St. Francis Society for Wayward Pets

by Annie England Noblin

  Ten minutes later, I’d cleared the bedroom of the creatures and put the bedspread into the washing machine. After a scalding shower, I collapsed onto the couch and called the vet clinic. Becky, the perky receptionist, assured me that both the rice creatures and the wounds on the dog’s neck could be taken care of and gave us the first available appointment for later that afternoon.

  “What’s the dog’s name?” she asked.

  I looked down at the dog. I didn’t have the faintest clue what her name was. I wondered if she’d ever even had a name at all.

  “Her name is . . .” I trailed off, struggling to come up with something.

  “I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t catch that,” Becky replied. “Her name is what?”

  The dog sat at my feet, her tail wagging slightly every time we made eye contact. After a few seconds, she put her paw on my leg, and then her tongue fell out of her mouth and she began to pant, the sides of her jowls turning up slightly so that it looked like she was smiling. Unable to resist, I gave her head a scratch and said into the phone, “Happy. Her name is Happy.”

  * * *

  I took a quick trip to the only pet store Google told me Timber Creek had to offer and bought a harness and a leash for Happy. I didn’t want to put a collar around her neck because of the wounds, and the salesclerk said a harness was the best option. All they had left in her size was a Burberry-inspired harness with red rhinestones around the sides. The matching leash, of course, also had rhinestones. It looked like something Dolly Parton might pick up at Nordstrom.

  While I was there, I bought dog food and bowls, as well as food and bowls for Sherbet and a litter box and litter, since he seemed to be content staying inside, and the thought of another verbal evisceration by my neighbor across the street truly frightened me. The salesclerk also talked me into a collar with a little bell for Sherbet. I walked out of the store with what I was sure was going to be an overdraft on my checking account, and my panic multiplied when I realized that I’d also have to pay for a vet visit less than an hour later.

  I’d just rounded the corner at the top of the hill on Maple Street when my car began to make a sound I’d never heard before. It was a knocking sound somewhere under the hood, and it got louder and louder until all of a sudden the car stalled, right as I was perched on the top of the hill, the nose of my car pointed dangerously downward. Before I could do anything about it, my car began to coast down the hill. I resisted the urge to close my eyes and hope for the best.

  Instead, I managed to steer the car into the driveway, and it rolled to a stop. I might’ve overshot the driveway and crashed right into the house if not for the large tree in the yard. I bumped against it and the scraping of the metal against the trunk of the tree brought out several neighbors, who stared at me in confusion.

  I sat in the car for a few minutes trying to recover, hoping that everyone else would just go back inside. When they didn’t, I grabbed the bags from the passenger’s seat and got out.

  “I’m fine,” I said, giving those watching the show a little wave. “Sorry for the noise. There’s something wrong with my car.”

  “You sure there ain’t somethin’ wrong with your drivin’?” Beryl asked. “Ten and two, that’s the way to do it.”

  I closed my eyes and willed myself to give her a polite smile. “I’ll take that into consideration next time,” I said.

  “That’s good information,” the old man two houses down hollered. “Especially for women. You’ve got such small hands!”

  “Oh God,” I muttered.

  I gave the old man another wave and hurried up the steps. I just had about ten minutes before I needed to take Happy to the vet, and I still wasn’t sure how the harness I’d bought was supposed to work, but when I stepped inside the house, all thoughts of the vet and the harness were forgotten.

  Happy sat on the couch, what was left of a roll of toilet paper hanging out of her mouth. The rest of the toilet paper was littered on the floor, along with a half-eaten area rug and the contents of the trash can. From the bedroom, Sherbet yowled like he was being skinned alive. I opened the door to the room, and he came flying out to inspect the damage. After a few seconds, he looked up at me as if to say, “If you’d left me out to supervise, none of this would have happened.”

  I set my bags down on the coffee table. I didn’t have time to deal with the mess. I didn’t have time to think about my car. I’d just have to take the Volkswagen, despite the fact that I’d realized the tags were expired when Alice had driven it.

