The Dogs Were Rescued (And So Was I) (18 page)

“She’s been shot,” he said. “Like I thought.”

“
Shot?!
” I’d almost forgotten that he had mentioned this possibility before.

“That’s buckshot. It’s deep in her torso in all these spots. There may be more in the areas not in the X-ray. Whoever shot her shot from a distance so they’re spread out, not all clustered like they would be if the shooter had been close.”

“What the hell?”

“I know. Unfortunately, we see this a lot with strays. Somebody may have shot her when she was on the street. Or whoever had her and clearly used her in breeding—that was one big fatty uterus I removed, and you can see she’s had a few litters—they may have shot her to get her to leave the property when they were done. Who knows?”

I was seething and my head was reeling. It wasn’t cancer, but a human did this intentionally? Inflicted this on a defenseless
dog
? “Did you remove them?”

“No. It would do more damage to dig in there and pull these out. She’s built up scar tissue around them by now. Best to just let it be. People and animals survive with bullets and shrapnel embedded in them. It happens, sadly.”

Right. Humans were horrible to humans too.

Daphne was brought to me, droopy-eyed and a bit dazed, but still wagging her doodlebutt and happy to see me. She had a cone on her head and a shaved right side, chest, and belly.

I bent down to pet her and she licked my face. “Come on, Doodlebutt. Let’s get you home for some serious spoiling.”

I drove her home, slowly, careful not to have to brake quickly or turn sharply, while cooing words of comfort in her direction. She slept through it all. Once we were home, I gave her a small amount of food, her pain medication, antibiotics, and a fluffy blanket on top of her bed so she could rest while I assembled the large crate. Once that was done, I moved the blanket into the crate, on top of the cushion, and lured her in with treats. Gate closed and dog settled, we both slept for two hours straight, though I was still on the couch.

I woke in time to let Daphne out, feed her, get her some water, and love on her before Chris and Percival came home and she would have to return to the crate. She was fine with this, as she was clearly groggy still, and the pain medications kept her sleepy enough that not even Percival’s arrival could stir her.

For his part, Percival was just happy to be home. He’d gone into his trance and drooled for the car ride home. It seemed he just needed to lie down somewhere familiar. That spot was, of course, the couch next to Chris, who had sat down next to me.

I told Chris what I had learned from Dr. Davis and Daphne’s X-ray.

“My head is just spinning with all this cruelty to animals. Everything I’m reading, those documentaries, poor Percival’s life in a lab, and now this. It’s making me insane.”

Chris made an exaggerated face indicating his fear of me, and leaned away. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“So you have noticed?”

“Noticed that you don’t sleep through the night, even before you were on the couch? Noticed you—who never normally cries—are regularly in front of the television in tears? Noticed that you’re throwing out everything we own? Noticed that we’re eating at hippie restaurants? Noticed that your new BFF is kale, with nutritional yeast as a close second? Noticed that you are obsessed with saving this laboratory beagle, even though that might not be in his, yours, Daphne’s, or my best interest? Noticed that even that is not enough, that you have to save every animal on the planet too? No, I had not noticed.”

My throat tightened. I got up from the couch. “Now is probably not the best time for this conversation.”

“Okay, relax. Fine. You tell me when the best time is.”

“Sometime after I get eight hours of sleep.” I tried to keep my tone light, but I may have been too tired to muster that.

“That might not be anytime soon if we don’t do something about this. You see how that’s a bit circular, right?”

“No. I don’t.” Well, I
did
. But I didn’t
want
to.

Percival flung himself across Chris’s lap and looked up at him adoringly, as though he’d just seen him for the first time all day. Chris laughed.

Well
played, Percival. Well played
.

Daphne’s pain medication and her confinement to the crate made the night an easier one. I had a full couch to myself and only woke twice, both times to let her out for some water and her visit to the courtyard bushes. She seemed quite content to return to her crate and snored soundly, which made my falling back asleep somewhat more difficult but not impossible. On Friday, Chris again took Percival to work and I stayed home tending to Daphne, alternating between working and catnapping. Friday night in our exciting household looked a lot like Thursday night. Until about three in the morning.

