The Lottery--Furry

by Karen Ranney

  Yuck.

  I wish my grandmother were still alive. I tried to imagine what advice she would give me, but I kept coming up blank.

  The rest of the drive I entertained myself by singing along to the oldies. My mother loved music and it was always playing in our house. Not classical music, but Elvis Presley, Fleetwood Mac, the Eagles. You name it, if it was rock, I heard it, learned it, and watched my mother sing and dance to it.

  Another question: how the hell was she so happy in her life and I was so miserable?

  All I knew was that I was the only female Furry — outside of my grandmother — to chafe at my life. Surely there were other ones, but I’d never met any. Maybe they were more adept than I’d been at blending in.

  Who the hell had decided that I should have fewer freedoms and more restrictions simply because I was testicle free? No thank you, that wasn’t a life I wanted. A thought that brought me right back to the lottery again.

  More questions: how many people entered? Were they all different kind of paranormal species? I knew about vampires. Everyone did. Did witches count? I didn’t know any witches, but I didn’t personally know any vampires, either. We didn’t have the same schedule.

  I was working long days. When I came home I crashed and burned. The last thing I wanted to do was get dressed up and go to a club. Vampires liked the night life. Me? I liked my sleep more.

  I knew that none of my coworkers at the clinic were vampires. We were all there early in the morning. I never smelled another Were, but someone could have been using a masking cologne.

  Once I’d changed into my scrubs I checked on my patients, glad to hear that Cleo had been released to her owner. We’d see her in about ten days. Betty had handled everything beautifully in my absence and I told her so. She shook her head as she always did when I praised her, as if she were uncomfortable with it.

  I, too, had grown up thinking that praise was only politeness, that the speaker didn’t really mean it or that I didn’t deserve it. Evidently, you didn’t have to be a Furry to have a screwed up psyche.

  When Derek had some free time, I joined him in his office. As managing partner, he had the largest office and a window. It looked out over the parking lot, but that didn’t matter. At least his office didn’t feel like a closet.

  I’d never seen the top of Derek’s desk. He was a great believer in subscribing to every periodical published about animals. I don’t think he actually read any of them. They were just on his desk in about ten different piles. In the middle was a stack of patient files.

  All the other partners had given him permission to review patient notes for errors of omission or commission. We met once a week to discuss cases that Derek had pulled to review. A couple of mine had been selected and it wasn’t a process I enjoyed. However, I did learn from it and that’s what counted.

  Before I could launch into my request for vacation, Derek leaned back in his squeaky cracked leather chair, placed his fingertips on the edge of the desk and said, “I’m glad to have this time to talk to you, Torrance. Your friend, Dorothy, brought in another two strays this morning. We can’t continue to treat the entire city of San Antonio pro bono.”

  That statement was unfair in a variety of ways. First of all, Dorothy wasn’t my friend. She was someone I had befriended, true, but that wasn’t the same thing. Secondly, the clinic had never treated any of Dorothy strays for free. I’d always paid for their care.

  I took a moment to decide whether I wanted to argue the point with him, especially when I needed a favor.

  “I’m sorry, Derek,” I said, playing submissive Furry — I’d had plenty of practice in it — and added, “I’ll talk to her. I’ll handle the situation.”

  He smiled at me. “See that you do.”

  I nodded, biting back my irritation, and asked to take my vacation early.

  I got a lot of hemming and hawing, another five minutes of how busy he was - couldn’t I see it from the evidence on his desk? Then I was told about Sally’s hysterectomy – knowledge that should have been treated confidentially. Or how Doug was going through a messy divorce which might affect the clinic’s scheduling.

  I sat there, my smile firmly moored, my gaze never moving from his face. I’m sure I looked eager and earnest and demure. I’d had a lot of practice in looking that way, too.

  “Well, all right,” he finally said. “I guess we can spare you.”

  I jumped up from the hard plastic chair so fast I looked like a jack in the box. Before I could get to the door, however, he hit me up about Dorothy again.

