“True.” He takes the bug spray from my outstretched hand and tosses it back into the tractor. “Lucky for me, Charlie was way cooler than some therapist. We mostly just hung out and worked on the land together. This place was my refuge for many years.” He pauses and sets his hands on his hips. “Now it’s my turn to be there for him.”
“I’m sure he appreciates it.”
“I doubt it,” he snorts. “But I’m the only one as stubborn and bullheaded as he is, so he’s stuck with me. For better or worse.” Bryson unlatches a small wood gate and holds it open for me. “Last chance to take shelter in the truck.”
“Nah. I want to meet his dogs.”
“You are an odd woman.”
“I know.” I step through the gate and start the trek down the brick pathway. “But it’s part of my charm.” I glance back to see if he agrees, and he must because he’s smiling, a rare thing for Bryson, and I feel pretty good that I’ve managed to provoke one several times today.
The path takes us around the house and into a giant backyard with a canopy of oak trees. An old barn stands just thirty feet away next to a huge windmill so preserved and picturesque, it makes the entire farm feel like an old western backdrop. Remnants of carefully tilled gardens sit on different corners, though each now is more filled with weeds than vegetables or flowers. “There’s too much beauty to take in at once,” I say in awe. “Every time I turn my head, I see something new.”
Bryson nods, but it’s sad, and I decide not to gawk anymore. This place now hurts to come to. That much is written all over his face.
We continue toward the dog kennels. There are three of them all spaced a good ten feet apart. Each one is made of hog fencing and large enough to be comfortable, although they seem more like temporary housing than permanent.
Two of the dogs are visible. The first, a massive yellow Lab mix whose frenzied gait lends more to excitement than fear. He rushes to the gate, jumps against the fence, and spastically barks. Then he runs in a quick circle around the pen again.
“Did Sue Ann plan on keeping them?” I ask loudly enough to be heard over the other dog’s manic barking, which has only increased in severity. It surprises me, especially since I can now clearly make out his breed. It’s a blue Great Dane, and from his size and markings, he’s very likely pure.
“No. She would adopt them, try and rehabilitate the bad behavior, and then find permanent homes.” He points to the kennel on the right. “That’s Louie. She only got him a week before the surgery, and he’s either barking or hiding. It goes on for hours.”
I turn toward his cage, and Louie backs away, hair straight up on his neck. The initial warning type of bark transitions into a panicked shrill. He’s terrified. More than terrified; he’s convinced I’m here to hurt him. Charlie’s wife was more than just a dog lover. I haven’t seen dog behavior this extreme since volunteering for the animal rescue society. “Poor thing. He must be exhausted.”
Bryson huffs. “Poor Charlie. He has to listen to it twenty-four hours a day.” He points to the middle kennel. “That’s Sam. She’s been here four months. Super sweet, but she’s in rough shape physically. When Sue Ann got her, she had some kind of skin disorder and her hair was falling out in patches. It’s cured now and a lot of the hair has grown back, but Sue Ann died before she could properly groom her.”
I look for Sam, but she must be hiding in her doghouse. I don’t blame her. Louie’s barking is already starting to give me a headache. “And the excited one over here?” I point to the Lab, who has not stopped running since we walked up.
“That’s Bentley. He’s a nightmare. Try to feed him and he jumps all over you. Try to pet him and he gnaws at your hand. He’s knocked Charlie off his feet twice. I bought those continual feeding and watering stations so he wouldn’t have to come out here every day. It’s helped a little.”
I hear the weariness in his voice, and a newfound admiration settles in. “You’re a really good guy, Bryson.”
He smirks. “I’ll try not to be offended by the surprise in your voice. Then again, considering how we started the day, this is progress.”
I huff and push his arm until he teeters. “You’re going to punish me forever for my outburst, aren’t you?”
“Nah. I just like teasing you.”