Daphne woke me, this time not with her snoring but her loud panting. I opened the crate door to let her out, but she came only as far as my hand, which she nudged. I petted her head. “What’s the matter, baby girl?”

Her big caramel eyes looked up at me, and I could see she was not just panting but drooling. We’d switched out the plastic cone for an inflatable one that was more comfortable for her, but she looked anything but comfortable. I brought the water bowl over to her and she lapped up a few drinks. Shortly, she was back to panting. I chopped one of her pain pills in half and gave that to her. She took it and came out of the crate gingerly, in case there were other treats to be had. Count on a beagle to look for treats even when sick.

I sat on the floor, leaning up against the couch, and she sat next to me, leaning into me on her left side—the only section with no stitches. Poor baby. I was sure she was uncomfortable, but this was all reminiscent of my last night with Seamus, and I worried there was something far worse going on. I petted her head and her one good side and eventually she seemed to relax. On her own she walked back into the crate and we both returned to sleeping.

By six thirty, though, we were both awake. She was sitting upright again, and the panting had resumed. Though again she walked outside on her own power, drank water, and even ate breakfast, she looked miserable and never stopped panting except to swallow. For a dog usually so happy, this was a bad sign. When Chris woke, he agreed we’d have to take her to see Dr. Davis. While neither of us mentioned it, I could tell he too was reminded of Seamus’s last night.

I was torn. I wanted to stay with Daphne and rush her to the vet myself, but I had volunteered to sit at a Beagle Freedom Project booth at Glen Ivy Day Spa resort where they were launching a line of cruelty-free beauty products with a “Beagle Bliss” spa day. A portion of every admission was going to BFP, and they’d asked Shannon to have a few of the beagles present. Of course when I volunteered I hadn’t known the sleep schedule I’d be on or that Daphne would need to be rushed to the vet that morning. But I didn’t want to let down Beagle Freedom Project.

Once again, I and one dog (Percival) went one direction, and Chris and the other dog (Daphne) went another. Chris promised he’d call the moment he had any news, and I texted Shannon to let her know I’d be late, but I’d be there.

I drove to the resort, eating an apple on the way and trying to reassure Percival that the car ride would be over soon while reassuring myself that Daphne would be fine.

Chris called as I pulled into the spa parking lot. “Is it me, or do I call you with dog diagnoses a lot?”

“That’s not even funny. Is she okay?”

“She is now. They gave her a shot for pain. He thinks the postsurgical pain is causing the panting, so we’re adjusting her pain meds.”

The news was better than what I feared. At least it was something easily managed. But I’d been following the instructions we’d been given, and our poor girl was still in pain. Something so easily controlled, and we’d failed her.

Chris knew where my thoughts would be going, that I’d be blaming myself. “She’s fine now. She’s relaxed; she’s asleep in the crate. We did exactly what we were told.”

“I should’ve known better.”

“How? How would you have known better than the vet?”

“I don’t know.” I felt a wave of exhaustion roll over me. I exhaled. “I’m just so tired of everything going wrong. I’m just tired. Period.”

“Yep. I’ll turn the hot tub on. We’ll talk about that tonight.”

That wasn’t going to help. I knew what he wanted to talk about, and I was feeling defeated but not yet willing to admit a permanent defeat. These dogs
needed
us.

I reached out to the drooling and fearful beagle beside me and gave him a piece of apple. He licked the apple slice gently, took it in his mouth, and then put it down on the seat. He sniffed at it and looked at me with those dark, almond eyes.
What’s this?

“It’s an apple, buddy. It’s good for you. Go ahead.” I picked up the piece and handed it to him again. This time he chewed it and you could see the joy as “sweet” and “tasty” registered. He wagged his tail and looked at me for more, his eyes now less doubtful and widening to hopeful. I bit off another piece and handed it to him. He sat up, chewing happily. I kissed his face.

