“These kennels house the bigger dog breeds,” Arlene said, “and are cleaned with a garden hose.” She grinned.
Billy nodded, noting that the smaller dogs were stacked in two rows of cages. One stainless steel food bowl and a similar water bowl were placed in the rear of each cage, along with a small blanket.
Arlene stepped into a separate room that housed cats in stainless steel cages, three rows—stacked one on top of the next—with newspaper-lined trays. She pulled out one of the trays. “This is where we keep the goodies,” she teased Billy.
He laughed.
“Even though we provide each cage with a litter box, most still make a mess,” she explained. “The cleaning can be a little more challenging on the third row, so make sure you don’t tilt the tray too far forward. Then you’ll be wearing it and mopping up the floor afterward.”
Each cage was filled with multiple cats. Arlene explained, “Although the cat carriers are intended for individual animals, we do everything we can to keep families together.” She shook her head. “Some shelters have stopped taking cats altogether. There are just too many requiring resources that aren’t available.”
Billy mirrored her shaking head, thinking, Arlene’s obviously not one of those people.
As they continued the tour, one of the cages displayed a peculiar sign: Cat Quarantined.
“What does that mean?” Billy asked.
“Cat flu,” Arlene explained. “Outbreaks are common at any shelter. But trust me, through years of trial and error, we’ve learned that it’s not worth trying to isolate an animal and disinfect the area. It’s a waste of time and effort.”
“So how…”
“Animals with the flu are left to the treatment of their own immune systems,” she finished.
Billy nodded, as he learned that other small animals—bunnies, iguanas, guinea pigs, gerbils, hamsters, chinchillas—were occasionally housed in small cages or carriers where there was no room elsewhere.
“We also have a few cages for domestic birds,” Arlene said, “and they’re usually occupied.”
“This place is amazing,” Billy commented.
Arlene smiled. “I think so too.” She pointed back to the ramp that led to the reception area. “We use our supply room to allow potential adopters to get a good look at the animals.”
“I can’t wait to see that,” Billy said, realizing this new job promised the highest of highs—from young families to the elderly adopting a new furry family member—to the lowest of lows: the threat of animals being euthanized.
Arlene nodded. “The adoptions are definitely the upside of this job and you’ll see plenty of them.” When she smiled, her eyes misted over. “I still get emotional at every adoption.”
“Are there a lot of them?” Billy asked.
“We average a half dozen a week,” she said, nodding. “We’re also affiliated with several organizations that accept specific breeds, usually pure breeds like golden retrievers, poodles, boxers, collies, and chihuahuas.” She stopped and looked into Billy’s eyes to hammer her next lesson home. “The name of the game is for us to find each animal a home. And with our limited resources, every day they stay here they’re eating us out of house and home.”
Billy laughed. “My grandpa used to use that same line when he teased me and my sister,” he said.
Arlene laughed. “A fellow scholar,” she joked, before continuing with her lesson. “We usually find a permanent family for the pure breeds right away.”
As they made their way out back, Billy saw that there was a good-sized yard—more dirt than grass—which Arlene said was used for socializing.
“The locked gates help protect against accidental escapees,” she explained with a grin. “We don’t want any of these four-legged bandits slipping out over the wall.”
Billy laughed, but also nodded that he understood the reasoning. He then noticed that the outside kennels were covered, from the run door to the cement pad. These should be easier to hose down, he thought.
As if reading his mind, Arlene said, “You’ll pick up on the rest as we go along. For now, you ready to grab the disinfectant and clean some kennels?”
Billy nodded. “I am.”
She chuckled. “If you want to put in a few hours today, that’s fine. But I’ll start you on the schedule next week…give you a few days to relax before you become my official slave. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds perfect. Thank you.”
She chuckled at his enthusiasm. “You’re going to do well here I think,” she said, adding a wink.
“I’ll do my best,” he promised, happy to be hanging up his ant-infested dishwashing sneakers.
