by Rachel Lacey
I tugged the dogs closer as a car went past on the road, stirring the air around us. Blue pinned his ears against his head, pressing his shoulder against my thigh. He was my shy guy, my foster dog. Currently, I could only foster one dog at the time while I was living in an apartment. Once I had a house of my own, I could keep as many fosters as I wanted.
If only I wasn’t going to have to restart my house hunt from scratch…
I sighed as I turned into my parents’ driveway, releasing Minnie from her leash so she could bound ahead of me up the front steps to the house. I followed with Blue, grabbing the stick from her mouth before I opened the door. She knew better than to try to bring it in the house.
“It’s me,” I called, giving Blue a reassuring rub. I walked toward the kitchen, where my mom was finishing up dinner. Minnie raced around the corner to greet her while Blue stayed by my side.
“How was your hike?” Mom asked as I entered the kitchen.
“Good.” I reached for the bowl my parents kept for my dogs. I filled it with water and set it on the mat on the floor. “I bumped into Phoebe Shaw while I was there, though.”
“I hadn’t heard she was back in town,” my mom said, drying her hands on a dish towel. “Are the Shaws finally putting the cabin on the market?”
I shook my head, watching Minnie as she drank. My mom didn’t know Phoebe and I had been high school sweethearts. No one knew, which meant I couldn’t even properly vent about all the ways this sucked. “She says they’re going to use it as a rental property.”
Mom frowned as she slipped oven mitts onto her hands and bent to pull the casserole out of the oven. “Oh, Taylor, I’m sorry. I know how much you were hoping to buy it.”
I sighed. “Yeah. I’m pretty disappointed.”
“Well, it’s time to call Matty, then,” she said, naming a longtime family friend who was a Realtor. “He’ll find you something just as good.”
“You’re right,” I said, even though I already knew there weren’t any other houses for sale within walking distance of my parents. I mean, I didn’t have to live near them, but we’d always been close, and I liked the idea of being able to drop by whenever I liked, and vice versa. Maybe I should ask Phoebe to reconsider…
“Will you tell your father dinner’s ready?”
“Yep.” I headed for the back door, knowing without asking that I’d find my dad tinkering in his garden. It was his happy place, especially after a long day at the office. “Hi Dad,” I called as I crossed the yard to find him crouched in the garden, examining a row of green spouts. “What’s growing this early in the season?”
“Snow peas,” he told me as he stood, bracing his hands against his thighs. He wore faded jeans and a Moo U T-shirt that I was pretty sure he’d had since college. “Hardy little things. They take our spring frosts like champs.”
“And they’re yummy when Mom cooks them in sesame oil,” I said with a smile. “Ready for dinner?”
“I sure am.”
He followed me into the house, and we sat at the kitchen table to eat Mom’s cheesy chicken and broccoli casserole. I came over for dinner once a week or so, usually stopping by after a hike like I had today. My phone rang about halfway through our meal. A quick glance showed that it was the Chittenden County Sheriff’s Department, which meant they’d probably handled a situation that had left them with a pet that needed to be processed into the shelter.
“Sorry, I think it’s work,” I told my parents as I slipped into the living room to answer the call. “Hello?”
“Hi, Taylor, it’s Laurie.”
I’d gone to high school with Laurie, who was Deputy Laurie Siegel these days. “Hey, Laurie.”
“Sorry to bother you after hours,” Laurie said, “but we responded to a well check this evening and found the occupant of the home deceased. She had two dogs, and so far, it’s looking like no one in the family wants to take them.”
“I can meet you at the shelter in an hour,” I told her.
“I appreciate it,” she said. “And just so you know, we’re pretty sure one of the dogs is pregnant.”
3
Phoebe
Downtown Burlington was busier than I remembered. As I walked through the pedestrian marketplace, I kept my head down, even though no one was looking at me. I’d come to Vermont to hide while I figured out how to pick up the pieces of my life, but after only twenty-four hours, my grandmother’s cabin had begun to feel too quiet, too isolated. I was lonely, despite having FaceTimed with Courtney earlier today.
