Dog On It (12 page)

“Exactly,” said this person, this woman whose voice I knew. “And you were highly recommended.”

“Really? That’s nice. Where do you want to start?”

“Maybe with some stats first, to get an overview. After that, I’d like to see the dogs, get a few pictures if I could.”

“No problem.” The shelter woman stepped behind the shed, and I couldn’t see her, either. “We’ll start in the office,” she said, her voice growing fainter as they moved away.

“And don’t let me forget,” said the other woman, almost out of my hearing range, “I’ve brought some treats.”

“Treats?”

And then, at the very edge of what I could pick up, maybe even beyond, the other woman said, “Dog biscuits. I’ve got a whole box in my car.”

Dog biscuits? A whole box in her car? Suzie! Suzie Sanchez! I started barking, barking and barking with all my might, hurling myself against the cage, again and again.

But they didn’t come. Instead, the metal door opened across the way. A man and a woman walked out, both in white coats. “What’s with him?” the man said.

“I think some of them just know,” said the woman.

“Get serious.”

They moved toward my cage. I went still.

“I mean it,” the woman said. “They know more than we give them credit for.”

The man shook his head. “I like dogs as much as anybody,” he said, “but that’s sentimental crap.”

The woman gave him an annoyed look, which he didn’t catch because he was opening my door. “Hey, boy,” he said, “Let’s—”

I bolted out before he finished his proposal, bolted out to freedom and Suzie San—

But not quite. The woman slipped a loop of rope over my
head as I went by, and now held on as I pulled her across the yard. The man grabbed on, too, and I came to a dead stop.

“Wow,” the woman said. “He’s so strong.” She reached out to give me a pat. I tried to bite her. She flinched and drew back, eyes wide. They led me—dragged me, actually—to the metal door, and through. It was very cold inside.

A cold place, with lights that were much too bright shining on machines I didn’t understand. Don’t get me started on machines. The lawn mower is one of the worst, and these, not much like lawn mowers, somehow looked as bad. I turned back toward the metal door: closed.

“Here you go, big fella,” said the man. “Hop right up.”

Up there? On the metal table? Why would I want to do that? I stayed where I was, four paws planted on the floor. The woman reached out, patted me. Like the other woman, the one at the front desk, she was an expert patter.

“Everything’s all right,” she said. Pat pat.

“Just need to take a quick look at you,” said the man. “Then we’ll be all done.”

Their voices were gentle. And their hands, too: They lifted me up onto the table. It was cold, that metal table.

“Lie down, there’s a good fella.”

I stayed where I was, standing up, panting a little despite the cold.

“Lie down, you’ll feel much better,” the woman said.

“Have you out of here in no time,” said the man.

The woman glared at him again. I didn’t know why, didn’t care. My mind was on something else: Did he mean have me out of this room or out of the whole place, the shelter? Getting out of the shelter: That was what I wanted. I was so busy thinking about getting out of the shelter that I didn’t pay much attention to them nudging me over onto my side, oh so gently. Every move was gentle. They knew how to handle my sort of guy.

Then came more patting, and I was hardly aware of some kind of clamps, maybe made of rubber, swinging down over me and locking me into place on the tabletop; hardly aware until it was too late. I tried to struggle, get up, thrash around, just move my body somewhere, somehow, but I couldn’t. I barked. All I could do, so I did it. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the man wheeling a machine closer, a machine with a long tube that ended in a sharp needle. I barked with all my might, so loud I missed the sound of the door opening, almost missed the voice of the shelter woman.

“. . . and this is where we—Oh, sorry, didn’t know you were busy.”

“No problem,” said the man.

“We could come back later,” the shelter woman said.

“No,” said another woman. I went silent. “I really should witness this,” she added. Suzie! Suzie Sanchez, and I couldn’t see her, clamped down the way I was, back to the door.

“We use the most humane methods possible,” said the shelter woman.

“State of the art,” the man said. “And put that away, if you don’t mind—no pictures.”

“How long does it take?” said Suzie.

“From when we get the IV in?” the man said. “Thirty seconds, tops.”

“Not even,” said the shelter woman.

Then a new sound started up, low and wild. That was me, growling. The woman in the white coat patted me with her gentle hand. I growled some more.

