Dingo's Recovery

by Genevieve Fortin

  “So what’s wrong with his leg, Doctor Carter? And what’s next?” Ms. Allen asked, keeping Amanda’s brain from wandering any further.

  “Dingo has a sprain in his ankle. Fortunately the ligaments didn’t tear. In that case he would have needed surgery. That said, the ligaments were stretched pretty badly and Dingo will need weeks to recover from his little romp in the park.”

  “I see,” Ms. Allen said, her face falling as relief was replaced with worries about the treatment of his sprain. Amanda couldn’t resist again covering her hand with her own, making every effort to bring her the comfort she needed.

  “I’ll be with you and Dingo through it all, Ms. Allen. You’ll see it won’t be that bad. What we’ll do is use one of these splints to immobilize Dingo’s leg.” She held up a piece of translucent plastic shaped like the back leg of a dog. “We’ll cut this to fit Dingo’s leg perfectly, place it against his leg, and wrap it with cotton wadding and elastic tape to keep everything in place. It will be very important for Dingo not to run or jump up or off any furniture.” Amanda paused and smiled at Ms. Allen, who nodded absently as she spoke. “Does Dingo sleep with you?” Amanda thought she already knew the answer to that question but still had to ask.

  “Yes, he does.”

  Amanda offered another compassionate smile. “Of course. What I’m going to ask might be difficult, but I would recommend you keep Dingo off the bed until he’s fully recovered. He could fall off the bed in the middle of the night and injure his leg. Do you have a crate or a carrier?”

  “Yes, but we’ve never used it.”

  “I think you should use it for a little while. For his own safety.” Amanda paused when she heard Ms. Allen sigh with discouragement. Her dark eyes shimmered with tears and Amanda’s heart broke at the sight. “I know it’s hard, but I promise it will be temporary. Dingo will be back in your bed soon.”

  “How soon?” Ms. Allen blinked several times to keep her tears from escaping and even attempted a weak smile.

  “We’ll keep the splint on for eight weeks. We’ll need you to come back with Dingo every other week so we can change his bandage and check on his progress. Then we’ll do two more weeks with just a soft bandage, no splint. And finally, two more weeks of rest without any bandage at all.”

  “So twelve weeks in total?”

  “Yes. That’s correct. Like I said, I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

  “And then he’ll be back to normal?”

  “I do expect a full recovery. It will be a long process, but it will be worth it,” Amanda said reassuringly as she smiled at Ms. Allen. The smile the older woman offered in return contained more hope this time.

  “It could have been worse, I guess,” she said almost in a whisper. Amanda admired the way she tried to see the positive in her situation.

  “Much worse,” Amanda confirmed. “If the ligaments had been torn, Dingo would have needed painful surgery and might never have recovered entirely. Now all he needs is some TLC from you and me for the next few weeks. We’ll spoil him so much he won’t even realize he’s hurt.”

  At Ms. Allen’s low chuckle, Amanda continued, “I know we both wish Dingo had never been injured in the first place, but all things considered we’ve been extremely lucky. Maybe the universe didn’t want us to have too difficult of a time on my birthday, after all.”

  She laughed nervously. She’d meant to be positive and encouraging, but she’d never meant to become so personal. She was shocked at her use of “we” and “us,” as if Dingo’s accident had affected her as much as the elegant woman she’d do anything to comfort. As if she and Ms. Allen were going to get through Dingo’s recovery together.

  She was even more stunned that she’d revealed the fact that today was her birthday to a complete stranger. Isabelle, who was standing by Ms. Allen, seemed just as surprised, her eyes opening wide at Amanda’s revelation. Amanda’s words seemed to have the desired effect on Ms. Allen, however, and that’s what mattered most to Amanda. Seeing her smile expand and her facial features relax was worth blowing her cover.

  “Well, happy birthday, Doctor Carter.”

  “Thank you, but please call me Amanda,” Amanda offered, surprising herself again. “We’ll see each other a lot in the next few weeks and I’d feel more comfortable if we dropped the formalities,” she added to explain a request she’d never made before.

  “All right. If you’ll call me Joyce.”