I roll my eyes, but I have to admit, it’s nice to be treated like a normal human again. Between my parents’ divorce and my fundraising efforts, the last several months have been the hardest, most stressful ones in my life. And unfortunately, that’s not a combination that lends to being any fun. In fact, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve truly laughed in months. “You said five, right? Where are the other two?”
“Inside. One is so depressed she hardly gets up to do her business, and the other is so aggressive she has to be crated. Thankfully, she’s a terrier so she doesn’t cause much damage.”
“What is Charlie going to do with them?”
Bryson shrugs. “I don’t know, but that’s what he called me here to talk about. Sue Ann loved these dogs, and he wants to honor her. But he can’t sustain the upkeep. It’s too much.” He takes a breath like he’s been avoiding what he has to do and now has no choice but to face it. “Well, I better get inside. You good?”
“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”
“It might be a while.” His grimace implies apology, but I don’t need one. It feels good to be outside after so many days cooped up.
“Take as much time as you need. I’ll be busy exploring.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. Go.” I push him toward the house and finally he acquiesces and disappears through the back door.
I head toward the middle cage, still curious about the dog that has yet to make a sound. Louie darts back to his doghouse and hides, though the barking never stops. “It’s okay, big guy. I’m not going to bother you.” Louie doesn’t care. He still feels the need to yell at me.
I squat down in front of the middle gate as a bushy nose peeks out from the doghouse. “Hey, Sam, can you come see me?”
A head follows, then the body of a golden retriever mix.
“Oh my, you are a mess.” Hair is completely matted on the underbelly, with patches missing from both front legs and on the neck. She takes a hesitant step forward and quickly lifts her leg, moving in a more three-legged hop. Bryson didn’t mention any injury.
There’s no lock on the gate, and while this probably isn’t recommended for a novice, I know enough about dogs to take some risks. I carefully unhook the hinge and slide inside the kennel with her. She only makes it a couple of feet before giving up and waiting in a sit position with her paw raised.
I approach carefully. Bryson said she was sweet, but you never know how a dog is going to react to a stranger. “Hey, girl. Is your paw hurt?” I keep my voice smooth and careful, showing her I’m no threat. She whimpers and tries to walk again, only to quit after two agonizing steps.
“Don’t worry. I’ll come to you.” I get within arm’s length and her mangled tail wags excitedly.
Kneeling, I begin at her neck and start checking her fur and skin for any residual damage. There’s still some healing spots and scar tissue, but no new sores.
Her response is immediate and heartbreaking. She howls and pushes her nose into my neck like a big doggy hug.
“There, there, sweet girl. It’s all going to be okay.”
A great grooming, along with some tender loving care, and she’d be a wonderful pet for anyone.
I pick up her front right paw, and she whimpers, tugging slightly. Inside a massive amount of fur, three sharp burs are nestled into her foot. The pads are swollen and raw where she’s tried to bite at the pain. And based on the amount of hair around each bur, they’ve been in there for a while. “Poor Sammy girl. No wonder it hurts to walk.” I attempt to pull at the first one and quickly pull my hand back. “Ouch.” Two dots of blood form on my index finger.
Thankfully, I’m the type who likes to stay prepared.
“Okay, now this will hurt a little but not nearly as much as keeping those wretched things in there.” I turn her paw over and she yelps, high-pitched and pathetic. Her back legs press into the ground while she attempts to jerk her injured leg from my grip. I readjust my hold and slowly begin clipping at the hair until I can see how deep the burs have settled. Two are surface, but one is pretty severe.
I set down her paw, and Sam begins licking and biting at the spot while I search through my first-aid kit for any kind of ointment. The best I can find is some petroleum jelly. It’s not ideal, but as long as I get it off and she doesn’t swallow any, it should be fine. I squeeze the tube slightly and carefully massage it into her swollen pad. It seems to lessen the pain some because her chest relaxes and she stops gnawing at my hand. I flip open the pliers on my tool and tug at the first bur. It comes out quickly and easily but also exposes the infection that’s begun around her foot.