  I cut the plastic off the harness and coaxed Happy into it. She immediately flopped onto the floor and wouldn’t move. I was just about to give up on the entire day and crawl back into my rice-creature-infested bed when Happy saw the leash in my hand and jumped up. She barked and sat and allowed me to clip the leash to the harness.

  “Come on,” I said to her. “If we don’t hurry, we’re going to be late.”

  Happy’s nervous excitement turned into sheer panic when I opened the passenger’s side door to the Volkswagen. The door protested being opened, and the hinges squeaked. Happy began to back up and wiggle out of her harness, a high-pitched whine emitting from her throat.

  “It’s okay,” I said to her, but she was nonplussed by the outstretched door and wouldn’t move past it. I realized that she’d probably never been in a car before, and I didn’t blame her for not wanting to get into a vehicle that sounded like that. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to get inside.

  When she continued to refuse to budge, I sighed and threw my purse and phone into the driver’s seat. Then I gave her a pat on the head and lifted her underneath her belly into the passenger’s seat. Happy didn’t protest, but I could tell the sensation of being picked all the way up was new to her, and she craned her head back to stare at me.

  When I shut the door, she put her paws up on the window, and before I could make it to the driver’s side, Happy climbed over and was waiting for me.

  “Scoot over,” I said.

  Happy cocked her head to one side and stared at me.

  “Over!” I said again.

  We went on like that for nearly five minutes before I gave up and sandwiched myself between the door and her. By the time I got the car started and into gear, and gave a joyous yelp that the car not only started but had a full tank of gas, Happy was sitting on my lap. I peered around her in a ridiculous attempt to both drive and see the road at the same time.

  We’d already been honked at by four cars and nearly smashed by a semi as I pulled into the veterinary clinic. Thankfully, Happy was much easier to get out of the car than she was to get into it. She jumped out and practically dragged me to the door. The woman at the front desk looked up at us when we barged through.

  “Hi,” I said. “My name is Maeve Stephens. I have an appointment today for Happy.” I pointed down at the dog. “She’s got a wound on her neck.”

  “I’ve got you checked in,” the woman said. “I’m Becky. We spoke on the phone. You can go ahead and have a seat, and we’ll call you back when Dr. Langley is ready.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  There was only one other person in the waiting room, an elderly woman holding a cream-colored cat. I sat down in an orange plastic chair across from her. Happy settled in at my feet, and I picked up a magazine about shih tzu on the table beside me. When I looked up a few minutes later, the woman across from me was sobbing.

  “I’m just not ready,” the woman said, her head buried in the cat’s fur. “I’m just not ready.”

  I looked around the room to see if she could be talking to anyone else, but Becky was no longer behind the desk. It was just the two of us.

  “Are you talking to me?” I asked.

  The woman looked up and blinked. She looked surprised to see someone. “Oh, honey, no,” she said. “I was talking . . . well, I was talking to myself, I guess.”

  “Oh,” I replied. “Okay.”

  “Today is my last day with her,” the woman said, nodding d
own to the cat she was holding. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. I shifted in my seat. “Is she sick?”

  The older woman shook her head. “No, she’s just very old. She’s nearly twenty-two.”

  “Wow,” I said. “I didn’t know cats could live that long.”

  “She was just a kitten when I got her,” the woman said. “But now she can’t walk anymore. She can’t eat. It’s time. I know it is, but I don’t want to say goodbye.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said again.

  The woman looked up at me and tilted her head to one side. “Do I know you?” she asked. “You look familiar to me, but I can’t place you.”

  “No,” I said. “I’m new here.”

  “Are you sure we’ve never met?”

  “Fairly certain.”

  “Hmmm,” the woman said. “Well, I’m all out of sorts today. I don’t know which way is up.”

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I knew why I looked familiar to her. It seemed almost mean not to tell her, especially when she was so obviously distressed. “I think you may have known my birth mother,” I said. “Annabelle Lake?”

