The Dog Who Saved Me by Susan Wilson

Author:Susan Wilson
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781250014351
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

25

Polly is sitting in a lawn chair in her front yard. Her voluminous caftan is mottled shades of pink and lime, a curious but unidentifiable pattern smeared across her body. Her reddened eyes clash with the pink. Her beehive hairdo is tilted slightly to one side. As I climb out of my truck, she pushes herself out of the chair and stomps over to me, apprehending me before I set a foot on her property. One finger points at me. “How could you?”

“Simmer down, Polly, I didn’t—”

“You colluded.”

She’s got me on that one. “I talked with Roger, sure. But I told him we wouldn’t—”

“Give them back.”

“Polly, I don’t have them.”

Her mouth begins to quiver, a word I’d heard but never before actually seen happen. As the realization dawns on her that her cats are long gone, she begins to make disjointed utterances, and I worry that she’s having some kind of seizure or stroke. Then she pulls herself back from the brink. “Why, Cooper? Why did he take all of them?”

Somewhere in my training, there must be a protocol for this. But if there is, I don’t recall it. I reach out and pat her shoulder, a pat that becomes a full body hug as she throws herself against me. Her weeping is dampening the front of my uniform.

“I want to press charges.”

“For what?”

“Catnapping.”

I literally bite my tongue against an inappropriate chuckle. “Let’s call it feline theft.”

“Purr-loined.” I can feel her laughter against my chest. A laughter that evaporates pretty quickly. Roger is a shit.

“Make me a cup of tea, will you, Polly?”

The yellow dog is sitting in the backseat. His head is framed by the window; he is looking at us with a curious expression of concern. As he’s regained his body mass, the wrinkles around his face have become expressive instead of simply too loose skin.

“That the dog you rescued from the woods?”

“Yeah. He look at all familiar to you?” I ask everyone I meet this question.

“Maybe. Lots of yellow Labs in Harmony Farms.

“What about the Haynes?” Polly is one of those rare people whom the Haynes brothers seem to like. She’s hired them for years to do her odd jobs.

“I don’t think they go in for purebreds, but maybe. If somebody gave it to them, say. Why don’t you go ask them?”

Oh, I will.

* * *

The dog in the back of my truck is not just a mystery; he’s a crime. Or, rather, a crime victim. If he were a human being, the cops would be all over this, trying to find the perpetrator and bring him to justice. To me, it’s obvious that someone abused this animal, certainly left him for dead, even may have actively tried to kill him, and here I am, treating him like a regular old lost dog, albeit one who needs more care than most, and, as with the rest of the unclaimed freight languishing in my kennel, I think that my main job is to find a new home for him.

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