“I hope so. I was told that stray dogs are brought here if they are picked up by law enforcement.” She looked at the sign on the desk. “Are you Officer Reynolds?”
“Yes ma’am. Are you missing a dog? There aren’t any here right at the moment.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Brigid tried to suppress her annoyance. He was being polite, but all this ma’am-ing made her feel like a decrepit crone. Okay, she was obviously quite a bit older than the officer, but sheesh, she wasn’t that old. “I would like to see where the animals are kept.”
A look of confusion crossed his face. “You wanna look at empty cages?”
“I’m curious about the stray dog situation here.” Brigid stood up straight, trying to exude confidence. “I’ve volunteered at animal shelters in the past.”
“You gonna report us for cruelty or something?”
Brigid waved her hand in the negative. “Not at all. I’m hoping I can help. You must be very busy here. Who takes care of the dogs?”
The officer pushed the errant lock of hair off his forehead again. “Well, it depends. Sometimes we get the budget to get a kid in to help clean, but right now, mostly we kinda take turns. It depends on who is on desk duty. We put a schedule on the white board when there are dogs here. But like I said, there aren’t any right now.”
“I’d still like to see where they are housed.” She leaned toward him and raised her eyebrows. “Are you terribly busy doing something else?”
He glanced at the magazine. “No, um, I suppose not.” As he stood up, he pushed the chair back with his foot and called out to someone in another office. “Hey Ronnie. I gotta go out back for a minute. Keep an eye out front will you?”
A voice of assent came from the office and Brigid followed Officer Reynolds down a long hallway through the building toward the back.
They walked outside the back of the building to an area that seemed to be a maintenance yard. There was a pile of gravel, equipment, and some pieces of road-maintenance machinery in the fenced-in area. At the far end, the dog pound building was nestled in a corner. They walked over to where empty chain-link kennels were set up in the back of an outbuilding that looked like it had once been a storage shed. The cages were about two feet wide by four feet long with concrete floors. Officer Reynolds waved his hand at the cages. “There ya go. Empty cages, just like you wanted.”
Brigid looked around the bleak environment and thought about how it must feel to be a lost dog tucked away back here scared and alone with no one around. No wonder they were transferred out quickly. Although from what she had heard at the vet clinic, being transferred didn’t seem like a particularly promising fate either.
At one of the animal shelters where Brigid had volunteered, dogs that weren’t claimed often went to foster homes. People would bring the dogs into their homes on a temporary basis, caring for the animal until a permanent placement was found. It didn’t seem like they did anything like that here.
She looked at the tall young man, who was fussing at his hair again. “I’m here for the summer and I’d like to help. When you get a dog, I’ll come in and clean the cage, feed, and walk the dog. You could have the summer off from dog duty. It won’t cost anything. Just call me and I’ll help. I live very close by. Could I give you my number?”
Office Reynolds grinned widely. “Well, that would sure make my life easier. I have to clear it with the chief, but I’ll give you a call in a few hours and let you know what he says.”
Brigid put out her hand. “It’s a deal. Thank you, Officer. I look forward to working with you.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
After returning from her excursion to the police station, Brigid went out to the back porch with Gypsy to enjoy the rest of the afternoon. The house had a small but very peaceful back-yard. Gardens were set up in front of the weathered wood-plank fencing, which coupled with all the trees and vegetation, made the space seem completely private.
Gypsy ran around the yard and rolled in the grass for a while. Then, having exhausted herself, she lay flat on her side snoring in the sun. Brigid brought some of her new books outside along with a notepad.
Although the books varied in their take on what to do when people were faced with uncertainty and change, they did have one thing in common. They all suggested that readers spend some time taking stock of what had happened in their life and what they wanted to happen in the future. A few even had worksheets, and Brigid was determined to force herself to answer the questions.
Brigid closed her eyes and let the sun warm her face as she pondered her answers to questions like, “What if you were going to die in the next year? What would you do?” Or “Where do you want to be in five years?” “Are you happy right this second?” “Are you passionate about your life?” “What is your life purpose?”
