by Debbie Burns
Unlikely, she thought. Her dad was a grown-up after all. They didn’t think the same way as kids.
She also wondered how she’d feel if for some reason he did. She wouldn’t know for sure unless it happened, but at first thought, the idea didn’t make her stomach curl the same way the thought of moving into a new house did.
Megan seemed nice enough, not fake and trying to hide it like some adults Sophie knew. The whole way over, she had been worried she might not be accepted into the junior protector program. But right away, Megan talked like Sophie was officially in, which made her feel better.
Megan took their coats, then introduced them to the blond who’d made the hot guy comment. Her name was Kelsey, and she was the lead adoption coordinator. She was wearing a bright-red T-shirt that read Proud Parent of a Rescue Dog, and she seemed as friendly as Megan. They were also introduced to one of the regular Sunday volunteers named Marv. He wasn’t quite as friendly, especially toward her dad.
“The front half of the building is fairly basic,” Megan said after introductions. “It’s where we carry out adoptions, and there’s a pretty nice gift shop, thanks to Kelsey and a couple of volunteers like Marv. The cats and rabbits are at the back of this room. They’re separated from the dogs to help reduce their stress levels. Oh, and since we’re passing it, Sophie, you’ve seen our Wall of Flame. If you’d like to tell your dad about it, feel free.”
Sophie hoped her dad thought it was as cool as she did. “There are a ton of pictures, aren’t there, Dad? When you adopt one of the animals, you can get your picture taken and put up on the wall.” She pointed to Ms. Sherman. “I met this lady here while you were on the phone. She has ten cats and comes in every week in case one of her cats dies so she can be ready to adopt another.”
Her dad raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“It sounds a bit crazy cat lady,” Megan said, making air quotes, “but her cats are really well cared for.”
“Is it just me, or do you find that cat people tend to be stranger than dog people?” he asked.
“No, I don’t,” Megan said, laughing. “I’ve been here long enough to see some strangeness on both sides of the fence. Though the vast majority of pet owners we encounter are your everyday run of normal.”
“What do weird dog people do?” Sophie couldn’t help but ask.
“Hmm, let me think.” Megan swiped a loose lock of hair behind her ear. She had pretty green eyes and perfect lips, and Sophie desperately wished to be as pretty one day. “A few weeks ago, we had a man get down on all fours as he toured the kennels to better commune with the dogs. Only it drove them nuts. And there was once a woman who said she pre-chewed all her bichon frise’s food so he didn’t get a stomachache.”
“Eww,” Sophie said as her dad chuckled. “And what about cat people?”
“Ms. Sherman is probably one of the most unusual, though we did have a woman pass away and leave us her entire estate because of her cat.”
“What do you mean?” her dad asked.
“She had this beautiful, feisty Maine coon that she adopted from us a while back. She lived alone, and the idea of her cat going to a strange home really bothered her. She bequeathed her house and just about everything in it to us with the understanding that we’d maintain it until her cat passes away. Kelsey stops by every day to feed him since it’s on her way home. He’s not very friendly, but he has a cat door, and he comes and goes as he pleases. In the meantime, we have to pay the tax bill and some necessary upkeep like mowing.”
“And the house is definitely haunted,” Kelsey added as she stepped behind the counter to grab a piece of paper.
“Cool!”
“So tell me,” her dad said, “have any of these quirks caused you not to adopt to someone?”
“We do turn people down, but not because they’re odd,” Megan said.
“Did you adopt a dog to the guy who got down on all fours?”
“No, actually we didn’t, but not just because of that. His behavior set off obvious radar, so we got Chance’s opinion and it wasn’t good. After that, we asked to do a home visit, and the man has never called back to arrange it.”
“Who’s Chance?” Sophie asked.
“I forgot that I didn’t introduce you to him, Sophie. He’s a resident here, a Cairn terrier. He was asleep behind the counter last I saw him.”
