her so much, you won’t be able to leave.”

  Bohdi tried hard to imagine what that could feel like. But it

  seemed impossible. “Keep dreaming, pal,” he grumbled to Indy as he trotted away.

  Chapter 3

  The Westminster Dog Show

  A little over five months later, two thousand miles away in New York City, dozens of banners displayed pictures of dogs promoting this year’s Westminster Dog Show at Madison Square Garden. Westminster was the Super Bowl of dog shows.

  Back in the very frenetic prep area, pampered dogs of every breed were being groomed to excess: perfect nails, perfect hair, and perfect teeth, because perfect everything was needed to win the highest honor at Westminster, the title every dog here had worked for, Best in Show.

  Amidst them was the winner of the Sporting Group, Lady Maya, a very elegant Golden R
etriever. A hoard of people swirled around her: a handler, a photographer and a team of groomers. Lady Maya was patience personified as the camera clicked and whirred and she was poked and prodded by the groomers.

  Lady Maya’s person was Spencer Shuttleworth, a spoiled sixteen- year-old who was sometimes awkward with people, but who loved his dog. Spencer wanted to reward her with a treat for putting up with all this show nonsense. He worked his way past the army of people making sure every inch of Lady Maya was as perfect as it could possibly be.

  “Here we go, girl,” Spencer said, smiling as he put the treat in front of Lady Maya. But before she could take the nibble from Spencer, his father, Cole Shuttleworth, slapped it out of his hand. The small treat flew across the room and landed near the Working Group Champion, a Neapolitan Mastiff, named Count Aldo di Napoli. Aldo was massive, tipping the scale at 155 pounds, with loose skin, a wrinkled face and a tendency to drool. He would do anything for food, so when that tempting morsel sailed by him, Aldo lunged

  for it and snapped it up in one gulp.

  Spencer glared at his father, “I just wanted to give Maya a treat.” Cole glared right back, “First, her name is Lady Maya, and she isn’t a pet, as I’ve told you over and over! She’s a show dog and a

  corporate asset. She’ll get a treat when she wins Best in Show.” “Because winning’s all you care about, isn’t it, Dad? Whatever it

  takes to sell more dog food... right?”

  Cole retorted, “Selling dog food is how I make the money you and your mother are more than happy to spend.”

  Spencer and his father stared each other down, each too stubborn to be the first one to look away. Lady Maya sighed. She wished Spencer and his dad would get along better. She knew they loved each other, even if they didn’t always remember it themselves.

  The staring contest was broken when an official entered the prep area and addressed the crowd, “Best in Group, line up! Get ready for Best in Show!”