Bloodlines

doorbell.
    “Steve, wake up!” I pelted the window with another spray of gravel. “Wake up!” My voice sounded high and hoarse.
    India, who must have been maintaining her usual vigil over Steve’s deep sleep, finally pressed her nose to the window, assessed the situation, and vanished. A few seconds later, Steve repeated her performance and then appeared at the door. Except for his scalp, which remained almost hairless from Rhonda’s clippers, he hadn’t shaved, and his eyes were heavy. He was barefoot, but he’d put on a pair of tan cords, and he leaned placidly against the door frame slowly buttoning his white shirt.
    All of a sudden, tears were running down my face. I’d rescued Missy—I’d brought the golden to Steve—I’d done my part; it was his turn now. I’ll bet that when the patient’s anesthetic wears off, the surgeon’s does, too. “Steve, I have two dogs here.” I sobbed and caught my breath. “One is very sick, but I can’t bring her in— Steve, I’ve been to a puppy mill—It was worse than—”
    He started toward me.
    “Don’t touch me!” I ordered him frantically. “I’m covered in filth. You’ll make the other dogs sick. Stay away from me!” By then, though, his arms were wrapped around me. I shoved against his chest and tried to push him away, but, malamutes or no malamutes, his arms are stronger than mine. “Don’t touch me!” I yelled.
    “Hey, let me worry about that,” he said calmly. Then he asked to see the dogs. Have I ever told you how much I love Steve? He is honestly the greatest veterinarian in the world. Even so, I was scared to have him examine the golden, terrified of what he’d conclude. Steve and I met the day I brought Vinnie to this clinic for the last time. I held her in my arms while he gave her the peaceful release she wanted. Vinnie was eager to leave; she could hardly wait. Steve was her celestial travel agent. The pain at the end was mine, intense and physical.
    “The golden is in bad shape,” I warned him. “She’s pregnant, and she’s starving, and God knows what else. The malamute is okay, I think, except for whatever she picked up there. She wasn’t there very long. Steve—”
    “Keys?” Steve was peering into the back of the Bronco.
    “What?”
    “Your keys. Unless you want me to examine the dogs through—”
    “No, I guess not.”
    “And put some shoes on,” he said. “You’re shaking.”
    The temperature must have been close to freezing, but my socks were wool—warm when it’s wet. I looked down. Steve was barefoot in a puddle of water.
    I handed him the keys. “Steve, there was a dead man there,” I blurted out. “At the puppy mill, in one of the sheds, there was a body. A tall man with weird white hair. Steve, I think I know who he was.”
    But Steve wasn’t listening. He’d opened the tailgate and half-crawled into the Bronco. His voice rumbled softly; he was talking to the dogs. He cares more about live dogs than he does about dead men. So do I, of course. So do I.
    An hour later, I was sitting at Steve’s kitchen table drinking sweet, milky tea and patting Lady, the pointer. I didn’t even have to move my hand. I held it still, and Lady kept running her smooth, soft head under it. Pointers make wonderful companions, beautiful, intelligent, affectionate, and, if need be, self-patting, too. I must have looked like hell. My hair was wet from a long, hot, decontaminating shower, and I was dressed in a vet tech’s baggy blue-green pants and top, the only clothes available in anything close to my size. Everything I’d worn at the puppy mill was sealed in a trash bag for me to take home and empty into a strong solution of chlorine bleach. I’d reached Rita, who reported that when she’d been filling the dogs’ bowls from the big bag of food in the closet, Kimi had somehow managed to weasel her way in, stick her muzzle in the bag, grab a gigantic mouthful, dash away, and then toss the food all over the floor. Rowdy had then decided to claim his share of the scattered kibble. Rita had wisely let them fight it out. The food had vanished in seconds, neither dog had been hurt, and Rita was never, never feeding those monsters again. As I’ve mentioned, people are the real challenge. I’d instructed Rita, but she’d ignored me. First you tie up the dogs, or you put them on a down-stay. Only then do you open the closet. But I apologized to Rita, thanked her, made sure that Rowdy and Kimi had water, and thanked