So here I was, wandering past shops and restaurants with no real idea of where I was headed. I’d just needed to get out of the house and out of my own head for a few hours.
A brightly painted rainbow in a nearby window caught my eye. The sign over the door read Vino and Veritas, Wine Bar and Bookstore, and suddenly, I was in the mood for a glass of wine. The pride flag in the window definitely helped to make my decision.
I opened the door and stepped inside, finding myself in an entranceway with a door to my right leading into the bookstore and the wine bar on my left. I entered the bar. The space was warm and inviting, with lots of wood and earth tones, and soft music played behind the buzz of conversation.
The bar area had several empty stools available, so I made my way to the closest one. I slid onto it and hung my purse on the hook beneath the counter. A pretty bartender with curly auburn hair approached.
“Hi,” she said. “Know what you want?”
I hesitated, even though I knew she was asking about wine, but the truth was, I had no idea what I wanted anymore, not in this bar or anywhere else.
“We have a few specials this week, but whatever you’re in the mood for, we probably have it.” She pushed a leather-bound drink menu toward me with a friendly smile.
I glanced at it and then back at her. If I tried to peruse the wine menu on my own, the financial analyst in me would come out, crunching numbers as I compared flavors and ounces to price, and I’d spend half an hour choosing a glass of wine. “I’m overwhelmed just looking at that menu. What do you recommend?”
“You’ve got to give me something to go on,” the redhead said, leaning her elbows on the counter. “Wine, beer, or cider?”
“Wine,” I told her. “Something light and sweet…and not too expensive.” As of last Friday, I was living out of my savings account, and while it would tide me over for a few weeks here in Burlington, it wouldn’t last forever.
“I’ve got two specials you might like,” she told me. “The first is a Late Harvest Chardonnay. It’s crisp and sweet, with undertones of orange peel and honeysuckle. The other is a prosecco rosé, fresh and bubbly with a hint of strawberry. And my favorite part…it’s pink.”
“How could I turn down a pink drink?” I said with a laugh. “I’ll have a glass of that, please.”
“You got it.” The bartender turned away and reached into a small refrigerator beneath the counter. She pulled out a bottle and poured a glass of frothy pink wine, which she placed in front of me.
“Thank you.” I sipped. The wine was sweet and bubbly on my tongue. If I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine I was in my favorite bar on Tremont Street in Boston. I could pretend I was still a financial analyst at Bern Finance, that Sabrina was still my girlfriend, that my life hadn’t imploded. I could pretend that viral photo didn’t exist.
“How’s the rosé?”
My eyes popped open at the sound of the bartender’s voice, and I blinked, grounding myself in this unfamiliar bar in Burlington, Vermont. “It’s good. Thanks for the recommendation.”
She gave me a thumbs-up before heading down the bar to check on her other customers.
I turned to face the room, watching the locals as they went about their Thursday evening. About half the booths in back were occupied, couples and groups of friends laughing and conversing over glasses of wine. Several of the tables in the middle of the room had been pushed together to accommodate a large group of young women who had a r
ow of wine flights on trays between them. I envied their carefree attitude, laughing and drinking with friends. I’d been one of those girls until a few weeks ago.
And once, a very long time ago, I’d been a carefree teenager who loved Taylor Donovan with all my heart. I didn’t think of Taylor often these days. Yes, I’d seen her at my grandma’s funeral, but we hadn’t spoken to each other. I hadn’t talked to Taylor since I was sixteen. Seeing her yesterday had shaken me. It had reminded me of that one perfect summer we’d spent together.
Actually, I’d had a lot of happy summers with Taylor. Ever since I was a little girl, I’d spent my summers with my grandmother here in Vermont. Taylor’s family lived just down the street, and she and I had quickly become best friends. Even then, she’d been an animal lover, always showing me baby birds and other wild creatures that she’d nursed back to health. In elementary school, she’d wanted to be a vet when she grew up, but later on, she’d decided she was too squeamish. I smiled to think of her working at the animal shelter now. Talk about finding the perfect job.
