Rescuing Finley (A Forever Home Novel Book 1)

by Dan Walsh

  Tom looked down at the application a moment. “Do you think you’re really ready to start work, Chris? I mean, physically. There’s nothing here about your limitations. I know their goal is to get you to where you can do everything you’re capable of doing. How far would you say you are on that spectrum? If I was to hire you on our maintenance crew, there’s a whole range of jobs and tasks. Some of them are quite strenuous. Some, not so much. I’m going to need to know what you can and can’t do.”

  “I think I can do quite a lot,” Chris said. “I still experience some pain in my bum leg. Even the one that’s still mine. It got banged up pretty good in the blast, too. But it’s healed up a lot. I’m getting used to the pain levels, and they’re getting less as time goes by.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. But I think I’m going to need something more specific. What I’d like to ask you to do is get in touch with your doctor, or at least your physical therapist, and ask them to give me something in writing that spells out your medical restrictions. As time goes by, if things improve, they can always reevaluate you.”

  “I can do that,” Chris said. “If I get that, are you saying you’ll give me a job?”

  “If there’s enough things out here that they will qualify you for. I can think of one thing you can probably do even now. Did you drive a car here?”

  Chris nodded. “Fortunately, I lost my left leg. So I can drive an automatic.”

  “Well, then you can probably operate our main ride-on mowers. You only need one foot to work the pedals. Mostly you’ll use your hands. Lots of grass to mow out here.”

  “I’m sure I can do it,” Chris said.

  Tom leaned back on his chair again. “I think you probably can. I can hire you part-time to start off. But if I get that medical paper back saying you can do more, we can talk about increasing your hours.”

  “I’ll call them right after I leave here.”

  “Can I ask you why you decided to apply for this job? Reading over your application, I don’t see where you’ve ever done this kind of work before.”

  Chris hesitated to answer. But Tom had been pretty upfront with him, so he decided just to say it. “To be honest, I’m struggling with some PTSD symptoms myself. Most days, I’m fine.” That wasn’t entirely true. “But sometimes things get to me. I did some reading about it on the internet, about the kind of jobs people with PTSD are best suited for. One of them was this, working outside with your hands. Landscaping, yardwork. They say it keeps your mind busy, besides that…” He thought maybe he shouldn’t say the next part.

  “You don’t have to be around people very much,” Tom said.

  Chris nodded. “That never used to be a problem for me before this.” He tapped his leg. “I was almost always a people-person before. But now…I don’t know why, I just prefer being alone more.”

  “You don’t have to explain,” Tom said. The other guys are the same way. Guess it just goes with the territory.”

  Chris nodded. He didn’t really want to agree. He wanted to be the way he used to be. But he didn’t see how he could ever be that guy again.

  14

  Kim

  Summerville Humane Society

  There, that was the last one. For now at least.

  Kim set the phone down on her desk. For the last hour, she had been returning phone calls. Her ear felt numb and her left hand ached. At some point during the cluster of calls, Ellen, who worked in the stray kennel, dropped a note on her desk. It had to do with Finley; the retriever mix who came in last week.

  Kim had taken a particular interest in him. Not just because of his heartbreaking story, but because she had promised the mother of Finley’s owner they would find him a good home. So far, things were not going as planned. She picked up the note and read:

  Finley still not doing well -

  Need to speak with you.

  She pushed her chair back from her desk and got up, still holding the note. “Roger, I’m heading back to the stray kennel to take care of this. You need anything while I’m up?”

  It took Roger a moment to disconnect from his computer screen. “What? Oh, sure. Go right ahead. If you don’t mind, could you stop by the printer?” He held up a colorful flyer. “I just printed out ten of these. Could you pick them up on your way back?”

  “Sure.” She walked into the hallway, through the office area then into the main facility. She hoped she wouldn’t be stopped along the way, though she’d come to expect interruptions.

  When she first came to work here, it wasn’t that way at all. They’d never had a dog trainer on staff before or anyone who really understood dog behavior, except the CEO, who had been paying attention to the latest trends in the animal care industry. He realized that in recent years there had been major strides in studying dog behavior. College curriculums had been formed to train and certify people to work with dogs on an entirely new level.

  It wasn’t just about getting dogs to sit, rollover or walk properly on a leash anymore. Those things still mattered. But it was actually possible to understand how dogs thought, why they did what they did; even how they communicated with each other. Kim had attended one of these dog training colleges and received her certification. Part of her curriculum required a certain number of hours volunteering at a local shelter.

  That’s what brought her here to the Summerville shelter. By chance one day, she and the CEO had gotten into a conversation. When he found out who she was and what she was studying, he began paying close attention to her progress. In time, he was convinced she was exactly what this shelter needed. He appealed to the Board of Directors to create a position for her that had never existed before.

  That was almost five years ago.

  Opening the door to the stray kennel, Kim thought about the moment he had asked her into his office and offered her this job. It was like a dream come true. How many people got to drive to work every day and do something they love to do?