The second bur takes a little more finesse yet also comes out smoothly. The last bur is implanted in her foot, and the skin is so red and raw that I feel it will be too painful to simply try to pull it out. I hold her paw with one hand and search my kit with the other. There’s some antibiotic cream with a numbing agent in it. Again, not ideal, but leaving this thing in there isn’t an option either.
Careful with every motion, I take the process excruciatingly slow, alternating between easing out the bur and rubbing the cream into each newly exposed piece of flesh. Sam whines at first, but as the pain increases, her barks and growls are nearly as loud as Louie’s. I firm up my grip on her foot, even though she’s actively fighting me now. “We’re almost done, I promise.”
It feels like hours have passed when the bur finally comes completely free of the skin, grabbing on to overgrown fur as I pull. I cut away more hair until victory is achieved.
“We did it.” I sigh, exhaustion coating the words. Sweat trickles down my forehead and through my shirt. My knees and thighs ache from planting them into the ground, but the sacrifice was worth it. “Can you walk for me?” I stand and pull a little on her collar.
She takes a tentative step, feels the relief, and hobbles forward. She still has a limp, but with a few days of cleaning and treatment, she should be good as gold.
We walk over to her water station. After removing the three-gallon jug, I dip her foot inside the bowl to wash away any dirt still lodged in her paw. She licks at my hand while I’m cleaning, letting me know she’s not super comfortable with what’s happening.
“Almost done, sweet girl, I promise.” I use my T-shirt to wipe her paw dry and inspect the pads again. I don’t have a wrap, so I opt not to put more antibiotic cream on her foot today. “I’ll come see you tomorrow and get you completely squared away.” I scratch her bushy neck, and she plants a sloppy wet kiss on my cheek. Yeah, Sam is definitely a best friend waiting to happen.
I spend the rest of the time in her kennel pulling at weeds and shaking out the mat in her doghouse. She follows me everywhere despite her obvious soreness. The devil bur plant is growing along the outside of her cage and is way too vicious to uproot with bare hands. It’s also too thick to cut with any of the tools on my Leatherman. The barn I noticed earlier has a hose attached on the outside. I’m guessing that’s where Charlie keeps his tools and dog supplies.
Sam whimpers when I exit the gate, her water station jug in hand.
“Don’t worry. I’m just going to spray this out and get you some fresh water.” And maybe find some garden shears and gloves to take down the plant.
I’m halfway done with refilling the water when Bryson emerges from the back of the house. It’s only then that I check the time and realize it’s been nearly an hour since he went inside. It’s also then I realize this is the first time in weeks I haven’t counted the seconds hoping the day would end soon. In fact, nothing, not even my umpteen pints of ice cream, has made me feel as invigorated and satisfied as this last hour has.
“I came to check on you,” A flash of surprise brightens his face and he laughs. “And it’s a good thing I did.” He eyes me from my sweaty red face, down my wet T-shirt, to the scratched skin on my knees. “What on earth have you been doing out here?”
I toss the running hose where it won’t soak my tennis shoes and walk over to turn off the spicket. “Sam had burs in her foot. I cleaned them out, but we need to get rid of the bur weeds along the edge of her cage.” I wipe another round of sweat from my forehead and rest my hands on my hips.
Bryson stares at me, mouth open, eyes wide. “She let you touch her?”
“Yeah. She’s super sweet, just like you said.”
“I know she is, but she’s never let me touch her.” He glances over at Sam, who’s waiting patiently at the gate for me. “I tried last week and she nipped at my hand.”
“Weird. She came right to me. Maybe I remind her of Sue Ann.”
“Maybe.” He stares at her again, and this time I sense a regret that wasn’t there before. It bothers me, sending a jolt of protectiveness I can’t ignore.
“What did Charlie decide?” I ask, even though the pit in my stomach tells me I won’t like the answer.