All of this investigation didn’t lead to much insight because most of the answers Brigid came up with were along the lines of “I have no clue.” In reflecting on her past, it was becoming obvious that most of her existence had been defined by external influences.
Up until now, her parents, her husband, the military, or some combination had decided her fate. Brigid had mostly been along for the ride, which was a depressing realization. Intellectually, she knew she had been unhappy and should change some things, but she’d never really had a feeling deep down that things had to change. Her disastrous marriage was ample evidence of that. With the benefit of hindsight, she felt stupid for letting things with John get as bad as they had. She’d felt stuck and incapable of doing anything about it. Everyone said marriage required work and commitment. But nothing should take that much work. It made her tired just recalling the experience. Years of loneliness and strife were worth forgetting.
Making changes was like losing weight. Everybody knew what they should do: eat right and exercise more. But often people didn’t decide they had to change until something drastic happened like a heart attack. Then eating right evolved from something a person should do to something a person had to do. Brigid had definitely reached that point in her life.
Maybe it took being slammed by a shopping cart to wake her up to the fact that floating aimlessly wasn’t really an option anymore. She’d spent too long in a weird, guilt-laden stasis after John died. Even if she didn’t know what was next, she was glad she’d left all that behind. Now it was time to do something new and move forward.
The big question was: toward what? There were no guarantees she’d like whatever was next any better than what she’d just lived through. But at the moment, she felt better about the fact that she had at least done something. Going to the police station and offering to volunteer was a first baby step. Doing something was always better than doing nothing. One thing that had come out of all the reading and reflection was that Brigid discovered that she craved a sense of accomplishment and feeling like she was making a difference. Even if she could make a difference for one dog in one kennel in one little town, it was a start. She could build up her confidence from there.
Brigid was still writing notes and enjoying the late-afternoon sun when the phone rang in the house. She jumped up and ran inside to answer it.
Officer Reynolds greeted her and continued, “I talked to my supervisor, ma’am, and he says volunteering is A-OK. Also, we just got a dog-running-at-large call, so if you want to come by tomorrow morning and get started with this critter, that would be great.”
She agreed on a time to meet the next morning and hung up the phone. Gypsy was standing below her, looking up with the questioning look in her dark-brown eyes again. Brigid picked up the dog and snuggled her to her chest. “Don’t worry, everything is okay. But it looks like I have something to do tomorrow other than cater to your every whim.” Gypsy wagged and licked Brigid’s neck enthusiastically.
The next morning, Brigid went back to the Alpine Grove municipal buildings. Officer Reynolds was apparently still on desk duty. He smiled when she walked through the glass door. “I’m sure glad to see you th
is morning, ma’am!”
“Please call me Brigid, Officer Reynolds. When you call me ma’am, I feel like you’re talking to someone’s grandmother. I’m not your grandma.”
“Oh, okay. Sorry about that. You can call me Jake.” He got up from his chair. “Come on back.”
Brigid followed him down the hallway again and he turned around to look at her, so he was walking backwards. “So I was wondering something. How much do you know about dogs?”
“I have owned dogs, walked dogs at animal shelters, and I just adopted a little mixed-breed dog the other day. So about as much as most people, I suppose. Why do you ask?”
“Because this one’s got some kind of problem. It’s kinda gross actually.”
“Does the dog need to see a veterinarian?”
“I don’t know. I was hoping maybe you’d know. The dog is super-friendly. Maybe he’s just a funny breed that’s got weird fur or something. Like those hairless cats? Have you ever seen pictures of those things? Man, they are really ugly.”
Brigid pointed at Jake to indicate he was going to walk backwards into a door. He turned around, opened the door for her, and continued his description. “The dog’s skin is kinda scraped up too. I don’t know. Maybe it got into a fight.”