  The woman’s eyes lit up. “Annabelle was your mother? I didn’t know she had any children.”

  I nodded. “Yes, well, she had me very young, and I was adopted as an infant. I grew up in Seattle.”

  “You look just like her,” the woman said.

  “That’s what I’ve been told,” I said.

  “She gave me Tapioca,” the woman said.

  “She gave you what?”

  “My cat,” the woman replied. “My husband, Roger, had just died. She knew I was grieving, he died so young, and she offered me a kitten she’d saved from the side of the road. Poor thing almost froze to death before she found her. I kept telling Annabelle no, but Annabelle knew just what I needed, even when I didn’t. She was just that kind of person.”

  “That was nice of her,” I said. “I guess she was pretty good with animals.”

  “She was good with people too,” the woman said. “She was a good person.”

  I nodded. More and more, this seemed to be the kind of response I encountered when someone told me about Annabelle. I grudgingly admitted to myself that this was a good thing.

  “Mrs. Newhart?” Becky asked, appearing from around the corner of the hallway. “Dr. Langley is ready for you and Tapioca.”

  “I need more time,” Mrs. Newhart said, her eyes going a bit wild. “I’m not ready.”

  “We’ll go,” I said, standing up. “Happy and I can go back, if that’s okay, and give Mrs. Newhart a little more time.”

  “Of course,” Becky said, giving me a relieved smile. “Take your time, Mrs. Newhart.”

  Happy and I followed Becky back around the corner into the hallway, all the way down to a door on the left. Becky motioned for us to go inside, and I gave her a nervous smile before entering the room.

  Behind a metal table stood a woman wearing a white coat and blue latex gloves. With her long blond hair swept up into a bun, delicate bone structure, and tall frame, she looked more like the picture of a veterinarian you’d see in a magazine than an actual veterinarian.

  “Ah,” she said when she saw us. “You must be Happy and Maeve.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Thank you so much for getting us in today.”

  “I’m Dr. Ash Langley,” she replied. “And it was no problem at all. We had a cancellation.”

  “I cleaned her up a little last night,” I said, motioning to the dog. “But I’m afraid she could have an infection.”

  “Let’s have a look, shall we?” Dr. Langley asked. She motioned for Becky to come into the room, and together they lifted Happy up onto the table.

  Happy went flat as her paws touched the table, and she looked at me, her eyes wild.

  “It’s okay,” I said to her, reaching out to rub one of her ears.

  “She’s a rescue?” Dr. Langley said.

  “A what?”

  “I’m assuming you rescued her? I assume you didn’t allow her neck to get this way on purpose.”

  “Oh,” I said. “No, some guy chained her to the porch.”

  Dr. Langley raised an eyebrow.

  “He came by a few days ago and asked me to take her. He thought I was someone else. I told him I couldn’t, and then I came home last night and there she was—chained to my porch.”

  “Annabelle’s porch?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, it’s a good thing you got the collar off when you did,” Dr. Langley replied. “Much longer, and the chain would have been embedded in her neck.”

  “That sounds bad,” I said.

  “It can be,” Dr. Langley said. She inspected the sensitive skin around Happy’s neck. “It looks like the chain rubbed her skin a bit raw, but I don’t think it’s anything a topical cream and a few days of antibiotics can’t fix. Her ears and her teeth look good too. Her ears are dirty, but they’re not infected or inflamed.”

  I sighed with relief.

  “Becky mentioned that you thought she might also have worms?”

  “Is that what they are?” I asked. “Those wiggly rice things?”

  Dr. Langley laughed. “Tapeworms,” she said. “We’ll take a fecal sample and treat her for the worms. I’d also like to take a blood sample to rule out heartworms and get her started on heartworm preventative as well as a flea and tick medication. We can do a rabies and the seven-way shot today, and you can bring her back next week for everything else. We don’t want to do too much and overwhelm her system.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Whatever you think we need to do.”