“Almost makes it worth a car ride, huh? Okay, buddy, but we’ve got to get going. You’ve got fans to meet. Today, you’re the face of the anticruelty campaign.”
And
what
a
face
it
was.

I spent the morning letting the guests meet and pet Percival. I showed them the tattooed number inside his ear (1800192) and explained how that was all he had been known by for the first eighteen months of his life while he lived in a cage, the unwilling victim of pharmaceutical testing.

A young woman in shorts and a tank top waiting in line with two friends petted him and put her face next to his. “He’s so sweet. How could anyone do that?”

“It’s sadly the norm. That’s why it’s important to shop cruelty-free.” She was probably in her early twenties, so I went for the obvious. “Most of the makeup sold in department stores and the big, common drugstore brands are tested on animals. And I don’t mean they’re putting mascara on the beagles. They drip it in their eyes, force-feed it to them, cause them to inhale the fumes from the chemicals. A lot of painful, unnecessary procedures.”

Her eyes widened, as did her friends’. They moved closer and petted Percival. “That’s so awful! Why do they need to test makeup on animals?”

“They don’t. Animal testing is not required by law. And that’s what is important to remember. Plenty of countries and companies have given up animal testing. When you shop, be sure to look for cruelty-free products. They’ll say it on the packaging or you can look for the Leaping Bunny logo.” I was aware I sounded like a poorly written commercial, but I didn’t care. I was new at this evangelizing, but I was earnest.

“I’m going to do that,” the young woman said. She was looking right at Percival when she said it, so I had great hope she would follow through.

One of her friends gave the now familiar refrain: “I had no idea.”

They began to rattle off the names of several large and popular cosmetic companies, asking if they tested on animals. They all did. I’d been as disappointed as they all looked now.

“There are some very good brands out there that don’t test on animals. You just need to do a little research before you shop. Go to BeagleFreedomProject.org and find out more. And I hope you will all shop cruelty-free now that you know. Percival thanks you.” To leave them with a smile rather than the stunned looks on their no-longer naive faces, I held up Percival’s paw in a wave.

I moved down the line, introducing Percival to more of the spa guests. He seemed to enjoy his newfound fame as he wagged his tail and took in the petting. I hoped that everyone he met that day would remember his sweet beagle face when they made their shopping choices. It took a little more time and effort to shop cruelty-free, but protecting these dogs was worth that. (I bought the Primavera line of skin care products the resort had promoted all day at the event; that much was easy at least.)

Walking Percival around the serene resort grounds gave me a chance to get to know him a bit better. I gave him the lead and let him sniff about wherever he wanted to go. On the rare occasion I tried to dissuade him from heading in a particular direction, he engaged his patented four-paw braking system and flung himself in the opposite direction. Eventually, I’d have to pick him up and move him along. He loved being held, though, so this was a close second to just getting his way. At one point, the direction he wanted to head was toward a small pond and waterfall. I tugged his leash to bring him back onto grass, but he was having none of it. Knowing beagles aren’t big fans of water, I gave in and let him walk to the edge of the pond. To my great surprise, he did not stop on the edge. He walked right on into the pond and was wet up to his belly. He turned back to look at me, first with surprise and then pure delight. It was about ninety degrees out and the pond was no doubt refreshing, but if he went much farther, he’d be swimming, and this wasn’t a dog spa. I pulled his leash to bring him back out.

“Come on, Percival. That’s far enough.”

No, it wasn’t, apparently. He flung himself backward again and was quickly submerged up to his neck in water. He was now convinced of my point. He scrambled forward and leaped to the safety of the grass in one nimble move. His look was one of excitement, joy, and a bit of uncertainty. He was proud of himself, no doubt. He shook and began rolling about in the grass, creating his own version of an all-body botanical spa scent.