“I don’t get it. How does Chance help?”
“He’s blind but extremely intuitive. We’ve found he’s an amazing judge of character. It’s not something we advertise, but if someone sets him on edge, we find a polite way to put the adoption on hold until we can do a home visit.”
“Can we see what he thinks of my dad?” Sophie asked.
“Sure,” Megan said, looking her dad in the eye and blushing. “Chance, boy, come here.” She whistled, and everyone fell quiet.
Sophie heard a collar jingling and ears flopping as a dog shook its head, and a couple seconds later the cutest little dog jogged around the corner. Megan turned her back to them and squatted as Chance headed over. Sophie couldn’t help notice how at first her dad was staring at Megan rather than the dog. But then again, the Victoria’s Secret underwear that hugged her hips above her jeans would probably get most boys’ attention.
Megan gave the dog an encouraging scratch behind the ear. “Hey, boy, how’d you like to meet our new junior protector and her dad?” She stood and stepped to the side. “Sophie, you can call him first.”
Sophie squatted down and made a kissing sound. “He’s so cute.” Chance trotted her way. He sniffed and licked her outstretched hand while wagging his tail.
“That is what we call a clear pass,” Megan said. “Mr. Williams, how about you?”
Her dad shook his head but squatted down and reached out his hand. “Hey, boy.”
Chance zoomed his way, tail wagging. He licked his hand vigorously before diving into the vee her father’s legs made. He smelled his crotch, then jumped up to lick his chin. Sophie burst into a fit of laughter.
“Easy, boy.” Her dad gave him a gentle pat.
“I think you passed too, Dad.”
Megan gave Sophie a playful look. “Well, I guess we can’t expect Chance to be right all the time.”
Her dad laughed. It was a deep, happy chuckle Sophie hadn’t heard in forever and made her think of the lesson they’d just had in science on magnets. Maybe her dad would make the same connection she’d made after all. Only by the way he kept looking at Megan, Sophie figured it would be with Megan and not the shelter.
After Chance trotted back over to his bed, Megan introduced them to the cats. Knowing there would only be one pet in her immediate future and that she wanted it to be a dog, Sophie made a conscious effort not to fall in love with any of them too much.
A lot of them had interesting stories, including one little female that a family had found hiding out in the basement of their hundred-year-old home. She was young and really people shy. Before they discovered her, she had been surviving on a box of saltine crackers she’d ripped open with her claws and possibly a few mice. They called her Tina because of the saltines.
Sophie’s favorite cat was the shelter cat, Trina. She moved about just fine considering she was missing a leg, and she was the friendliest cat Sophie had ever met. She also thought it was funny how Trina liked to sleep on the counter right in front of the cat cages like she was showing off that she was free and they weren’t. The fact that her entire family was rescued off a floating door seemed just about impossible.
Next came the dogs. Sophie was hoping one would stand out to her as the one, but so many looked like they needed cuddling that it was overwhelming. A lot of them were like Hershey, owner surrenders, and the only thing really wrong with them were the bad habits they’d picked up. Several others had come from animal control or other shelters, and their histories were unknown.
&nbs
p; When Sophie asked, Megan admitted to participating in a few rescues herself, even though the shelter wasn’t licensed for her to do so. One of them was a beautiful German shepherd named Sledge who Megan seemed to really like, even though he hadn’t been there long. Sledge was also the first dog her dad commented on as being a really good-looking animal. Sophie was a bit surprised to learn her dad’s dog type. She’d figured he was a Lab lover like her.
The other animal Megan had helped rescue was a brindled pit-bull mix named Sol who’d been left in a car at the zoo on a ninety-degree day. Someone from zoo security lived near the shelter and had called the shelter instead of animal control. The guards ended up breaking the window to free the dog since she was showing signs of heat exhaustion. Megan brought her to the shelter and she recovered just fine, but her owner never came to claim her. The fact that she’d been here since August and nobody had adopted her made Sophie want to cry.
