Authors: LYNN BOHART
Giorgio left Mary Fields to her crepes and used his cell phone to call the station.
Swan wouldn’t be back from the monastery for about an hour, so he made a decision to take a little side trip.
Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into the dirt parking lot of the Pasadena Humane Society focused now on assuaging his guilt
instead of solving a murder
.
The manufactured image of Angie’s look of surprise when he came home with a new dog
gave him all the confidence he needed
.
He parked in front of a one-story gray building surrounded by a bunch of scrub oaks.
The words “
prison camp
”
came to mind as he emerged from the car.
He entered a small, dreary office and stood at the counter until a young, affable man wearing gray overalls appeared through a side door.
After explaining his mission, the young man led Giorgio through a metal door into the back of the building where
f
luorescent bulbs cast a pallid wash across a line of tall metal cages
,
and the odors of urine and feces rose distinctly above the bleach used in a vain attempt to neutralize the smell.
It was enough to make Giorgio’s nose twitch
.
The young man left Giorgio to look around while he went to attend to the dogs in another room.
Twenty cages lined each wall
,
and behind each gate was a friendly face.
Wet noses pushed against the
gates
and
every tail wagged in anticipation of a ride home.
Giorgio remembered getting Butch at a place much like this, a forlorn puppy with brown, spiky hair
,
and a long wiry tail.
Butch had spent six happy years with the family, guarding their small apartment with a ferocious tenacity that intimidated everyone except his mother who would snap him on the snout and say, “Not now, Butch!”
It worked every time, making Giorgio wonder if that was how she’d managed his father’s equally ferocious libido.
It wasn’t until he was in his twenties that Giorgio realized his mother’s frequent headaches had miraculously stopped after his father’s death.
Staring into the eyes of all these homeless dogs, he remembered how much he
’d
enjoyed
taking Butch
to the park.
Butch loved to play fetch
,
and Giorgio would always tuck a tennis ball into his pocket.
One day, the ball took an errant bounce into the street.
Before Giorgio could stop h
im, Butch followed the
ball to the bitter end, coming to rest under the front wheel of a delivery truck.
Although he’d maintained a stoic exterior for the kids, Giorgio was devastated.
When Marie
and Tony
whined about getting another puppy, he
’d
cut
them
off.
Even Angie said they should consider another dog, but Giorgio was
adamant.
Too much work.
Too expensive.
Too much trouble.
Eventually, the requests stopped.
T
he t
ruth was
−
he didn’t think he could handle t
he emotional strain of
losing another canine friend. But n
ow, he would get a dog for Angie.
He walked the kennel wit
h his hands behind his back, glancing from side to side as if he were General Patton inspecting the troops.
He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for but felt sure he would know it when he saw it.
A small collie mix caught his attention
,
and he stopped for a closer look, squatting down and stretching out a finger for an enthusiastic lick.
Her long brown and white fur felt like silk
,
and he imagined her sitting demurely in Angie’s lap.
This one had possibilities.
He finished the right side of the aisle, passing a bulky black dog with runny eyes and an overgrown cocker whose eyes were barely visible.
The walkway ended at a cement wall.
He turned around to start up the other side intending to visit the collie mix again when something in the last cage on his right stopped him.
Sad, droopy eyes peered out from beneath a large, tattered blanket
. A
long, heavy snout lay flat against the floor.
Giorgio stared through the wire, curious about this dog.
The young kennel worker appeared again
,
and Giorgio flagged him down.
“Is this dog ill?”
“No,” he said, coming down the aisle.
“He’s lonely.
We found him on
Pascal Boulevard
about three weeks ago.”
“How long do you keep them, before you
…
you know?”
“Only about three weeks,” the worker replied.
“This little guy’s time is about up I’m afraid.”
“May I see him?”
“Sure.”
The worker pulled out a large ring filled with keys and opened the gate.
“He’s very gentle.”
Giorgio stepped in and the dog rose.
The blanket slipped off
revealing a young Basset Hound.
Giorgio squatted down
,
and the dog pushed a wet nose into his hand.
