A New Leash on Life (2 page)

Ever since Chloe moved out, I lacked life, like a black hole had taken refuge in the pit of stomach, swallowing everything I had become, everything I would ever be. I faced hell, its flames flickering up to scare any residual joy left for future days. The sun vanished, the birds flew away, the flowers refused to lift their petals in a smile, and the hope of a good day ahead no longer shined its pristine light on me. I stared down a tunnel with nothing more than blackness for my company now. Chloe buried me under a pile of slick mud and skipped off to live her life in the limelight with strangers who couldn’t care less about her safety, her emotional well-being, or her past.

I walked over to my vanity and squared off at myself in the mirror. My jaw clenched. My eyes glossed over. Life collapsed inside me. I turned to face Floppy again. She mirrored my sadness. “Fuck her, right?”

Floppy stared up at me and blinked, as if willing me to sit and pet her until the end of days. So, I did. “Never again,” I said to her. “No one will ever do this to me again.”

She eyed me as if understanding my words. “So, now what, huh? What should I do with the rest of my life?” Her eyes darted back and forth between me and the window, as if at a loss, too. “We could take a long vacation you and me. I can rent an RV, and we can travel across the country. You can sit right up in the front seat next to me, and we can stop at all the great local doggie shops.”

I cradled her, and within minutes she drifted off into a heavy sleep. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll do something worthwhile, something that’ll erase Chloe from our lives forever.” I rested my head against hers and attempted to drift off to a restful sleep, too, hoping somewhere in my dreams I’d find an answer.

Two days later, my answer came.

My mother screamed out from the kitchen. I flew down the staircase, around the dining room doorway, and into the kitchen. Floppy was lying on her side, stiff as a cutting board. “She’s not breathing,” my mother screamed then reverted back to pacing and crying.

I ran to Floppy’s side and shook her. Nothing. “What happened?”

“I handed her a treat.” My mother choked on tears.

I pried open her mouth, stretched my fingers to the back of her throat. I fingered the tip of the treat. It lodged itself deep down. I strained to wrap my fingers around it, and then I yanked at it, pulling out a hunk of string cheese.

I shook her again. Still nothing. I listened for signs of breath, and heard nothing except for my mother’s frantic cries. I opened her mouth again and placed my own over hers and performed a series of rescue breaths on her. After several, she opened her eyes in a panic and wiggled under my touch. She coughed and choked and trembled. My mother yelped, which caused Floppy to jump up on her short little legs and circle around us.

I petted her and she whimpered in joy, burying her cute face in between my legs. I couldn’t smother her in enough kisses and hugs. I cried, hugging my little girl and reassuring her that her world had corrected itself, and treats, hugs, and long walks would return in full force.

When she looked up at me with her brownie, droopy eyes, she thanked me with a heavy blink. I saved her life. My pulse fired up, charged with a purpose far greater than any I’d yet to experience.

I had better things to do with my life than sit around and cry over a girl who didn’t need me or appreciate me anymore. A greater mission surfaced now, one that had nothing at all to do with curves, long hair, or pouty lips.

Chapter Two

Thirteen years later

Running a no-kill animal shelter carried a host of troubles, but none powerful enough to launch me into questioning whether or not I walked on the right path. I lived to help animals. I would do whatever it took to ensure they thrived. Animals had every bit as much of a right to inhabit the world as human beings did. Orphanages didn’t put children to sleep because no one wanted to adopt them. They took care of them, loved them and protected them. Why should dogs, cats, and other domesticated animals be treated any differently?

When I first took over the shelter, I removed the word euthanasia from appearing anywhere in any form. I fired all the previous workers because none of them believed running a no-kill shelter in Elkwood would last. I refused to cater to this belief. I would just as soon take the needle myself than administer it to any healthy, adoptable animal.

I hired assistants and handlers who mirrored my philosophy that all animals should enjoy the same freedom for life that human beings did. They also lived and breathed their work, working without breaks to round up foster homes and other no-kill shelters with capacity, should we overflow.

We scrutinized adoption applicants as if they were adopting a child. We visited their homes. We talked with their neighbors. We performed background checks. We followed up with visits to ensure the safety and well-being of our adopted pets. We refused anyone unfit.