“What more can I ask for?” she said, before searching his eyes one last time. She smiled. “It’s as easy as herding cats,” she said, winking again.
⁕
When he returned home, Billy told Jimmy the good news. “We both got the job at the animal shelter, old man. We’re going to be working together!”
Jimmy collapsed to the ground and rested his chin on his folded paws.
Billy shrugged. Jimmy’s got a point, he thought. It’s like getting paroled from prison only to go back years later and work there. He stroked Jimmy’s muzzle. “It’ll be fun, buddy. You’ll see.”
The weary dog never responded.
Without giving it any thought, Billy called Charlie to share the good news. His cell phone went straight to voicemail. “Charlie,” Billy said, “give me a call when you get this. I have some really good news.” He thought about it. “Listen, bro, let’s put the bullshit behind us. Just hit me up when you get a chance.”
Billy hung up and dialed Mark’s cell.
“Hello?” Mark said.
“I got the job!” Billy blurted. “The place is awesome and Arlene, the boss over there, says I can take Jimmy with me to work.”
“That’s cool, but how does the old-timer feel about that?”
“We’ll see,” Billy said, laughing. “I just told him about it and he doesn’t seem all that enthused over it.” Billy petted Jimmy’s back.
“So when can we catch that stalker flick?” Mark asked. “It’s supposed to be a good one.”
Billy thought about it and sighed.
“There’s brief nudity,” Mark added.
Billy laughed. “I have one last shift at the Pearl and then we should have plenty of time.”
“Cool. Just give me a call and let me know when you can do it. You know how much I love brief nudity.”
“You’re not alone there, bro,” Billy said, laughing again. “I’ll let you know when I free up.”
“Later, Billy boy.”
“Later, Mark.”
Billy got off the phone and checked his email. He stood in shock. “Holy shit, I won the VFW scholarship for five hundred dollars,” he said aloud. “Sweet!”
Jimmy sat up, as if waiting to hear more.
Billy had entered an essay contest hosted by the local VFW. The theme was, “A veteran who has made a difference in your life,” and it was the first time he’d ever written from his heart.
His grandfather, his father’s dad, was a combat veteran who’d served in Vietnam and suffered every day for it until his final breath.
Billy looked down at Jimmy. “It seems Grandpa’s still looking out for me,” he said, feeling blessed, before returning to the computer screen. “You’re invited to the VFW Hall, Post 8502, to receive your award,” he read aloud, “and to present your essay, along with a few words of thanks.” Instantly, his breathing became shallow and his heart began to pound hard in his chest. He looked down at Jimmy again. “Maybe this isn’t such a good thing after all,” he muttered. On one hand, he was thrilled about the five hundred dollars; on the other, he was freaked out beyond words. “Present my essay in front of an audience?” he pondered aloud and felt h
is throat constrict.
Jimmy nudged Billy with his muzzle a few times.
“Not now, Jimmy!” Billy snapped, overwhelmed with angst.
The mutt nudged him again, refusing to be ignored.
Feeling dizzy, Billy reached down and petted him; it was enough of a distraction to stop the growing panic. It was exactly what Billy needed to start breathing again. “I’m sorry, buddy,” Billy said, rubbing the scruff of the mutt’s neck.
Jimmy nudged him one last time, as if to say—No worries. I’m right here with you.
Billy felt so much better already and laughed at the dog’s cleverness. “Thank you, Jimmy,” he said, continuing the well-deserved massage. “You’re a good boy.”
⁕
On his last night at Oriental Pearl, Billy kept his head down and his eyes on his assembly line. Long ago, the shared snickers and sighs amongst the staff had evolved into inside jokes. Most were waitresses—females who worked their beautiful butts off. At seventeen, it was all Billy’s eyes would let him see. Their ages ranged, but to the raging hormones of a young adolescent it didn’t matter. Billy was an intimate member of the clique, taking part in the jokes about the cooks who didn’t speak English.
“They’re such pigs,” Lynn said, complaining about them.