When the tour was over and they got back in the car, her dad gave her a little wink. “So what do you think, Soph? Think the junior protector program is for you?”
“Are you kidding? It’s awesome. Only I wish I could adopt them all. The cats too.”
“Those were some moving stories Megan told, I’ll give you that. She and those volunteers are making a difference. I’m sorry how we found the place and that you lost Hershey, but I think the shelter’s going to be a good experience for you.”
“I know.” Sophie thought about how she’d heard her dad belly laugh for the first time in forever. “I bet for you too, Dad.”
Chapter 7
Megan hadn’t been wearing rainbow-colored glasses when she accepted the job four years ago. She knew it wouldn’t be all snuggly kittens and playful puppies. She’d need to wrap barbed wire around her heart to survive some of what she’d see. Wes said it best when he told her there’d be days she would question humanity and days she’d praise it.
She’d already seen that in the job she’d left to go to work at the shelter. She hadn’t been out of college long and had come to understand that social work wasn’t the best fit for her. Ever since she lost her dad, she’d wanted to help people. But the reality of the work had been too much.
After a particularly hard day, she’d taken a walk in Forest Park and met up with Wes and the gang from the shelter as they walked dogs. Kelsey had been walking a cute little Jack Russell that Megan had fallen in love with. She took a card and showed up at the shelter a few days later. It was an odd turn of events that the spunky little Russell had been adopted and the welcoming staff drew Megan in. Wes hired her on the spot, and she’d never looked back.
He told her early on to never forget what had drawn her to the shelter, even if she didn’t know it at the time. It took a few weeks to understand what he meant, but eventually Megan did. What drew her, what drew all of them, was the compassion—the humanity, he’d called it—of the animals they rescued. Their willingness to trust again, to love, to accept a new partner no matter how badly their first one—or sometimes several—had failed them.
That compassion swept over her in the quiet of the morning as the dogs and cats yawned and stretched and rose to accept another day of whatever lay in store for them. She felt it in the tentative licks of animals whose wounds—whether physical or emotional—were healing. She saw how other people experienced it in the happy photos and artwork that came in the mail and in the meaningful donations from the longtime shelter supporters.
This was what kept her here, what got her through days like this one. Days when the barbed wire just didn’t work.
The puppies, two little beagle mixes, had come in a few minutes before she arrived. If she hadn’t snoozed past her alarm, she would have had a face and voice to go with the words circling in her head. The puppies were brought in a half-collapsed, soiled cardboard box. Fidel was getting out of his car when the woman walked up with it sagging between her arms. He said she seemed apologetic. The puppies had been a gift from a relative to her husband, but he was down on his luck and not in the space to care for them.
Not in the space to care for them. The words circled on auto replay as Megan dialed the vet. Sometimes there was a difference between abuse and neglect, and sometimes neglect was abuse. The puppies were skin and bone. Their coats were dull, and their eyes were glazed. The stools saturating the box were severely loose. They were probably ridden with worms. There was a science to hydrating and fattening up puppies this thin, which was why Megan had made the emergency appointment with the vet. They were old enough to be on solid food at least. She guessed they were somewhere between eight and ten weeks old, but it was hard to tell in their condition.
The worst part was discovering the damage their collars had done. Even underfed as they were, they’d grown and their collars hadn’t been loosened. How had they even swallowed? Thank God for Patrick. Megan had lost it when she realized how scabbed and sore the skin underneath the collars was. Patrick might often miss everyday social cues, like when someone was being sarcastic or making a joke. But he always knew how to read animals.
And this morning when Megan’s vision was too filled with tears to get those stupid collars off the terrified puppies, Patrick knew just how to calm them. He turned down the lights and let the puppies hide under a loose blanket with a slit cut in it wide enough to allow him to snip through each collar, bit by bit, until they were off.