I certainly hadn’t entered veterinary school considering money as a catalyst to my actions. I enrolled purely out of my love and respect for animal welfare. Once a full-fledged doctor, the vast amount of purebred dogs that would come in for treatments for illnesses triggered by their unfortunate births to mothers in puppy mills sickened me. Unknowing parents would purchase their adorable puppies from puppy mill supporting pet stores. These puppy mills over-bred dogs in unhealthy, overcrowded kennels. This often resulted in purebred dogs suffering from diseases often too expensive to treat. So, talk of the needle would erupt, and I would cry myself to sleep and curse the day when I decided to become a veterinarian.

After my parents’ early deaths, I cashed in my inheritance and bought the town’s only animal shelter, a decrepit institution where dogs usually went to die alone.

I’d risk my own life for them, as would my trusty assistants and handlers.

~ ~

An angry storm churned up the Atlantic and headed straight for us. I piled five cases of water bottles onto my cart and steamrolled down the aisles of BJ’s. I loaded up on canned kidney beans, chicken noodle soup, and canned peaches. I zoomed down the candy aisle. To weather this storm, we’d at least need some Charleston Chews and Snickers. A few moments later, food staples in hand and enough water to irrigate a small drought-ridden farm, I headed towards the empty registers.

Millie smiled at my endless parade of canned fruit and vegetables. “You’re crazy for staying.”

I heaved the cases of water bottles onto the sliding shelf. “I won’t leave them. You know that. Besides, when have you ever known me to back down from a threat like this, huh? I weathered Hurricane Harriet a couple of years ago, remember?”

“The weatherman didn’t forecast that one to wipe out the town.” She peered up at me, her eyes furrowed towards the bridge of her nose. “You should rent a box truck, pile all of those dogs, cats, and whatever other animals you’ve got there at the shelter, and get the hell out of town. You still have time.”

“If only that option existed.” I flipped through my wallet and handed her my credit card.

“You’re going to be all alone.”

“Trevor, Natalie, and Melanie are hanging back with me.”

“You guys are all crazy, then. When they say mandatory evacuation, I listen.”

“Well, none of us at the shelter takes orders easily. So, we’ll just have to take our chances.”

Millie scanned my items and within a few minutes gripped the sales slip with two arthritic fingers, and I signed it. “Please take care, okay?” Her wrinkles dug deep into her forehead and the corners of her eyes.

I patted her hand. “I promise I won’t do anything crazy like peek outside for a view.” I smiled and pushed off, steadying my galloping heart for a crazy few days ahead. I sure hoped my roof wouldn’t collapse.

God help us.

~ ~

I drove down Elmwood Drive towards the shelter. Cape Cod-style houses lined both sides of the two-lane road, all of them boarded up and braced for the storm. Weathermen forecasted this one to hit us straight on as a category three or four. The flooding would be the real issue for many of these homes in the low-lying valley of Elkwood. Thankfully, the shelter sat on a hill.

I arrived back at the shelter and Natalie, Trevor, and Melanie had dismantled the front showcase of literature, removing the pamphlets with loving, precious faces of dogs and cats looking for good homes.

“I’ve got a ton of supplies in my truck,” I said to them. They dropped everything from their arms and rushed to my aid. We piled pounds and pounds of kibble and treats in the front waiting area. “If things get bad enough, these can serve as sandbags.”

No one laughed.

“I’m kidding,” I said.

“We’re going to need a lot of sage to get through this storm,” Melanie, my best friend and reiki master, said. “When things aren’t so pressing, I’m going to help you come up with a plan B for these types of events.” She dropped a case of water on the counter and looked up at me with panic in her eyes. Melanie, the queen of bliss and tranquility, never panicked. That’s what I loved most about her. She leveled my moods with her reiki, candles, sage, and balanced emotions.

I fiddled with the Snickers and canned peaches, lining them up on the front desk like a well-executed team of soldiers preparing for battle. “You’re more than welcome to leave before the storm hits. No one is forcing you to be here.”