  Dr. Langley pulled out a small white device that looked like it had a tiny spoon on the end. She walked around behind Happy, and I turned my head as she inserted it, feeling worse for Happy than I already did. Then she and Becky held her while they took a blood sample.

  “I’ll be right back,” Dr. Langley said. “You’re a brave girl, Happy.”

  Becky took off her gloves and threw them into the trash. “She’s a pretty dog, this one,” she said.

  “What kind of a dog do you think she is?” I asked.

  “Some boxers do have long tails, but this girl right here is an American bulldog,” Becky replied.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Dr. Langley breezed back into the room with two green bottles and a tube in her hand. “She’s got pretty much all the worms, except heartworm, which is good news,” she said.

  “Great,” I replied. “I don’t even want to know how many worms there are.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Dr. Langley replied. “I’ll send this stuff up with Becky, and she can explain to you how and when to apply the cream and give the medication.” She held up the bottles. “Don’t be overwhelmed. It’s pretty easy. The heartworm prevention as well as flea and tick prevention is up front too.”

  I shifted from one foot to the other. I didn’t want to have to ask the question I was about to ask, but I had to know before I got to the front desk and had a heart attack. “Can you tell me about how much all of this is going to cost?” I asked. “Will I need to pay for it all right now? I feel terrible for asking, but I just moved here and haven’t started working yet.”

  Dr. Langley glanced over at Becky, who shrugged. “I thought you already knew,” the veterinarian said.

  “Knew what?”

  “The bill has been paid,” Dr. Langley replied. “Abel Abbott called this morning and took care of it.”

  Chapter 23

  I RUSHED INTO ST. FRANCIS WITH HAPPY AT MY HEELS, nearly an hour late. I’d had to get out of the car at the house for a few minutes to let Happy do her business, and then I had to go inside and give her the first round of medication. I was beginning to think that along with unemployment and a dwindling bank account, being late was an all-too-familiar theme in my life. I couldn’t decide if I was thankful or annoyed that Abel had paid the bill. I knew I couldn’t have afford
ed it, but I also knew I was going to have to thank him . . . again, and that galled me.

  Florence was behind the counter at the front of the store when I got there.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, in between gulps of air. “I had to take the dog to the vet, and I couldn’t leave her at home by herself, because earlier this morning she destroyed a rug and nearly twelve rolls of toilet paper.”

  “That’s your dog?” Florence asked.

  I bent over to catch my breath and said, “Kind of.”

  “I don’t know what that means, but I know better than to ask any questions. Annabelle was forever showing up with random animals.”

  “Please let me make it up to you,” I said.

  “Oh, child, stop,” Florence replied, waving a bangle-clad arm in the air. “It’s fine. But if that dog is going to be here, we need to get her a sweater. Something, at least, to distract from that gaping neck wound.”

  I looked down at Happy. She was thin for a dog her size, but she still weighed nearly fifty pounds. “Do you have one big enough for her?”

  “Of course,” Florence said. A few seconds later she emerged with a huge bright purple sweater. “I think this ought to do the trick. And it’ll come down far enough that it won’t bother her neck.”

  I bent down and released the leash and removed Happy’s harness. Thrilled to be free, she wiggled her way over to Florence.

  “Isn’t she a doll?” Florence said, reaching down to cup Happy’s face in her hands. “Such kind eyes. I can tell she’s got an old soul.”

  “What’s an old soul?” I asked.

  “This isn’t her first life as a dog,” Florence replied. “She’s been here many times before.”

  I cocked my head to one side. I couldn’t tell if Florence was joking or being serious. “Well,” I said. “I don’t know what her previous lives were like, but this one has been pretty terrible.”

  Florence eased the sweater over Happy’s head, careful to avoid the wounds on her neck. Then she put each one of her front paws through the leg holes and slid it on over Happy’s body. “I have a feeling it’s about to get better for her,” Florence said.

  I thought Happy might not like the sweater, but instead of being bothered by it, she seemed to revel in wearing it, prancing around the front of the store while her nails clacked on the hardwood. I had to admit, she looked adorable.