We rejoined the group and Percival posed for many photos while I sat and chatted more with Shannon about the work of Beagle Freedom Project. To my happiness, Rizzo was also there that day. He had not yet been adopted, but it looked like more than one of the spa employees had fallen in love with the sweet boy. I was sure it wouldn’t be long until he was adopted too.

I was tired, but I felt good about the day. I hoped we helped spread the word about animal testing, Percival got the chance to be out and about exploring, and Daphne was going to be fine. Chris had texted that she slept comfortably at his wine shop all morning, no panting at all.

But when Chris arrived home that evening, it was obvious he was not feeling fine. He still wanted to head to the hot tub. I agreed, as much because I owed him that as for my tired and achy body.

While we headed to our back patio, Daphne rested in the crate and Percival slept in the dog bed not too far from her. A détente had been reached—at least between the dogs.

I sunk down into the hot, soothing bubbles and closed my eyes. “Just give me a few minutes.”

“No hurry. Let me know when you can talk.”

Turns out it’s not all that relaxing to soak in a hot tub with someone waiting to tell you things you don’t want to hear. I sat up.

“Okay. Go.”

“Are you going to listen?”

“I’m going to try.”

“Fair enough. I have two concerns. First, and not what you’re expecting, I’m sure, but have you made the appointment for your checkup?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t you go for your oncology checkup in April? April is almost over.”

Somehow I had forgotten that since Chris had for years gone to my appointments with me, he knew the schedule as well as I did. I’d been caught. “I haven’t made my appointment.”

“Don’t you think that’s kind of important?”

Kind
of. Maybe. But what’s the rush to find out that my cancer is back too?
“I haven’t called to schedule it because I don’t know when I’d go. What would we do with the dogs?”

Chris leaned forward and put his hands on my knees under water. There wasn’t enough steam from the hot tub to block the strained concern on his face. “Which brings me to point two. I think you may have to consider that this is more than we can handle. Maybe we’re only meant to have one dog. And maybe we should have stuck with the one easygoing, already housebroken, loves-to-drive-in-cars dog.”

“It’s only been two weeks.”

“It’s been a hell of a two weeks.”

“He’s adjusting. He’s already doing better.”

“That’s only because she’s medicated and in a crate. That’s not going to last much longer.”

“It’s not his fault. I’m not going to give up on him. Not now.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Chris let go of my knees and leaned back in the water, running his hand through his thick, salt-and-pepper hair. “You’re never going to give up. No matter what happens or how bad it gets, you’re going to keep trying to save these dogs, and now cows. And pigs. And chickens. And more beagles. It won’t stop. And look, it’s already affecting your health.”

My head snapped back. “No, it isn’t.”
Nightmares
aren’t a health issue, right?

“Checkups are part of your health. You had cancer, remember? Not the flu.”

I had no energy to argue, and no arsenal of facts or logic with which to launch a defensive strike. I knew I needed to make the appointment. I just didn’t
want
to.

“Okay, fine. I’ll make my appointment. But we’re giving the dogs more time. They’ll adjust. Can we just take this one day at a time? Just like with Seamus and all his problems? He took time also.” Seamus had taken a lot of time. And energy. And dog-sitters. Frankly, I hadn’t been sure my relationship with Chris was going to survive Seamus, and we’d ended up a tight-knit family.

“Okay. But you need to keep an open mind too. This may not be the best situation for Percival either.”

When we went back in the house and changed out of our wet bathing suits, Chris sat on the couch. Percival immediately leaped into his lap and put his two front paws on Chris’s shoulders, looking him right in the face and wagging his tail. Chris petted Percival while I sat on the floor next to Daphne’s crate and scratched her behind the ears, reaching my fingers through the bars of the crate side.

My temples were throbbing, my brain was vibrating, and I felt the overwhelming urge to cry—but I had no specific thought in my head, nor the ability to focus on any one thought. There was nothing. I was on empty.

I remained seated, staring through the bars of Daphne’s crate.