  Of course, things didn’t go silky-smooth at first. Most of the shelter staff and volunteers weren’t totally on board with all these new ideas. She walked through the main lobby, remembering some of those early encounters. It was definitely a “dues-paying” season. Turns out, lots of people who love and work with dogs have lots of different ideas about how to solve dog problems. In reality, most of these homegrown “solutions” don’t work. But that doesn’t stop people from forming strong opinions and freely sharing those strong opinions.

  At other times, Kim found people would simply give up on a dog with behavior problems they couldn’t fix, declaring the age-old popular myth: “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks!”

  That was certainly true, on occasion. Some dog problems were beyond remedy. But Kim had learned most of them were not. Many dog behavior problems had practical and effective solutions that a person of average intelligence could learn and even teach their dog.

  It seemed to Kim the bigger part of her job was learning how to work with the people who work with dogs—shelter workers and dog owners—not the dogs themselves. But over time, and with a good dose of patience and diplomacy, the lights had started to turn on.

  Now, five years later, she had the opposite problem: people asking for help and advice constantly throughout the day. She tried to remember that these moments were not a hindrance to her job. They were her job, or at least a big part of it.

  She reached the door to the stray kennel and saw Ellen standing midway down the concrete aisle between the two rows of kennels. Right about where Finley’s kennel was located.

  The first few slots in the stray kennel were actually reserved for stray dogs brought here by the Animal Control Officers (what people used to call the dogcatcher). Or else by individuals who found a stray dog wandering in their neighborhood. But many of the dogs in this kennel were not strays. They were just dogs who, for some reason, weren’t ready to be adopted.

  Kim had found all the different dog stories fascinating. The owners of a few of the dogs were in the county jail, bu
t only for short periods of time. Their dogs were brought here until they could be reunited. Kim felt especially bad for these dogs. It was like they were serving time though they had done nothing wrong. Other dogs were here because they’d bitten someone. The law mandated a ten day quarantine to make sure they didn’t have rabies. Some of the dogs had mild aggression issues, the kind that could be modified with time and training. These were the hopeful dogs, the ones Kim expected one day to move over to the A-Kennel, the adoption kennel.

  And then there was Finley.

  She walked up to Ellen, who had just bent down by Finley’s kennel. “Still not eating?” she said.

  Ellen looked up. “Oh, hey Kim. No, he’s not. Well, he’s eating enough to barely survive. But that’s it.”

  Kim looked at Finley. He was laying in the back of his pen, his head resting on his front paws. His face looked totally sad. He hadn’t even noticed her. She called his name. He lifted his head. His ears perked up a little, even his tail started to wag, slowly.

  “That’s the most I’ve seen him react to anyone in the last few days,” Ellen said.

  Kim bent down, reached her fingers toward the cyclone fence door. “Hey Finley,” she said in her friendliness voice. “How you doing, boy?”

  He actually stood and walked toward her. His ears dropped as he licked her fingers. The sweetest expression came over his face. Through his deep depression, he was trying to be happy to see her. It saddened Kim to see him this way.

  “It’s not that strange to see dogs get depressed for the first day or two,” Ellen said. “But this has been going on for almost a week. We tried to find a foster home, but they’re all full. He’s passed all the tests and evaluations. But I don’t see how we can move him over to the adoption kennel as long as he’s like this.”

  Kim remembered what Finley was like the day he was brought in. “You should’ve seen him when he got here. He was happy and energetic. So much so, his owner was concerned he wouldn’t be adopted because he was acting so crazy.”

  “I can’t even imagine that,” Ellen said. “I’ve only seen him like this.”

  “No, this isn’t Finley. This is Finley with a broken heart and totally confused. He needs to be with someone. Someone he can love and who will love him back. Someone who can invest some time in him. If that happened, I think Finley has the potential to be an amazing dog.”

  “If that happened,” Ellen repeated. “But who’s going to take him as long as he’s like this?”

  Kim remembered an appointment she had a few hours from now. She stood up. “I just thought of something that might work.”

  15

  Someone from the lobby had just called Kim to let her know that Brenda Maloney had arrived. Brenda and her husband, Bill, were the ones who’d started the Prison Paws and Pals Program. They were kind of pioneers in this business. Most of the programs that trained service dogs to work with military veterans only used purebred dogs. The dogs by themselves, as well as the cost to professionally train them, often set the price tag at many thousands of dollars. By using mixed-breed dogs from shelters and teaching prison inmates how to train them, they could offer the dogs to vets for free.

  Kim got up. “Hey Rog, Brenda’s here. It’s time to show her the next class of dogs for the prison, so I’ll be with her for the next hour or so.”

  “Tell her I said hi,” Rog said, without looking up.

  Kim headed out the door to meet Brenda near the entrance to the A-kennel. She arrived to find Brenda already peeking through the glass window.

  Brenda turned and greeted Kim with her usual warm smile. “Are you ready for me?”

  Kim bent over a little and they hugged. “I am. I’ve put a hold on a number of dogs I think will be perfect for the program.”

  “I can’t wait to meet them. Bill’s going to be here in a few hours with the van. You have enough dogs for all the girls?” That’s what she called the inmate dog trainers, the girls. “If so, we’ll have to make a couple of trips to transport them all.”