  Amanda hesitated but conceded with a nod. “Okay. Isabelle and I will go wrap that leg up now, Joyce, and we’ll bring Dingo back in a few minutes.”

  “Wait, so your birthday is on the seventh of July?” Joyce interrupted, as if she’d come to an important realization.

  “That’s right,” Amanda answered, wondering why Joyce was asking but enjoying the curiosity in her eyes. Joyce Allen was showing interest in her as a person rather than a doctor for the first time since they’d met earlier that day. She’d never liked being the subject of anyone’s interest before. Joyce was different. She wanted to be seen by Joyce.

  “Double seven. The Seeker,” Joyce declared as she studied Amanda’s features and finally focused on her eyes. Joyce’s stare was so warm, so intense that Amanda wouldn’t have been surprised if Joyce had seen her very soul. “That makes sense,” Joyce concluded. Amanda guessed her expression must have shown the complete confusion she was experiencing because Joyce laughed and explained, “Sorry. I took a class in numerology last year. I’m a double three. Third of March.”

  “And what is that?” Joyce looked as confused as Amanda had been a few seconds before. “If the double seven makes me The Seeker, what does the double three make you?”

  “Oh. The Creative Child.” Joyce blushed a very light shade of pink that made her entire face glow. Grace inhabited her even when she blushed, Amanda thought. Unlike her, whose cheeks were probably sporting deep red, uneven marks at that moment.

  “Interesting. Maybe you can tell me more about all of this numerology stuff when we meet again in two weeks?”

  “I’ll be happy to, although I’m not an expert. I simply picked up a few things, like the double digits,” Joyce confirmed before Amanda and Isabelle left the exam room to tend to Dingo.

  As she started adjusting his splint, Amanda was no longer certain what type of meeting was to take place in two weeks. It couldn’t be a simple appointment to change a bandage. She wouldn’t be looking forward to it that much if that’s all it was. Yet that’s exactly what it is, dimwit, so get a hold of yourself, she thought.

  Chapter Five

  Joyce carried Dingo into the house and put him on the orthopedic, ridiculously expensive dog bed she’d bought to place in the living room in an effort to keep the cream leather of her sofas clean and safe of scratches. Dingo had slept the entire way back from the clinic, feeling the effects of the pain medication Amanda had given him, and he went back to sleep almost as soon as his body touched the comfy, charcoal fleece covering his bed. She sighed again as she stared at the black elastic tape wrapped around Dingo’s back leg. She smiled at the small red water hydrant sticker decorating the side of the bandage. Nice touch.

  Amanda had been so compassionate and thoughtful she’d put a huge reassuring Band-Aid on their entire misadventure. Now that Joyce was alone with her injured basenji, however, she felt overwhelmed by the events of the day. Not to mention exhausted. Amanda had sent her home with pain medication to give Dingo every morning and every night and an Elizabethan collar in case he started to chew at his bandage, something he’d been too knocked out to do so far. If Barbara knew how much all of this had cost she’d have a fit, but she’d never know. It was none of her goddamned business.

  Joyce took a deep breath and headed for the basement. She shook her head. “You really had to make me go down there, didn’t you, little brat?” Before she’d adopted Dingo, she’d puppy proofed her home. In the process of identifying objects that could harm her puppy or that he could destroy, she’d realized how cluttered
and suffocating her home was, as opposed to the clean and minimalist environment she craved. The puppy proofing had morphed into a major, frantic, but therapeutic cleaning spree. She’d been left with an uncluttered home in which she could breathe better. Except when she was forced to go to the basement, where all of the boxes she’d packed still sat and gathered dust, reminding her that she hadn’t completed her task. She meant to have a garage sale and donate whatever was left after that, but she hadn’t gotten to it yet, and she didn’t want to be compelled to ask herself why.

  She flipped on the light at the bottom of the stairs and studiously avoided looking at the labeled boxes. A few contained Evelyn’s clothes, but most were filled with her late wife’s multiple collections, including her decorative antique plates and antique dolls. She’d even packed a large portion of Evelyn’s books, keeping only those she thought she might read later. She’d also kept the wall art they’d bought together.

