Somewhere Out There(55)

“Come on,” Randy said, standing up from his desk and heading out of his office. “I brought in your first pup this morning. She’s a sweetie, but she’s had a rough time of things. You’re exactly what she needs.”

I followed him as he walked toward the kennel, and Mendez followed me. From the linoleum-lined hallway, I could hear the echoes of the dogs barking, excited as the other vet techs took them out of their pens for their midmorning play sessions in the fenced yard. When we entered the room that housed the animals, Mendez, as he always did, sat down in the chair next to the door, and Randy went directly to the last pen on the right-hand side of the first row. I went with him.

“Here she is,” he said, and I crouched down and looked through the chain-link gate.

The dog was curled up in the far corner, her fluffy, tan tail wrapped around the front of her body like a blanket. She looked to be about forty pounds, and her nose was tucked beneath her hind leg. She was shaking. “Hey, sweetie,” I said, glancing at the tag on the gate to see if she had been given a name, but the space was blank. I made a kissing sound, and she looked up at me, the fear she felt obvious in her big, brown eyes. “It’s okay, baby,” I murmured. “It’s all right, sweet girl.”

“The people at the shelter called her Wendy,” Randy said, “but I thought you might come up with something better. She’s about nine months old.” He handed me the key to the kennel. “I’ve got other clients to see, so why don’t you spend the day with her? Get to know each other a bit. Chandi has everything you need to take with you tonight at the front desk. Food, a bowl, et cetera.”

“You don’t need me to do anything else today?” I asked, straightening back up to look at him face-to-face. “I wanted to check on Winston.” Randy’s face fell, and my stomach heaved.

“He didn’t make it through the night,” Randy said. “I’m sorry, but the infection damaged his heart. He went in his sleep.”

I bit my lower lip as a few tears rolled down my cheeks. Losing animals, bearing witness to their deaths, was part of this job, and yet every time I went through the process, the sorrow I’d worked so hard to push down came rushing back. It never got any easier.

Randy set a comforting hand on my shoulder, gave it a squeeze, and then a moment later, was gone. I put the key in the lock on the gate, and slowly opened it. Again, the dog lifted her head, gazing at me with a worried intensity. Her tail lifted once, twice, wagging a nervous warning. That was something I’d learned early on working with dogs, that when they wagged their tails, it could mean any number of things: fear, excitement, or hesitance. It could also mean they were about to attack.

“Hey there, puppy,” I said in a low, soothing voice. How you spoke to a dog was just as important as what you said. She needed to know I wasn’t a threat, so after I locked the gate behind me, I got down on my hands and knees, to be at her level. “It’s okay,” I said. “It’s all right, sweet girl.”

She tensed, and tucked her tail between her back legs, eyeing me. I was just a couple of feet away, so I lifted one arm, holding my hand out, fingers curled under so she could sniff me. In six years, I’d never been bitten, and I didn’t want to start now. Randy wouldn’t have given me a vicious animal, nor would Myer have approved it.

The dog lifted her head and stood up, tail still tucked between her legs as she took one hesitant step, then two, toward me. “That’s it,” I said, in a singsong tone. “Good girl. That’s a good girl. Come here, you sweet thing.” I kept completely still, allowing her to make the decision to come to me.

Finally, she stretched out her neck and sniffed my hand. She took another step, moving her wet nose to my arm, allowing my fingers access to her neck. When I scratched her, she startled but didn’t pull away, allowing me to move my hand up and over her head, down her back and side to her belly. There wasn’t a dog I’d met who didn’t succumb to a good belly rub, and this girl was no exception. As my hand touched her there, her body softened, and she rolled to the ground, over onto her back to give me better access.

“Good girl,” I said again, looking her over as I loved her up. She was tan with black markings, likely some kind of shepherd mix. Her fur lay flat against her body, and though her tail was full, it had a wiry texture that reminded me of a Labrador retriever.

“What should I name you?” I asked her as I ran my fingers through her fur, giving her a full-body massage. She grunted and wiggled on her back, encouraging me to continue. “Wendy doesn’t work, does it?” I paused, thinking. “What about Jazz? Or Trixie?”

Her ears perked at the sound of the second name, so that’s what I decided to call her. With the long “e” sound at the end, it was similar enough to the name she’d been given by the shelter that she would still respond to it, but Trixie had more personality. More pizzazz.

I smiled until my fingers hit something raised and rough along her rib cage. “What’s this?” I said, using two hands to move her fur out of the way so I could see what I had only felt, and my eyes landed on several thick red scars that ran the length of her left side. My bottom lip quivered, and then I leaned down to rest my face on her warm body. Someone had beaten this poor pup, with something big and hard enough to break her skin.

“It’s okay,” I crooned as I righted myself and looked her straight in the eye. “I’ll take care of you now. No one will hurt you again.”