Tails from the Barkside by Brian Kilcommons & Sarah Wilson

Author:Brian Kilcommons & Sarah Wilson [KILCOMMONS, BRIAN]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780446571234
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2009-11-09T00:00:00+00:00

I took a deep breath. Turning to the men gathered inexplicably close behind me, I made a small suggestion. “Ah, you may want to step back a bit. I don’t know this dog well.” They scattered.

Turning my attention back to the dog, I chatted happily. “Urs, buddy. How about we go home?” He did not move a hair. Uh-oh. Peering into the crate, I laughed. “Come on, buddy. How you doing?” Not a tail twitch, not an ear movement. My throat tightened. In an ordinary situation, I would leave such a clearly stressed dog alone, but that was not an option. My little car would not hold a crate this size, and even if it could, I had no way of getting it to my car loaded as it was with an adult German Shepherd. I’m a strong woman, but I’m not that strong. Urs had to come out.

Bracing one knee behind the door so I could block any attempt to bolt, I eased the door open enough to reach in. Thankfully, the breeder had left a collar on him.

Urs remained frozen as I reached in. I laughed, trying to relax him. Touching him was like touching a furry cinder block. Every muscle was tight. All the blood left my hand, my wrist felt constricted, and my fingers felt fat and awkward. I fumbled with the lead. The clip kept slipping out of position. Many times in work with animals, the mental must override the raw physical instinct. My body was telling me, Retreat! Run! My brain won the coin toss, though.

I sang nonsense to him as happily as I could. No need to let him know I was nervous. Finally, the lead in place, I stepped away from the crate, allowed the door to swing slowly open, and waited. This was no time for yanking; he was stressed enough. Nothing moved inside the crate.

Bracing myself against the possibility that he might launch himself forward, I gave a gentle tug while praising him enthusiastically. Something stirred. I waited a few more seconds. Cautiously, he stepped out, splaying slightly as he hit the slick cement floor. He looked around, ears forward, tail in a relaxed position. Disoriented but fine, this dog clearly did not have aggression on his mind. I stroked him calmly on the back, but he paid no attention. He scanned the room, apparently looking for a familiar face. I was just one more unknown person in an unknown land after an inconceivable trip. Why should he say hi? Who was I to him?

I peered over the edge of the loading dock, four feet down. I scanned left and right for stairs. Nothing. “Miss,” called a dock employee. “Use the stairs inside. It’s the only way.” Thanking him, I led Urs back into the office.

I pushed the grubby door aside and entered the stuffy room once more. All heads turned. Urs—head down, tail out stiff—was still trying to negotiate this uniquely slick surface. Leaning against the lead, scrambling for

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