“Is that normal?” Suzie said. “That resistance?”

“Wouldn’t call it resistance,” said the shelter woman. “It’s just so unfamiliar in here, that’s all.” At that moment I felt a sharp jab high up on one of my back legs.

“Now we just turn this little valve over here and—”

“Hey,” said Suzie. “He looks kind of familiar.”

“The dog?” the man said.

“Yes, the dog,” Suzie said. “Where did he come from?”

“Out in the desert somewhere, maybe as far as New Mexico,” said the shelter woman. “A biker brought him in—no collar, no tags.”

I heard footsteps, moving fast, and then Suzie came in sight. Suzie! She looked down at me, eyes narrowed, face worried. “Chet? Is that you?” What a question! Did I need a tag dangling from Suzie’s neck to identify her?

I was all clamped in place, couldn’t move a thing. Yes, yes, it’s me, Chet, pure and simple. How was I going to—and then I realized: couldn’t move a thing
except my tail.
I raised that tail of mine and thumped it down with the loudest thump I could make. It shook that cold metal table, shook that whole cold room from wall to wall.

“Don’t touch that valve,” Suzie said.

I rode shotgun in Suzie’s car, a box of dog biscuits between us. Sometimes she reached in and gave me a biscuit; sometimes I leaned over and gave her a lick on the face.

“What were you doing way out here, Chet?” she said. And: “Where’s Bernie?”

I gave her another lick, all I could think of doing. She laughed. “Stop it—you’ll cause an accident.” I stopped, sort of. Suzie smelled of fruit—apples and strawberries. I wasn’t a big fruit eater, but I liked fruit smells. Suzie smelled very good for a human, among the best I’d ever come across. There were flower smells mixed in, too, those little yellow flowers that bees—don’t get me started on bees, I’ve had more than enough—

And all of a sudden I thought of Madison, looking down at me from that building at the mine, and all those bad people. I turned my head, glanced out the rear window. Suzie checked the mirror.

“What’s back there, Chet?” she said.

All I saw was traffic, moving along in the usual way.

“I could have sworn you had a thought just now,” she said. “Give a lot to know what it was.”

My ears went up all by themselves, no idea why. Suzie handed me another biscuit. Where did she get biscuits this good, so crunchy? I tried to take my time with it and couldn’t, gobbling it right up. Then I stuck my nose out the side window. Great smells, zipping by so fast I could hardly keep up. A bird glided by, low to the ground. Didn’t like birds, had never managed to catch a single one, although I’d seen cats do it, even make it look easy. I barked at this bird, but it didn’t seem to hear, so I barked some more. Great to be right here, up and doing! Was there a better life than mine? You tell me.

“Chet! What’s gotten into you?”

I pawed at the dashboard for no reason at all; oops, maybe ripping it the littlest bit.

“That’s leather.”

I knew that, of course, knew the feel, smell, taste of leather very well. I felt bad, but not for long. The feel, smell, taste of
leather—all just great—took over my whole mind. I came very close to scratching the dashboard again. What a world!

The road curved back and forth up a mountainside. From the top, we looked down over flatland, built up as far as the eye could see—to more mountains, far away and hazy—with human stuff.

“The pollution’s not too bad today,” Suzie said. “You can actually see why they call it the Valley.”

Because why? I didn’t get it. But I knew the Valley was home, and sat forward a little bit. We drove down, turned onto a freeway, hit stop-and-go traffic. Bernie grew very frustrated in stop-and-go traffic, muttering to himself and sometimes pounding on the wheel, but Suzie didn’t seem to mind at all. She whistled a soft little tune—I’d heard lots of men whistle, but never a woman before this—and sometimes flashed me a smile. Suzie and I got along great.

We were down to the last biscuit when I spotted a familiar sight: the big wooden cowboy statue outside the Dry Gulch Steak House and Saloon, one of Bernie’s favorites. I liked it, too. They had a patio out back where my guys were welcome. The scraps on that patio—don’t get me started.

At that moment I heard a funny swishing sound.

Suzie glanced over. “Getting close to home, huh?”

I realized the funny swishing sound came from my own tail, whipping back and forth against the seat.

“Don’t worry,” Suzie said, taking out her camera and snapping a photo of the wooden cowboy through her open window. “Won’t be long now.”