  “I do,” Kim said. “And all but one of them are in here,” she pointed to the A-kennel.

  “Where’s the other one?”

  “He’s in the stray kennel. He’s got a rather unique story, and there are still a few challenges. But I think he’s ready.”

  “Well, I definitely want to meet him. But I trust your judgment completely.” She opened the door leading to the kennel, and they both walked in. “Ever since you began to supervise dog selection for us, the quality level has dramatically improved. We used to have a fairly high number of dogs being returned by the vets after going through our program. We could never quite figure out why. But now that hardly ever happens.”

  Kim was pretty picky about the dogs she selected. Veterans with PTSD and other physical disabilities presented a unique set of challenges and needed a dog with the right temperament and character traits to meet those challenges. Kim had developed a profile that helped evaluate a dog’s fitness, regardless of their mixed heritage. A checklist that helped insure only the right kind of dog made it into the program. Even so, after that point they still needed to be trained properly.

  “I’m really glad to hear that,” Kim said. “Dogs getting turned back in is never a good thing, for the people or the dogs. I’m glad we’ve been able to cut down that number.” Kim walked toward the first kennel of the first dog she had picked. The dog came right up to the fence door, sat and began wagging his tail. “This is Champ. We haven’t done a DNA test but, as you can see, Champ is part collie and part something else.”

  “He’s beautiful.”

  “Yes, he is. And I want you to know, it took some effort to keep him from going home already. Two or three people wanted to put a hold on him. But I think he’d be a perfect companion to a vet.” She walked down a few more kennels. “And here we have Titus.”

  “That name definitely fits him,” Brenda said. Titus was a pit-mix, on the larger side. “He’s a strong looking fellow.”

  “He is strong,” Kim said, “but he’s a total marshmallow. As sweet as can be. The problem is, when people see his size they don’t even give him a chance.”

  This continued on from one dog to the next, until Kim had introduced Brenda to every one of the dogs she had selected for the program.

  All except one.

  “I love them all,” Brenda said.

  “Well, I have one more to show you. Follow me.” They left the A-kennel through the back door and walked across the grass to the back door of the stray kennel.

  As Kim opened the door, Brenda asked, “Is this last dog fairly new?”

  “Fairly. But he’s been here about a week.”

  “A week? Don’t you usually move them over to the adoption kennel after a few days?”

  “We do. But Finley isn’t quite ready yet.” Kim led her about midway down the aisle to Finley’s kennel. As before, Finley was laying in the back looking sad. His head lifted slowly as he recognized Kim. “Hey Finley.” Now his ears perked up.

  “Really? You think this dog is right for our program?”

  “I know he doesn’t look like it. But you should have seen him the day he was brought in. He was happy and energetic, constantly wagging his tail. He’s just very depressed right now. He’s barely been eating, so he has very little energy.”

  “Why, what’s his story?”

  Kim explained everything to Brenda. When she’d finished, Brenda said, “That is very sad. Heartbreaking even.”

  Kim opened Finley’s door. When she did, he stood and his tail began to wag slowly. She stepped inside his kennel and bent down to pet him. He instantly came to her and sat beside her.

  “You poor thing,” Brenda said.

  “And if you think about it, Finley’s suffering on a totally different level than we do when we hear this kind of news. No one can even explain to him what’s happening. All he knows is this young man who loved him and treated him like a best friend suddenly stopped coming around. It sounds like, after th
at, he was just left shut up in a room every day by himself, for months, while the soldier’s mother was at work. She said herself she wasn’t even a dog person. And now she’s brought him here and left him. And he has no idea why. No idea if he’ll ever see them again, or what will happen to him now.”

  Brenda started getting teary. “You better stop, or I’m going to lose it completely.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kim said. “But I really think that’s why he’s so sad. I know I’d be too, if all that happened to me.”

  Kim stepped out and Brenda stepped into his pen. She bent down and began to pet him. His ears went back and he licked her hand. “Do you think he’ll be able to snap out of this depression?”

  “I definitely do,” Kim said. “I think if we put him with the right girl, and she starts to love on him and work with him, I think it’s just a matter of time before he becomes the dog he really is on the inside. Because this is not who he is. I think Finley has the potential to be an amazing dog. I’d really like to bring him out to the prison myself and meet the girl who’ll be working with him. If I’m wrong, and it doesn’t work out, I’ll come back and get him. What do you say?”

  “How can I refuse an offer like that?” Brenda said.

  16

  Finley

  After the two women had left, Finley walked to the back of his pen, circled a few times until things felt right, then laid back down. It was nice seeing Kim again. He hadn’t seen her for a few days. He felt good whenever she came around. But the feeling didn’t last long, because she would always go away and leave him here.

  Since he’d come to this place, different people had been looking after him, but he didn’t know any of their names or feel any connection to them. Kim was the only one who reminded him of the love he felt from Chaz. Chaz was everything. He hadn’t seen him for so long, Finley was beginning to believe he would never see him again.