Brigid walked up to one of the cages, where a dark-brown dog leaped up onto the gate barking loudly. He was probably part retriever mixed with something else. Maybe a lot of other somethings. It was difficult to even hazard a guess what breeds made up the mutt. She stepped back and then bent her head to get a better look at the dog’s stomach while he was on his back legs. Although the retriever mix certainly had a healthy voice, Jake wasn’t wrong about the dog’s skin and fur. She spoke softly, encouraging the dog to settle down, and then turned to Jake. “Do you have a leash? And some type of collar?”
Jake pointed to the wall where chains and leashes hung on hooks. “Yeah, I’m thinking maybe this guy is a medium.” He walked over, looped the chain through the ring, and handed it to her. “Here ya go.”
Brigid had grown up around a number of exuberant retrievers and this one was no exception. Years ago, a friend’s dog had jumped on every person she met until Brigid convinced the dog that jumping on her was not a good idea. She’d also recently spent a lot of time reading dog training books again, so she had a few tricks up her sleeve.
Once Brigid was inside the cage, she kept turning away from the dog when he tried to jump on her. She quickly looped the collar over his head, snapped the chain, and said, “Sit” in a firm voice. The dog looked startled for a moment, but sat and wagged his tail. She stroked a small patch of fur on his head and told the dog that his knowledge of the sit command was an utterly brilliant achievement. In response, the dog curled himself around so he could scratch at his neck.
Jake said, “Hey Brigid, this is great! You really know your stuff. But I gotta run. The judge is coming over here later and he’s gonna be all kinds of pissed-off if I don’t have his coffee going for him.”
“Would it be okay if I take this dog to the vet?”
“I guess so. If his owner comes looking, I’ll tell him you’re over talking to Dr. C.”
“You know Dr. Cassidy too?”
He opened the door to go back inside the building. “Heck, every single person in this town who has a dog or cat knows Dr. C. Be sure to say ‘hi’ to Tracy too. I miss talking to her. Since she’s been hanging out with that geeky boyfriend of hers, she won’t give me the time of day.”
As the door closed, Brigid clipped the leash on the dog and breathed a small sigh of relief. Jake certainly did like to talk, and that was more than she needed to know about his amorous intentions. She ruffled the dog’s ears and smiled as he soaked up the affection. “Ah, young love. Spring is in the air, isn’t it?”
The dog whipped his scraggly brown tail back and forth in agreement.
After walking the dog around the neighborhood for a while, Brigid had decided to give him the name “Judge” for the time being, since “hey you” wasn’t particularly effective. She also was pretty sure Judge had some type of serious skin problem, so taking him to the vet was probably a good idea. The dog’s skin and coat were, for lack of a better word, disgusting. He had bald spots all over his body and whatever was wrong with him was itchy, so he had scabs, sores, and scrapes from scratching. He also didn’t smell particularly good, although that could have just been from wandering around lost.
Once Brigid got Judge settled back into his kennel and gave him fresh water, the dog looked far more relaxed. She asked to borrow the phone and then managed to convince Tracy to squeeze in an appointment for Judge with Dr. Cassidy at the end of the day.
After another relaxing afternoon of napping and occasional bursts of introspection, Brigid got ready to go back to the station. She gave Gypsy a hug, told her to behave herself, and went to pick up Judge for his appointment at the vet clinic. Not surprisingly, the dog was, once again, over-the-moon thrilled to see Brigid. Even if Judge wasn’t the prettiest dog in the world, he was very sweet. He didn’t know how awful-looking he was, and Brigid liked his enthusiasm. It was nice to feel appreciated for a change.
At the clinic, she opened the door and Judge leaped into the waiting area. An older woman with a cat carrier on her lap leaned away from the bounding bundle of canine energy with a look of horror on her face. As Brigid tried to get the dog under control, she smiled weakly at the woman. Tracy looked over the counter at Judge and said, “Wow, you weren’t kidding.” She pointed at the hallway. “Take him into exam room two. Dr. C will be right there.”