  “You will talk to her, won’t you?”

  I turned and nodded.

  “Today?”

  Evidently I wasn’t going to get that nap I needed anytime soon.

  “Today,” I said and left.

  I went to find Betty, to see if there was anything I needed to review or sign. I’d chosen the perfect time to take a vacation. All of my patients had been released, gone home to recuperate or recover. All I had for the next few days were routine annual appointments, and they could either be routed to different vets or rescheduled.

  The only patients I had were Dorothy’s two strays. Thankfully, I didn’t get the impression that I knew either dog. I treated the first for mange, all the while rehearsing what I was going to say to Dorothy. The second one seemed fine with only a cut paw from his adventures as a stray. Both of them were intact males, and I couldn’t in all good conscience try to find them good homes without neutering them first. Neither had been chipped although they both looked as if they had been taken care of once upon a time.

  “Have they eaten anything?” I asked Betty.

  When the answer was negative, I went ahead and prepared myself for the surgeries, thinking that if the OTHER really was experimenting on Weres, maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to neuter a strange dog. I contemplated my dilemma for a few minutes before I decided that if any Were was stupid enough to agree to be experimented on, he deserved to have his balls cut off. I neutered both and sent them back to the kennel to recover.

  “I’ll call a friend over at the Animal Defense league,” I told Betty. “And see if I can’t get them a place there.” ADL was a no kill shelter.

  In the last few years, San Antonio had gotten better about euthanizing dogs and cats. I don’t like that word euthanizing, although it’s politically correct. We were striving to be a No-Kill city.

  I didn’t tell my partners I was leaving on vacation. I did explain to Betty that I had a “thing” I had to take care of. In true Betty fashion, she offered her assistance, gave me her cell number again, and told me that if I needed anything for me to call. I hugged her. I’d gotten used to hugging people in the last couple of years and if anybody deserved a hug, it was Betty.

  I didn’t bother changing out of my scrubs before leaving to talk to Dorothy. I liked to keep my promises. Besides, if I didn’t, Derek would whine. He was a nagger, too. Frankly, I preferred someone nagging at me than commanding me to do something.

  I was getting tired of alpha males, Furry or human.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I was still winging it

  Dorothy and Fred lived in a condominium complex about two miles away from the clinic. There was another vet office between us and Dorothy’s home. I’ve never had the courage to ask, and frankly didn’t know how to broach the subject, but I always wondered why Dorothy didn’t go there with her strays. Or maybe she had and had simply worn out her welcome.

  Or maybe she hadn’t found a gullible newish vet to pay her bills.

  I didn’t want to have this conversation. I’d delayed having this conversation for two months. Derek had simply done what anybody would, asked for it to stop.

  I don’t think Dorothy collected stray animals solely out of the kindness and goodness of her heart, although that was part of it. I think she wanted to love something and it was a way of asking for love, too. She needed praise or approbation, someone to tell her that she was a good person, that she mattered.


  But here was the problem: no matter how much you told someone like Dorothy that they were good and sweet and valuable, unless that knowledge came from inside, they were just words and didn’t mean anything.

  Another bit of wisdom I’d acquired for myself.

  But if I didn’t stop Dorothy, she was going to feel even worse when she came to the clinic and was turned away. It was just an accident that I’d been there early one morning and accepted the dog she’d found. Most of the other vets would have directed her to a shelter. I hadn’t been that quick on my feet or as knowledgeable.

  I’d been winging it then and I was still winging it.

  When I got to her complex’s parking lot, I sat there for a few minutes, hoping for inspiration. I’d already called and asked if she had time to talk. I might be a Furry but I’d been brought up to remember my manners. Dorothy’s response had been sweet and gratifying: “Of course, Torrance. We’d love to see you.”

  I still hadn’t figured out what to say by the time I made it to Dorothy’s door. I rang the bell, heard the pleasant chime, and then the frantic barking of her Chihuahuas. I liked the breed, but there were some individual animals that were highly strung. Dorothy owned two of them. I should have used oven mitts on their last annual appointment. Bitsy and Boop were both biters.