It made me wonder about my own job. Had I done as well as Taylor at following my dreams? I loved numbers and was an exceptional financial analyst, but did it make me as happy as saving homeless pets made Taylor? Suddenly, I wasn’t sure.
As I sipped my wine, the carbonation tickled my tongue and stung my nose. Maybe I should have gotten the chardonnay. There was a small stage in the back corner of the bar with a piano tucked against the wall.
When we were kids, while Taylor was rescuing animals, I’d been playing my grandmother’s piano and singing along to all my favorite songs. I hadn’t played the piano in a decade.
“You have live music on the weekends?” I asked the bartender.
She nodded as she wiped down the counter. “Every Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday night. And we’re hiring, if you know anyone who’s interested.”
I glanced at the piano. Maybe I should use my time here in Vermont to get back in touch with the things I used to enjoy. After all, when was the last time I’d done something just because it might be fun? “Actually…I’m interested.”
4
Taylor
I walked down the row of dog kennels to check on our two newest arrivals, the dogs whose owner had passed away yesterday. Dexter was curled up on his bed in the back corner, but he got up and walked over when I approached his kennel. He was a pit bull, mostly white with a brown head and kind eyes, tail wagging hopefully.
“Hey, buddy,” I said. “How are you today?”
His tail wagged faster, causing his whole body to sway from side to side.
“You’re probably missing your mom, aren’t you?” Today, I was hoping to locate a family member of his deceased owner who would step up to take him and Violet, the other dog that had been removed from the property last night.
Violet was going to be more difficult to place, though, if she was indeed pregnant. The vet would confirm when she arrived for rounds later today. I moved to stand in front of Violet’s kennel. The brown pittie lay on her bed, fast asleep. Her belly was rounded, and her nipples were swollen. Her pregnancy was a foregone conclusion as far as I was concerned.
And that meant—unless a relative of her owner wanted to take her—I would have to find a foster home for Violet before she gave birth, because the shelter was no place for newborn puppies. I wished I could take Violet myself, but my lease agreement only allowed two dogs. Even if I moved Blue, my current foster, to a different home, my landlord would balk at the idea of puppies. But maybe a family member would come to claim the dogs. I had a list of people provided by the sheriff’s department that I would be contacting today.
Violet lifted her head to look at me, and her tail began to wag.
“Hey, sweet girl,” I said.
She got to her feet and approached the front of her kennel. Her tail was still wagging, but she trembled as she walked. She was scared, and for good reason. It must be terrifying to be uprooted from her home and placed in a concrete-walled kennel where she didn’t know anyone, especially while she was pregnant.
“I’m going to get you out of here before those babies are born,” I told her. I didn’t reach through the bars to try to pet her. That was a great way to get my fingers bit. Not that I thought Violet was aggressive, but it was standard policy with any newcomer to the shelter. Frightened dogs were unpredictable. Instead, I crouched down to Violet’s level and spoke softly to her.
As the care supervisor at the Chittenden County Animal Shelter, I oversaw the intake of new animals, coordinated the staff and volunteers who cared for them, and met with potential adopters to help them find the right pet for their family. Right now, my only full-time employee was Alleya, who would be coming through soon to walk the dogs and take Violet for her vet appointment, but we also had a number of volunteers who helped care for the animals.
I left Violet and spent a few minutes greeting the other dogs currently in our care before making my way back to my office. We were expecting five new cats on Monday, arriving through a transport program I’d helped to initiate that brought adoptable animals from overcrowded shelters in the South to find new homes here in Vermont. Thanks in part to my outreach efforts, the Chittenden County Animal Shelter was well funded and successfully placed hundreds of animals a year, including many that came to us from out of state.