Brigid sat on a bench in the exam room and convinced Judge to sit in front of her. She stroked the fur on his head—what little there was of it. There were pink patches of exposed skin all over his face and body, which gave him an odd mottled appearance. Judge bent over to chew on a back leg. Poor guy. It was like he had the worst case of eczema ever.
Dr. Cassidy walked into the room and gazed down at Judge. Running a hand through her curly brown hair, she sighed. “Hi, Brigid. I didn’t expect to see you back here again so soon. Who is this?”
Brigid stood up and Judge leaped around her. As she bent to try to settle him back down, she said. “Well, he doesn’t really have a name. He’s a stray from the police station. I’m calling him Judge.”
“Do they know you have this dog?”
Brigid straightened. “Oh yes. I told them I’d volunteer to walk and feed the dogs. And clean out the kennels too. Officer Reynolds cleared it with his boss. Then Judge came in and I knew he needed to see you.” She waved her hand toward the dog. “I mean, look at him. What is wrong with his fur? He looks horrible.”
Dr. Cassidy sat down on the bench and Judge scuttled up to greet her, wagging his whole body back and forth at the exciting new human. The vet snapped on some latex gloves and put her hands on both sides of his head, holding him still so she could take a closer look at his skin. Judge continued to wag the back half of his body happily, enjoying the attention. The veterinarian looked up at Brigid. “He has some type of mange. I need to do a skin scraping for verification, but given the symptoms he’s presenting, I believe it’s demodectic mange.”
Brigid made a face. “I have no idea what that means. Is it contagious? My hair isn’t all going to fall out is it? That would be just my luck. I try to help a dog and go bald.”
Dr. C laughed and stood up. “No, transmission to humans is almost unheard of, so all that red hair should remain on your head.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
“This type of mange is caused by Demodex mites. Dogs all have small numbers of mites on their skin without it being an issue because their immune system keeps the mites from getting out of control. However, some dogs don’t have the antibodies that defend against an infestation.” Dr. Cassidy put her hand on Judge’s shoulder. “That’s what’s going on with our friend here.”
“The poor thing. He must be uncomfortable.”
“I need to do a more thorough exa
m, but at first glance, other than the skin problem, he seems very healthy. Demodex usually affects puppies, old dogs, or dogs that are ill. Their immune systems aren’t working at their usual capacity for some reason, which allows the Demodex mites to get a foothold and get out of control.”
“Puppies get this?”
“They do if they’re unlucky. Often when they are tiny, they get it from their mother during the window of time when their immune system isn’t completely developed. The mites live in the dog’s hair follicles and the rapid reproduction of the mites causes the follicles to become inflamed and the dog’s fur falls out. This guy only looks to be about five or six months old. Being a stray probably didn’t help his immune system either.”
“Can other dogs get this from him? He’s in one of the holding kennels now. What if another dog comes in?”
“As long as the other dog is healthy, it’s probably not a problem.” She grabbed a stainless-steel tool from the counter. “Hold him as still as you can for a minute. I just need to do a little scraping here. It won’t hurt him.”
Brigid followed the vet’s instructions and watched as she performed the procedure and took the skin scraping over to the counter. She did something with a slide and bent over the microscope. “I thought so.” She gestured to Brigid. “Take a look. There is evidence of Demodex mites and nymphs.”
“Is it gruesome? I’m not much of a scientist. I practically flunked chemistry in high school.”
“No, it’s not particularly objectionable, but you can see that there’s definitely something there.”
Brigid looked through the eyepiece and saw little cone-shaped critters moving around. “Okay. I guess that’s a thing. Eww.” She pulled away from the microscope and looked down at Judge. “So you’ve got those icky things on you, huh?” The dog wagged in response and Brigid looked back at the vet. “What is the treatment for this?”
The Good, the Bad, and the Pugly (An Alpine Grove Romantic Comedy Book 7) Page 4