  I’d only known Dorothy for a short time, but whenever we met, she hugged me as if I was her long lost daughter. I didn’t know if she and Fred had children. I guessed not, but I could be wrong.

  Maybe it was my imagination, but today’s embrace had a touch of desperation to it.

  “Come in, come in. What a pleasure, Torrance. I’m so glad you had time to stop by.”

  I was struck by how pristine everything was. Fred was a retired Air Force colonel and their condo showed evidence of their travels in the Japanese screen and the collection of netsukes in the curio cabinet, the French art, and the assortment of English teapots arrayed on the shelves in the dining room. Dorothy had once told me that she decorated her condo in a style called Early Air Force.

  Dust wouldn’t have dared visit this home, let alone live here. The scent of lemon polish vied with the odor of window cleaner. Everything sparkled.

  Dorothy was in her late sixties, information she’d divulged during our first meeting. She was only about five feet tall, but perfectly proportioned, a pixie of a woman. She wore her blond/gray hair in a short capped cut that flattered her small features. When she was younger I’ll bet she was called cute. Or perky.

  “Is Fred here?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “He’s visiting his floozy.”

  She said the words very carefully as if she were practicing her enunciation. As she smiled brightly at me I realized that Dorothy was hammered.

  Well, damn.

  I wondered if she was like me. I didn’t exactly black out when I drank a lot. It was just that lots of stuff that happened didn’t find its way into my long term memory.

  I’d promised Derek so I sat on the pale gold brocade couch. Dorothy insisted on making me coffee, and the way this day was going, I needed as much caffeine as possible.

  A few minutes later, she popped her head out of the kitchen door and asked, “I have a Keurig machine, Torrance. We have Salvadoran hazelnut or Starbucks espresso.”

  “The espresso, please.”

  I sat admiring the furnishings, thinking that I needed to find some energy to do the rest of what I had to do today. I wanted to do some research on the OTHER. I hadn’t decided if I was really going to Welfare. I hadn’t told my father about Sandy’s problem with Duncan. In other words, Craig being an ass. He needed to be told about Joey, the dog, too. I honestly didn’t know if telling my father anything at this point would be wise.

  Dorothy returned five minutes later with a cup in one hand and a travel mug in the other. When she sat, I got a whiff of Chloe perfume and Southern Comfort.

  “How are my puppies, Torrance?”

  I glanced down at her Chihuahuas who’d taken a stance at my feet. They weren’t barking anymore, but they growled every few minutes. I was going to make sure not to bend down and pick anything up. I was sure I’d draw back a bloody stub.

  “They look fine,” I said.

  For such a small person, Dorothy had a gigantic laugh. It filled the room.

  “Not those puppies,” she said. “The dogs I brought to the clinic this morning.” She frowned at me just before taking a sip from her travel mug. “Those people at your clinic aren’t as nice as you. I thought, for a few minutes, that they wouldn’t take the puppies. I told them you would. Where were you?”

  “I had something I had to do,” I said. I took a sip of the coffee. It was strong enough to be used as paint stripper, but I wasn’t complaining. I needed the buzz.

  “About the dogs,” I began.

  “Pish and Posh,” she said. “ Aren’t those the cutest names? Of course, that’s not their real names. Why does someone not take care of their dogs? You can tell Posh had a real home. He’s got good teeth and he knows a few tricks. Why don’t people take care of what they love?”

  To my utter horror, Dorothy began to cry. Oh, God, what did I do now? Anyone could’ve figured out that Dorothy wasn’t crying about the dogs.

  I put my coffee down on the table, careful to use the coaster, and went to the chair where she was sitting, bending down and giving her an impromptu hug. The Chihuahuas weren’t happy and were gunning for my knees. Or ankles. Or any flesh they could reach.

  “I’m so sorry, Dorothy.”