Billy smirked. But she’s right, he thought. They are a strange lot. The Chinese cooks were heavy gamblers: vulgar men with nudie calendars of busty American women. Each one of them tried to get in cheap grabs of the waitresses, laughing amongst themselves in their foreign gibberish. Other times, they would explode in anger and threaten to lash out with their blood-stained cleavers. Very strange people, Billy thought, but I love their calendars.
“You want a drink?” Lynn asked Billy.
He nodded. “How ’bout a Shirley Temple?” It was lemon lime soda with a splash of sweet grenadine syrup.
Lynn laughed. “Yeah, I don’t think so,” she said.
Five minutes later, she returned with a full tray of dirty dishes, along with a whiskey and cola. “I got you a real drink,” she said, smiling, and placed it up on the top shelf.
Billy grabbed it and put the cold glass to his lips. He coughed, choked and cringed as the slow burn traveled the length of his throat. While Lynn looked on, smirking, Billy took another swig and smiled. “It must be an acquired taste,” he told her, gagging again.
“Must be,” she said, laughing all the way out of the kitchen.
The night was so busy that it faded into a mountain of dirty dishes, glasses and silverware that could not be conquered—until last call.
While Billy waited to be paid, he scanned the crowd. No fights tonight, he thought, disappointedly. And no drunken girls gone bad. He grabbed a fortune cookie and cracked it open. As he munched on the bland cookie, he read, Expect a season of change. With a shrug, he put the fortune into his pocket and said goodbye to the Oriental Pearl: the greatest job anyone could have ever hated.
On the ride home, he called Charlie’s cell phone. It went right to voicemail. Even though it’s late, Charlie always picks up, Billy thought, waiting for the beep. “Charlie, it’s Billy. Give me a call just as soon as you get this. Don’t worry about the time. I’ll be up for a while. I haven’t heard from you in almost a week and I’m starting to wonder what’s up.” He paused, realizing he no longer harbored any anger toward his friend. Instead, he was growing concerned. “Just call me, okay?”
Billy hung up the phone and took it slow going home. A mile down the road, he could hear the faint sound of sirens in the distance coming up from behind him. He peered into the rearview mirror. A pulsating glow of red and blue was growing larger by the second. He quickly pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road. In a flash, two enormous fire trucks were followed by a wailing ambulance, the three vehicles chugging by like some runaway train. Goose bumps covered Billy’s arms and the small hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. There’s something big going down, he thought, and the cavalry is on its way. He was impressed and filled with respect at the responding troops.
Billy pulled back onto the road and, for the rest of the ride home, considered what it might be like to join the ranks and become a fireman or paramedic. It’s so awesome what they do, he thought, all the people they help. But he didn’t feel the passion he’d hoped he’d feel. There was definitely a deep respect and admiration for the calling, but he somehow knew it wasn’t his.
But what the hell is my calling? he wondered, as the internal struggle continued.
⁕
Sitting in the corner chair of his darkened bedroom, Charlie listened to Billy’s message and could feel another round of tears start down his cheeks. Starting to wonder what’s up? he repeated in his head. I killed a kid, Billy…that’s what’s up. As the tears turned to heavy sobs, his body convulsed at the same gruesome pictures that played over and over in his throbbing head: Dalton’s body was lying on the car’s smashed hood, submerged in a growing puddle of blood and gray matter. Oh my God, Charlie thought, a chunk of his skull was missing. He jumped out of the chair and began dry heaving. Missing, he repeated, torturing himself.
Just then, there was a knock on his bedroom door. “Charlie, what’s going on in there?” his mother asked. The doorknob jiggled a few times but the door remained locked.
Charlie dragged his sleeve across his mouth and took a deep breath. “Nothing, Ma! I’m fine. Just leave me alone.”
The doorknob jiggled again. “That girlfriend of yours better not be in there, Charlie. I swear I’ll…”
“Bianca and I broke up, Ma!” Charlie interrupted. “I just need some time alone, okay?”