They gave the puppies a quick but desperately needed bath to wash away the matted stool. Then Megan gave them a few tablespoons of canned puppy food—which they devoured after a bit of sniffing and licking—and a few licks of water. They wanted more, which was a good sign, but offering them too much too soon could be dangerous with puppies this underfed.
She wrapped them in a soft blanket and put a heating pad under only half the crate in case they got too warm and wanted a cooler spot. Since it was the quietest part of the building, she tucked the crate into a corner in her office and shut the door to block out whatever noise she could. Dr. Washington was in surgery and would swing by after lunch to examine them. He was only a few years from retirement, and Megan worried who’d they find to replace him when the time came. He was a wonderful advocate for the shelter and never charged for his time, only for use of equipment, surgical supplies, and shots.
Not wanting to leave the puppies alone, Megan sat down and forced herself to go through her neglected pile of paperwork. Staying in the room with them was silly because they had each other and didn’t seem to find much comfort in human company. But she was overdue for some dedicated desk time anyway.
What a crazy whirlwind of a week it had been in the wake of the storm! Today felt like Friday rather than Monday. Mondays were usually her day off, but she hadn’t taken one in a few weeks because things had been so crazy. It wasn’t until yesterday that they’d been fully operational again with the thawing of the ice in the play yards. And thank goodness for that. All last week, the sidewalks had been too messy to walk the dogs properly. The best the staff and volunteers could do was get them to the small gravel lot behind the building. As a result, the dogs still reminded her of shaken-up soda bottles with so much pent-up energy.
She was just getting in the groove, knocking out replies to overdue emails and signing off on inventory sheets, when awareness of what had slipped her mind slammed in full force. Her heart plummeted to her stomach. It wasn’t possible. She couldn’t have missed something this important. She clicked to last week’s calendar and saw the warning reminders she hadn’t been able to access without power.
She’d missed the deadline for the most important grant they received each year. The one from Maclind Pharmaceutical that paid for a full year’s supply of food for all the dogs that came through the doors. They’d gotten it nine years in a row, and she’d missed the deadline. She’d missed the deadline. What would happen in October when the new funding season began? How on earth were they going to pay for food when they were barely scraping b
y as it was?
She found the application at the middle of her stack of paperwork. She flipped through and read the small-print details. No late entries would be accepted. With shaky fingers, she picked up the phone and dialed. Surely they’d make an exception. Especially considering how the storm had shut down half the city. She explained the situation twice to sympathetic employees who would gladly extend the deadline if it were in their power, but it wasn’t. Finally, she was transferred to a monotone, high-up accountant who wouldn’t have cared if there’d been a 9.0 earthquake last week. Deadlines, he said, were deadlines, and thirty-two other worthy candidates had made it. With no inflection, he invited her to try again next year.
Megan didn’t know if she was going to throw up or cry. Or maybe both. This had been her responsibility—and her responsibility alone. She’d been writing all the grants for the last few years. It was everything else she’d taken on in Wes’s absence that had been causing her to feel as if she was slipping. This proved it. She’d more than slipped. She’d crashed headfirst.
And what would happen to the shelter? Her vision went blurry. She wanted to find Kelsey and cry on her shoulder, but Kelsey probably wouldn’t react any better.
This could shut our doors. The wave washing over her was nothing short of horror. Only somehow she wouldn’t let it happen. She couldn’t.
Megan dragged her hands through her hair and leaned back in her chair. If she told Wes—after he got over the shock and disappointment—would he have the connections to secure funds elsewhere? He was the founder. He’d gotten the shelter off the ground and saved it from more than a few crashes. But post–heart attack, Wes wasn’t the same person who’d founded this place.
Her mind began to race as other possibilities came to her. Maybe she wouldn’t have to turn to him. Surely there were volunteers who were well-connected, some who’d know of other grants or funding sources. She could do a press release. Channel 3 came out every month to feature a dog or cat. Maybe they’d run a story.