It was then Giorgio realized what had kept the dog from being adopted.
Across his back were a series of small, round burn marks, as if someone had repeatedly placed a lit cigarette against the fur until it singed the flesh be
neath
.
The wounds reminded him of the murder case of a small boy who was tortured to death in a similar fashion by his mother’s boyfriend
.
It was one of the last cases Giorgio had worked in
New York
and a big reason why he’d left.
The haunting image of the fresh skin of a four-year old child disfigured in that way was still almost too much to bear.
Now, here was a young dog, equally trusting as a child, and equally abused.
It was cruel and unfair.
Although the dog’s burns were scabbed over and would probably heal without much scarring, he looked as if he had small pox.
Giorgio cupped the dog’s chin and turned the head sideways. Behind his righ
t ear was a fresh, jagged scar.
“Someone’s abused this dog.”
“Yes,” the voice spoke softly behind him.
“He was in pretty bad shape when we found him. The doctor stitched him up
,
and the burn marks will go away, but people think he can’t be trusted. But honestly, he hasn’t shown any aggression since he’s been here.”
The dog allowed Giorgio to look him over as if he were a patient having his yearly exam.
The liquid brown eyes watched him
,
and the long rough tongue found its way to give Giorgio one good lick.
Giorgio wondered why dogs had ever allowed man to tame them.
He’d read once that horses aren’t really broken.
They
allow
themselves to be ridden.
Dogs are different
;
they welcome human companionship
. A
nd a dog’s deep-root
ed trust is with them for life.
Giorgio played with the long ears, carefully avoiding the recent injury.
The dog began to relax allowing his long tail to whip back and forth across the floor.
There was no anger in this dog.
No hatred for what humans had done to him.
Only a longing to be taken home and loved.
A tag hooked to his collar was inscribed with the name
“
Grosvner
”
.
Giorgio attempted to say it out loud.
“
According to my supervisor, y
ou don’t pronounce the
s
,” the young man corrected him.
“I guess it’s an English name.
You pronounce it like a grove of trees. Grove-ner.”
He enunciated it as if he were instructing someone in a foreign language.
Giorgio looked down at the dog again, completely smitten with the droopy eyes and heavy, bowed legs.
The Basset had beautiful black and brown markings and was clearly eager to please.
He’d already tucked his head under one of Giorgio’s legs, pushing against him for more attention.
Before he could think of a reason not to,
Giorgio said, “I’ll take him!”
The young man gave a broad smile.
“You won’t be sorry.
He’s a nice dog.
My aunt used to raise Bassets.
They make wonderful pets.
Do you have kids?”
“Yes, two,” Giorgio answered, as they started for th
e office.
“Great,” the man said.
“Ba
ssets are very good with kids.”
When they reached the exit the dog let out a melodious woof, telling Giorgio to hurry back.
The paper work took only a few minutes
,
and Grosvner emerged from the wire kennel as if he knew he was embarking on a new life.
Giorgio took the new leash and collar he’d just purchased and s
napped
it around the dog’s thick neck. The dog wiggled in between his legs as a way of accepting Giorgio as his new owner.
Dogs, Giorgio thought, were amazing animals.
Forgive and forget.
“Bye, Grosvner.”
The young man leaned over to pat the dog on the head.
“I’m glad you’re getting a new home.
You be a good dog.”
Grosvner whined and slapped him with his tail, then pulled at the leash to be gone.
Giorgio led the dog into the parking lot, shortening his stride to match his new friend.
When they reached the car, Grosvner needed a little push from behind to get into the police issued sedan.
When Giorgio attempted to shut the door behind him
though
, the latch didn’t catch and Grosvner almost fell out again.
Giorgio opened the door and slammed it a second time, but it just bounced open, making him curse under his breath. He’d reported the malfunction several times to the maintenance department, but gotten no response.
Finally, holding the handle up, Giorgio pressed the door closed with his hip until it latched.
When Giorgio walked around to the driver’s side
,
Grosvner met him.
Giorgio held him back and climbed in behind the wheel.