“Good,” the woman muttered. There was a moment of silence, followed by the sound of fading footsteps walking away from his door.
Charlie collapsed to the floor and placed his head into his hands. Dalton’s entire skull was crushed, he thought, and began dry heaving again.
It took a long time before the newest wave of anxiety had passed. In the darkness, he punched the first few numbers into his cell phone when he stopped. “I can’t bring Billy into this,” he whimpered to himself. “I…I can’t do that to him.” He cleared the numbers from his phone, slid down to the floor and rolled himself into the fetal position. I’m all alone now, he realized, weeping like a child who’d lost all hope. And it’s exactly where I deserve to be.
Chapter 6
In the morning, as Jimmy prepared to jump off the bed and face a new day, he winced in pain. Billy studied the dog for a few moments. Jimmy’s still healing from his combat wounds, he thought and told him, “We don’t have to start at the shelter for a few days, so we should spend some time together…just you and me.”
Jimmy was a creature of habit, thriving on routine. After receiving his new arthritis pill hidden within a glob of peanut butter, he devoured the day’s first cup of food within seconds. Although it looked like he tried to be neat it was no use. As Jimmy lapped from his water bowl, Billy took a few steps back; without wearing a poncho, he would have gotten soaked. On the upside, the extra water helped Jimmy get started on his morning bath.
While Billy waited for his partner to finish bathing, he spotted a note on the table. It was addressed, Billy. He opened it and read: Billy, let’s look at your class schedule when I get home tonight. I also want to make sure you’ve applied to all the grants you’re entitled to. Even if you’ve missed deadlines, we can still set you up for next semester. Love ya, Sophie.
Billy folded up the note and smiled. Love you, too, he thought.
⁕
After taking a very short walk, Billy and Jimmy ended up in the backyard. “Want to play?” Billy asked the dog.
Jimmy got down on his elbows, butt up and tail whipping around—ready to pounce. He even offered a low growl, like he actually meant business.
Billy laughed. “Who are you kidding, old man?” he asked him. “It’s bee
n forever since you’ve tried to spring an ambush on me.”
In response, Jimmy kept his backside high in the air and front legs on the ground, preparing to lunge.
“Don’t go hurting yourself,” Billy told the mutt, letting him off the hook. He threw Jimmy one of his squeaky plush toys.
Jimmy trapped the toy with his front paws and nosed it a few times with his snout. Finally biting into it, he jerked his head violently back and forth, trying to dismember the small stuffed animal. And although he growled, his tail never stopped wagging.
“Big bad dog,” Billy teased, getting onto his knees. He massaged Jimmy’s thick neck.
Jimmy flopped down, out of breath; his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth.
While the dog panted loudly, Billy joined him on the ground and stroked his heaving chest. “Now this is more your speed,” he said.
⁕
That afternoon, with Jimmy riding shotgun, Billy pumped eight dollar’s worth of gas into the Honda. For the time being, it was all his budget would allow.
After fastening his seat belt, Billy and his sidekick hit the back roads of Westport for a nice long drive. They were just underway when Billy looked to his right and laughed. “You really love your car rides, don’t you?” he told Jimmy.
The silver-faced mutt never answered. Instead, he kept his entire head hanging out of the passenger side window. His eyes were squinted and his ears were flopping in the wind, like two flags fluttering in a wind storm. Billy remembered trying it once as a kid, but he didn’t last all that long outside the window. The rush of air stung his eyes until he could no longer keep them open.
“Be careful,” he told Jimmy, but the dog was in his glory—enjoying the open road like the free spirit he’d always been.
They were five miles from the beach, the salted air already teasing their tongues, when the Honda sputtered a few times. Billy took his foot off the gas and then reapplied pressure. In response, the Honda shook and convulsed like it was suffering some terrible seizure. Instantly, the dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree with every dummy light, while the car slowed to a crawl. Billy steered the Honda to the side of the road before it gasped one last breath, sputtered and died.
The Changing Season Page 10