She balanced her hands on her hips and inhaled, then released it with ease, never taking her kind eyes off of me. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thank you,” I said, rounding the front desk. “How about if we walk the dogs before we can’t anymore?” I walked past my dear friend, the same friend who swore she’d only succumb to yelling and freaking out if I ever dangled her out of ten-story building. Miss Master of Healing and everything yin and yang didn’t fall under the pressures that would crush the average person. But even though she relaxed into her breaths and draped her hands on her waist as if ready to lunge into a peaceful walk on the beach, I sensed her fear. “I’ll take Trooper, Tucker, and Snowball,” I said to Trevor and Natalie as I rushed past them towards the kennels. They trailed behind me, keeping up with my pace. Melanie stayed in the front.

“Olivia, I think we might need to board up the front windows,” Trevor said. “My dad called me and said the storm had slammed through his bay window. The storm is only a category two for them.”

“No need to panic,” I said to him.

“Right,” he said. His face turned white and he looked about ready to throw up.

Trevor, eager with a boyish, gingery grin, always looked out for me. Once he even passed up a spring break trip to Cozumel because three of the volunteers stopped coming suddenly. He loved the dogs and couldn’t bear to think of them cooped up without proper exercise and socialization. So, he canceled his trip and waited to go until I had secured and trained more volunteers. He actually made out in that deal, because on that very trip he met his boyfriend, Michael. They had signed up for the same booze cruise and hit it off so instantly that Michael moved up from Florida the very next month.

“Let’s try to get in all the walks first, and then we’ll secure the windows.”

“Right, boss,” he said. “I’ll take the big guy here.” He referred to Max, our resident Rottweiler who would rather cuddle up to one of us than eat. Anyone who wanted a hundred-pound laptop would be thrilled to be his companion. Unfortunately, no one had come through the shelter seeking such love in the two months that Max had been abandoned at the shelter’s front door. Typical cowardly drop-off method. Of course Natalie often argued that this method trumped ditching the poor, defenseless animals on the side of the interstate. Natalie, my exuberant and upbeat assistant, always pointed out the bright side of any dirty coin. She could make trash look good by citing the value in composting. She could bring out the beauty in a dishrag by remarking on the brainpower it required to build a machine brilliant enough to manufacture it. Natalie, different in a theatrical way, could drive a person crazy after a small fraction of time. Her voice climbed just as high as any gifted soprano when greeting visitors to the shelter or perking up a depressed pet. Her bouncy spirit could get under my skin, but she livened up the shelter to a level more akin to a newborn nursery than to the place families came to dump off their pets.

“Olivia,” Natalie said. “I don’t think Snowball is going to make it out for a walk today.” She looped a leash around her shoulders and headed over to Snowball’s kennel. “She’s been throwing up all morning and is looking like she lost her best friend.”

“She didn’t eat today,” Trevor added. “She wouldn’t even look at the treats, either.”

Snowball had arrived at the shelter in a wire crate a few days ago. Someone had dropped her off outside the door with a note saying she had grown too large. Indicated by her matted white fur, earfuls of mites, and half-inch too long nails, the poor girl had been neglected for far too long. I named her Snowball because I couldn’t bear to call her by the ill-conceived name referenced on the note. What sane person would ever imagine that a purebred Siberian husky would ever remain small enough to be called Tiny?

“Maybe the pig’s ear I fed her isn’t agreeing with her,” Natalie said.

“You brought in pig’s ears again?” I asked.

“They love them.” Natalie’s voice morphed into its unnatural, animated tone.

I stopped in front of Snowball’s kennel, and she didn’t jump to her feet to greet me. Instead, her eyes crawled up to meet mine, and then lowered again. Tears stained the fur beneath her eyes a dark brown. The three of us stood in silence watching her. “Maybe she senses the storm,” Trevor said.

I’d seen too many cases like Snowball’s in my time working at Shubert’s Animal Hospital to understand that the poor little girl sensed little at the moment. “We need to get her into the isolation kennel.”

Natalie looked about ready to burst into tears. Trevor sighed, wiping his strained eyes with the back of his hands. “I’ll get her kennel ready,” Natalie said before heading off to the lonely kennel reserved for those doggies with a possible communicable disease. No doubt, Natalie would be placing the flowery blanket on top of the sick bed for her.