Minnie leaped up to greet me as I entered my office, running in excited circles around me while Blue watched from his kennel in the corner. It was a huge job perk that I got to bring my dogs to work with me, although Minnie was endlessly miffed that she had to stay in my office while we were here.
“Let me make a few phone calls, and then I’ll take you for that thing you want,” I told her, not saying the word “walk” out loud so I didn’t get her excited before I was ready. I sat at my desk and called the transport coordinator for the incoming cats. They’d be flying from Georgia into Boston, courtesy of a network of private pilots who volunteered their planes for animal rescue missions, and then a volunteer would drive them from Boston to Burlington.
Once I’d confirmed all the details, I opened the email the sheriff’s department had sent me with a list of family members who might be able to take Dexter and Violet. First, I dialed the dead woman’s sister, Jean, but the call rang through to voicemail. I made my way through the list, receiving one rejection after another. Just as I’d finished my last call, my phone rang.
“Chittenden County Animal Shelter, this is Taylor,” I answered.
“Hi Taylor, this is Jean Templeton. You left a message earlier about my sister’s dogs.”
“Yes,” I said, sitting up straighter in my seat. This woman was my last hope of getting Dexter and Violet out of the shelter today. “Thank you so much for getting back to me, and I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” Jean’s voice trembled. “When we reach a certain age, we start to expect things like this, but I’m not sure anything ever truly prepares you.”
“I can only imagine,” I told her.
“It breaks my heart that Dexter and Violet have ended up at the shelter,” Jean said. “Such wonderful dogs, both of them. After I got your message, I talked it over with my husband, and we just don’t think we can handle both of them. I hate to say it, but Alice was in over her head with those dogs, and especially with Violet turning up pregnant.”
“It must have been a lot for her to handle,” I agreed. As much as I wanted Jean to take them home, I also knew this wasn’t a perfect match. Jean was elderly, and these dogs were young and energetic, not to mention the impending puppies.
“I can take Dexter,” Jean told me. “He’s a good boy, and I think I can manage him.”
“Oh good,” I said, glad at least one of them would go home with a relative. “And don’t worry about Violet, Mrs. Templeton. I’ll find a great home for her and her puppies.”
“I hope so.” I could hear the anguish in Jean’s voice. “Will you let me know where she winds up? I’d like
to know.”
“I’ll be sure to,” I told her, making a note in Violet’s file.
I spent several minutes making final arrangements for Jean to come in next week and pick up Dexter. Then I called my network of volunteers, putting out feelers for a foster home for Violet and asking for donations of puppy whelping supplies. We didn’t get pregnant dogs in the shelter very often.
I took Minnie and Blue on a walk around the property and then returned to my office to spend what remained of the afternoon updating the shelter’s social media. Around four, Alleya stopped by my office.
“Violet’s definitely pregnant,” she told me. “The vet saw at least four puppies on her X-ray and said they looked close to full-term. She could give birth as soon as next week.”
“Oh boy,” I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “I’d better step up my efforts to find her a foster home.”
But when I left the office that evening, I was no closer to finding anyone to take her. I loaded Minnie and Blue into my SUV and drove home, thankful it was Friday. It had been a long week, and I was looking forward to a relaxing weekend with my dogs, although I let out a groan when I remembered I couldn’t hike in my usual spot anymore. I’d tried not to let Phoebe occupy my thoughts these last two days and had been mostly successful, at least until now.
At home, I heated up a portion of the lasagna I’d made last weekend. Since I lived alone, I tended to cook once or twice a week and freeze portions for myself to eat the rest of the week. If I didn’t, I’d eat prepackaged food all the time, and high blood pressure ran in my family, so I tried to watch my sodium intake.
After I ate, I took the dogs for a walk and went into my bedroom to change. Every Friday night, I went into town for a drink at Vino and Veritas. I changed into black jeans and a fitted tee, and then I applied some makeup, another Friday-night tradition. This was the only day of the week that I wore it.