  I didn’t know if Fred really did have a floozy somewhere. I didn’t know what their problems were. Nor did I really want to know. Yet I had to do something. I couldn’t just let Dorothy sit there and cry.

  “You do so much good,” I said.

  I heard the words come out of my mouth and wanted to bite them back immediately. I was doing exactly the opposite of what Derek had asked me to do. If anything, I was encouraging Dorothy. But what was I supposed to do? Make her day even worse by telling her she couldn’t be a good Samaritan? That hardly seemed right.

  I decided I was going to handle everything later. After I found homes for the dogs, and after my vacation, I would come back and talk to Dorothy woman to woman about why she couldn’t bring me any more strays. In the meantime, maybe I could do something proactive.

  I sat back down, grabbed my purse and pulled out one of my business cards, writing my cell phone number on the back.

  “I’m going on vacation. The clinic is getting a little full now, so before you take any more dogs over there, give me a call first. Maybe you can even bring any stray that you find to my house.”

  I had a feeling I was going to regret that, but I didn’t know what else to do. Maybe she needed to adopt people instead of animals.

  In for a penny, in for a pound – an expression my grandmother like to use. She wouldn’t have hesitated diving head first into this situation. She’d once invited an entire troupe of dancers to Graystone. They’d been stranded in San Antonio when their manager absconded with their money. They’d also stayed a month, had spent a fortune on food and drink, slept during the day and partied at night.

  Sonia had loved every minute of it.

  “I have a problem, Dorothy, and I need your help.”

  Evidently, those were the right words to use because she pulled a tissue from her pocket and began dabbing at her eyes.

  “What kind of problem?”

  “I have a houseguest,” I said, wondering how Joey was going to accept this little maneuver of mine. “He’s a young man I’ve known all my life. He’s going through a very bad patch right now. He needs to find something to occupy him. He needs to get involved in a cause.”

  “Like saving strays?”

  I smiled brightly. “Exactly that,” I said. “But he doesn’t have a car right now. Or a job, either. Would you be willing to go by my house and pick him up and have him go with you?” I thought it would be apt for the human Joey to accompany Dorothy
since she had once rounded him up as a stray. It was almost poetic justice.

  “Does he like Chihuahuas?” she asked, smiling down at Bitsy and Boop who were now sniffing my ankles.

  “I’m sure he does,” I said, hiding my smile with difficulty. I might have a teensy weensy wicked side to my personality.

  I hadn’t asked Joey about the experience of being rescued by Dorothy. I hadn’t asked him if he’d known what he was when he was a dog. An oversight on my part. I’d ask him once I got home. At the same time I’d tell him that the price of staying with me, rent free, was performing some volunteer work.

  I had a feeling I was going to pay for that, too, but not right now. For now, I had to solve the problem of keeping Joey and Dorothy occupied while I learned how to be something other than a Were.

  “You’re so kind,” Dorothy said. “If we could have more than two dogs, I would bring them here.” She sighed deeply, then looked up at me again. “Fred calls them trouser tigers. He isn’t an animal lover like I am.”

  Or maybe he just didn’t like the two dogs he had.

  I couldn’t help but wonder if Fred was still living with Dorothy. I didn’t see any evidence of his presence, but then, I didn’t actually see any signs of Dorothy in the apartment, either. It was a showplace. As personal as an open house. Granted, there were some beautiful pieces of furniture and knickknacks, arts and collectibles, but nothing was out of place. Nothing was intimate. Granted, my living room wasn’t finished and there was furniture where there shouldn’t be, but there were also slippers beside the couch and an opened book on the end table.

  Dorothy’s house was as perfect as photo shoot.

  Maybe Fred just got tired of living in perfection.

  I stood and took my cup to the kitchen sink. Here, too, everything was spotless and in perfect order. I could only imagine what my kitchen looked like after Joey had been there all day.

  Why had I agreed to take him in? Craig wasn’t going to be happy with me and that might be part of it.