  She held her breath and moved through the boxes, heading toward the spot where she remembered leaving the crate she’d purchased to bring Dingo home and had never used again. The breeder and the training experts all said the crate was a great tool for housebreaking, but she figured that since she was home most of the time she didn’t need it. Housebreaking Dingo had been a charm and she’d almost forgotten about the existence of this crate until today. She grabbed the handle of the crate and headed back up the stairs. She’d almost made it to the main floor when she heard the doorbell.

  She was still holding the crate when she opened the front door and saw Barbara standing on her covered porch. Joyce’s sister was barely a year older than she was, but she looked at least ten years older despite the fact that she, unlike Joyce, had kept coloring her hair. The fake blond coloring made her shoulder-long hair look dry and lifeless, Joyce thought. Not that she would ever say that, of course. Barbara’s makeup was impeccable but couldn’t cover deep wrinkles around her lips and on the sides of her eyes, wrinkles that reminded Joyce of their father. She was glad she’d taken after their mother and her face had remained mostly wrinkle-free.

  She and Barbara had always been close. In fact she’d always followed her big sister’s sound advice—until she’d adopted Dingo. Barbara’s hate of all pets in general and of him in particular was such a mystery to Joyce that she sometimes wondered if Barbara wasn’t jealous of the time she spent with her dog. After Evelyn’s death, she’d spent most of her time with Barbara, who’d helped her through her depression. Since she’d taken her life back into her own hands, however, they saw each other once or twice a week at most. Perhaps Barbara missed Joyce.

  “Oh god, Joyce, get that filthy thing away from me,” Barbara said, pointing at the crate Joyce was holding.

  Or perhaps she’s Cruella de Vil reincarnated, Joyce thought as she put the crate down and motioned her sister inside. “Sorry, I had to fetch it out of the basement because Dingo will need to sleep in it until he’s fully recovered so he doesn’t hurt himself. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Well, that’s one good thing about this accident then. You won’t have that beast and all of his germs in bed with you for a while.” Barbara followed Joyce to the kitchen and placed her purse on the beige granite countertop. “I’ll have a glass of white wine if you have any,” she said before she took her usual seat on the light tan leather of one of the three stools that lined up the breakfast bar.

  Joyce flinched at Barbara’s mention of Dingo’s germs but didn’t protest. She also chose to ignore her suggestion that she might not have white wine despite the fact that Barbara rarely came to her home without asking for white wine and having as much as she wanted served to her each and every time. “Chardonnay okay?” she asked, not waiting for an answer before opening the door of the dark oak cabinet where she kept her wineglasses.

  “Perfect.”

  Joyce took the bottle out of the stainless steel built-in wine cooler and opened it in silence before she poured two glasses. Unlike her sister she didn’t drink wine like water, but she figured she’d particularly enjoy it after the day she’d had.

  “Where is the beast now?” Barbara asked after she took her first sip of wine.

  “Sleeping in the living room. The painkillers knocked him out.”

  “Good. So you’re free to come have dinner at home with me. Heather’s going to bring her latest conquest and I could use your support.” Barbara rolled her eyes and Joyce had to laugh. Her sister’s incisive humor always made her laugh when it wasn’t directed at Dingo. Barbara giggled in her turn and her features relaxed. This was the Barbara she enjoyed spending time with.

  “I’m serious, Joyce. I can’t get through another dinner with one of Heather’s wandering souls without your support. Why can’t she find a woman who knows what she wants out of life? This crap was cute when she was twenty, but she’s going on thirty now. You and Evelyn were already an old couple at that age, for god’s sake.”

  “Not all lesbians are the same, Barbara. How many times do I have to tell you?” Joyce declared as she kept laughing. She’d always been proud of the way Barbara had accepted and supported her daughter when she’d come out of the closet in her late teens, but she wished she could find a way to keep her from comparing the young woman to her older lesbian aunt, who’d been in a serious and successful long-term relationship for most of her life. It wasn’t fair to Heather.