I knew worry, usually did my worrying sitting up, head tilted to one side, but I had no worries now. We got off the freeway, made a few turns, and then we were driving up Mesquite Road. There was Iggy’s place, with Iggy in the window! He spotted me
and started jumping up and down in that weird way of his, his fat jowls wobbling in the opposite direction of every leap. No room in the car for me to jump up and down, too, which was what I wanted to do, so I just pawed at the dashboard.

“Chet!”

We rolled up to our place, mine and Bernie’s. Everything looked the same—the three trees in the front yard, the rock at the end of the driveway, the fence separating us from old man Heydrich. The only difference was a huge sign standing by the street with a picture of one of my guys on it, wearing a collar that looked a lot like mine, the one I’d lost. Hey, in fact, it was mine, the brown leather collar with the silver tags—meaning what? I couldn’t quite figure it out.

Suzie read the sign. “‘Have you seen Chet? Big reward. No questions asked.’” She parked in the driveway, opened her door. I flew out, right over her, raced around the yard, making hard cuts this way and that, earth clods flying, took brief stops to mark the big rock, all three trees, the fence, and what was this? The front door, too? Uh-oh. And then: It opened.

Bernie! But he looked terrible, face thinner and deep dark patches under his eyes.

“What’s going—” he began. “Chet!” His whole face changed. In a flash, he looked his very best. Bernie reached out for me.

Things happened quickly after that. Somehow Bernie got knocked down, and so did lots of stuff, maybe including a lamp and the old hat stand with Bernie’s baseball cap collection. We rolled around on the floor. Baseball caps rained down on us.

“Chet! Stop!”

A little later, we were relaxing in the TV room, Bernie and Suzie at opposite ends of the couch, me on the floor, front legs curled up
under my chin, nice and comfortable. They were drinking wine and munching pretzels, the only snack available; as for me, I’d had all I could possibly consume and more.

“I’m serious about the reward,” Bernie was saying.

“Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not being silly. I really want you to—”

“Not another word on the subject. I’m just so happy I was there.”

“I insist.”

“All right—you can take me out to dinner sometime.”

“I can?”

They looked at each other, then away. Bernie’s gaze fell on me. The expression in his eyes changed, the way it did when he was on the job and getting one of his ideas. That’s how we divided the work: Bernie was the idea man, I did the digging. “Where was this again?” he said.

“Sierra Verde,” said Suzie.

“Sierra Verde, Chet? What were you doing way out there?”

I wasn’t saying. The details were fading fast. All I remembered clearly was the feel of the choke chain, Madison’s smell, and zooming down the road on the motorcycle. Oh, yeah: and Mr. Gulagov and his gang.

“. . . for this story on shelters,” Suzie was saying. “I needed a rural place like Sierra Verde for balance. Total luck.”

“Bikers?” Bernie said.

“That’s what they told me. And something about finding him in New Mexico.”

Bernie reached down, touched my back. “What happened here?”

“They didn’t say.” Suzie put on glasses. Always so strange to me, always a little scary, maybe because glasses made humans
seem even more like machines than they already were. “Looks like it’s healing nicely,” she said.

Now I remembered that part, too.

“What’re you growling about, boy?”

I raised my head and barked, one short, loud bark.

“What’s bothering you?”

I gazed at Bernie. He was watching me closely. Mountain lions, Bernie. Ah, what the hell. I was home, safe and sound. I lowered my head, closed my eyes. Their talk flowed back and forth over me, very nice sounds. Suzie laughed. Whatever Bernie said next made her laugh some more. Bernie laughed, too—he had this quiet little laugh he did when he made someone laugh; I didn’t hear it often. Was the distance between them on the couch shrinking a bit? I kind of thought so but was suddenly much too tired to open my eyes. The rug, so soft, my belly so full, and here I was, home. A delicious sleep was on the way, would be on me real—

The phone rang, a sound I hated. Sleep got pushed away. I opened my eyes. Bernie was talking into the phone. “Nothing new,” he said. “I’m sorry.” He hung up, turned to Suzie; yes, they were a little closer together, and she wasn’t wearing her glasses. “A missing-persons case. We’re getting nowhere.”

“Who’s the person?”

“A teenager named Madison Chambliss.”