“He’s going to surrender them to animal services tomorrow.”
“What? No! I thought he couldn’t part with them. I thought they reminded him of Sue Ann.”
“They do.” He turns sharply, his tone laced with stress and defeat, “But what other choice does he have? They aren’t adoptable in this state, and he’s doing more harm to them and to himself by keeping them.”
Adrenaline pulses through my limbs, conviction and passion I haven’t felt in months filling my chest. “I’ll do it.”
“Darcy.”
“No, really. I can do it.” I step closer, my voice coming close to a plea. “I’m a certified trainer, and yeah, I’m a little rusty, but I know how to read animals. It’s one of the few things I’m really very good at.”
He jams his hands through his hair and latches them behind his head. “It was an agonizing decision, but Charlie finally made it. I can’t go back in there and tell him not to do it.”
“He’s grieving, Bryson. And I know the death of a dream is not even in the same stratosphere as the death of a wife, but you don’t think rationally when you’re in the midst of trauma like he is. Let me take care of them and work with them. And afterwards, if he still wants to get rid of them, then at least they have a fighting chance to be adopted.”
He’s wavering; I can feel it. “How are you even going to have the time to do this?”
“Are you kidding me? All I have is time. So much in fact that I’m haunted by it. Please. If not for them, then for me.” I look out at Sam, hopefully trusting me to return, and feel more certain than ever that this is the path to healing my still-broken heart. “I need some kind of purpose in my life, Bryson.” The words choke me, and I take hold of his hand and squeeze it to my chest. “Will you please just ask?”
“Fine,” he growls, and I leap into his arms in a thank-you hug that nearly knocks us both to the ground.
Strong arms latch around my waist, keeping us securely planted. I expect him to release me as soon as we’re steady again, but he doesn’t. Instead, his grip pulls me closer and his breath teases the skin on my neck.
Electricity that feels completely different from the earlier adrenaline tingles down my spine and into my fingertips. I back away, embarrassed not only by my boldness but also my reaction to his touch, and put some distance between us.
His eyes lock with mine, and it’s a look I can’t define because I’ve never felt such intensity from one stare. It touches deep in my bones, makes every inch on my skin flush with confusing heat.
“Thank yo
u,” I whisper.
He jerks his gaze away, first to the ground and then toward Charlie’s house. “I’ll be right back.” Without looking at me again, he heads to the back door, his strides long and deliberate.
I busy myself with finishing the task at hand, needing some kind of distraction before he returns. There’s a scooper as well as a pair of shears in the barn. I take the water jug and flip it over into Sam’s station, then return for the tools.
Bryson’s gone another fifteen minutes, and I’m grateful. It gives me time to rationalize. Time to convince myself that whatever strange feeling that hug provoked, it was directly related to my overwhelming need to help these five animals. Nothing more.
When he finally appears again, Sam’s kennel is clean and free from plant hazards. I meet Bryson at the gate, trying my best to read his body language. It’s impossible.
“Well?”
Bryson sighs like I’ve lost my mind, and excitement simmers beneath my skin. “He’ll give you until the end of July. Not a day longer.”
“Yes!” I leap but am careful not to touch him this time.
“There’s a caveat. He wants them all adopted in that timeline. He has some of Sue Ann’s contacts and mentioned different adoption dog fairs that happen on the weekends. And he wants to see progress. Meaning he expects there to be fewer dogs here over time. If not, he’s going to reconsider.”
I nod, willing to agree to anything at this point. “No problem. A little TLC and I could have Sam placed this weekend.”
“Are you sure, Darcy?” His eyes hold a warning I don’t miss. “This isn’t the kind of thing you can change your mind about.”
“Have you ever known me to quit something?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“I won’t let you down. I promise.” The word burrows inside, takes root, becomes more than simply a promise, but a surety beyond any explanation. I was meant to save these dogs. Every single one of them.
Love and the Silver Lining Page 7