  That said she had to agree with Barbara on the questionable characters of the women Heather chose to date. They all seemed to be spineless, ghostly little creatures molding themselves to Heather’s personality until Heather got tired of them, which was usually within two or three months. They’d had big hopes for Sandra, who’d lasted six months, but Sandra’s ghost eventually had vanished like all the others. Joyce hoped Heather would fall for a different type of woman someday. A woman with drive who would have a life and a personality of her own and who would challenge Heather instead of becoming her puppet. Amanda Carter’s pretty freckled face and brandy-brown eyes popped into Joyce’s mind and she smiled to herself. That would never work. No way in hell.

  “So you’ll come? Please say yes.”

  Joyce’s mind went back to Dingo and she shook her head. “I can’t, Barb. I’m sorry. I have to keep an eye on Dingo and give him his painkillers a little later. Plus I’m dead tired. It’s been quite a day.”

  Joyce expected Barbara to insist, but instead she felt her sister’s hand tapping her own and she heard resignation in her tone when she spoke, “I figured you’d say that, but it was worth a try. Wish me luck, then, Baby Sis. I’m off to try to make conversation with another empty, drifting mind.”

  Joyce chuckled. “Good luck. Try not to grill her on politics and current events.”

  Joyce watched Barbara empty her glass of wine and grab her purse before she turned to Joyce with a Machiavellian smile. “Why not, dear? It’s so much fun watching them shrivel in their ignorance like tiny, brainless raisins.” She winked before she started walking to the front door.

  “You’re evil,” Joyce declared as she followed her.

  “I know, dear.”

  After Barbara left, she went to the living room to check on Dingo. He was sitting in his bed, looking out the patio door that led to the backyard. The painkillers were beginning to lose their hold on him, but he still looked half asleep as he contemplated the yard, his playing turf, with heavy eyelids. The wrinkles on his forehead made him look almost as pitiful as the basset hound she’d focused on while sitting in the waiting room of the clinic. She studied the way the light of the low evening sun hit his red fur and his dark eyes, then turned quietly to get her painting supplies.

  She’d started painting about six months ago. Dingo had been her inspiration then, just like today. The contrast of his fur with the grass he was running in had reminded Joyce she’d liked to paint before college and adult life had left her with no time for her watercolors. She’d purchased the supplies she needed and started to paint Dingo. Dingo playing. Dingo sleeping. Ding
o running. Then other animals: squirrels, birds, other dogs she’d met in the park. She even had a painting of Slipper, the Bernese mountain dog, somewhere. She finished each watercolor with splatters. It added a level of risk to her art that she enjoyed. She never knew where the splashes of color would fall, if they would enhance her painting or ruin it. It added a playful element to her art, and that’s what she wanted. She didn’t dream of becoming a serious artist. She was simply having fun. Painting relaxed her and stimulated her all at once, and it was a pleasure she was certain she couldn’t live without anymore.

  Joyce started painting Dingo, including the black bandage and red water hydrant. This painting would be the ultimate memento of this crazy day. It would mark not only his injury, but the beginning of his recovery and the day they met the intriguing Doctor Amanda Carter. The Seeker. Joyce couldn’t help feeling this eventful seventh of July was the beginning of yet another new chapter in her life, and any new chapter deserved a painting.

  Chapter Six

  Amanda wished she’d kept her mouth shut. But no, she had to tell Joyce it was her birthday, didn’t she? If she hadn’t said anything she’d be on her way home by now. Instead she was standing uncomfortably around a store-bought cake with the entire staff. First there was Isabelle, who seemed all too proud of herself. Next to her were Chloe and Matt, the two other vet techs who worked at the clinic, and Jacqueline, their office manager. Doug stood by Amanda and appeared as embarrassed by the setting as she was.

  Fortunately they didn’t sing “Happy Birthday.” They simply said the words out loud and even that brief announcement was out of synch and cacophonic. Amanda thanked them and then hurried to cut the cake and place each generous piece on a small paper plate which she handed to the members of the staff with a napkin and a plastic fork. The three vet techs and Jacqueline went to eat their cake at one end of the minuscule break room while Amanda and Doug stayed alone at the other end.