So she was so much less than thrilled when she radioed in that she was back in the truck and headed back to Columbus and was told she was needed at the crime scene. Before her mental censor hopped in and stopped her, she asked "What the hell for?" Turned out, according to the dispatch, that there was a "dog problem" of some sort. Kathy sighed and started the truck. It would be a good hour before she could get there. Since her job was salaried, she didn't get overtime. Most months she made less than minimum wage if you figured out the hours she put in.
Plus she had resigned herself to do some things that were not strictly required. For instance, the three big kennels that now stood in the lot behind the little yellow house. All three bought with her own money, along with the doghouses and food and water bowls in them. Columbus was much too small to have an animal shelter. So if Kathy did pick up a stray she then had to take the animal twenty-five miles down the road to a vet in Deming who had a contract to provide board. If it was late, the vet was closed and not inclined to send someone in just to open the doors and take in a stray pet. The City fathers had shrugged and said she could leave animals in the cage truck overnight. Kathy really felt that was rather inhumane, and besides, she generally ended up with a truck full of shit to clean up – also not pleasant. So – she bought the kennels.
Mind you – truly stray dogs were rare. The town was small enough that even though they had the standard leash law, no one expected her to actually enforce it unless the dog was running around attacking kids or chasing chickens. Kathy spent the first few weeks of her tenure being told "Oh, that's the Hardy's dog – take him on home and drop him off." Or "I see Georgie jumped the fence again – just run him on home and leave them a note on the fence." She eventually figured out that no one expected her to pick the dogs up at all, let alone cats, so unless an animal really truly seemed to be lost or abandoned, she let them be to go on home at their leisure. Most of them did. Being out in the country, now and then "city folks" would drop off and abandon pets. Now and then one of the old folks in the retirement community would die and leave a pet without any instructions about who could or should take care of it if they passed.
Kathy was once called to come get a box full of puppies that had been dropped off by the highway. Poor little things didn't even have their eyes open yet. She ended up buying puppy milk replacer and driving around with the box of them in her cage truck so she could feed them every two hours until they got a little bigger. Then Curtis, bless him, took over the nursemaid job until they were old enough to find homes for. Luckily they seemed to be some sort of Aussie mix, so the farmers were happy to adopt them and get a nice herder for free.
When she pulled up at the crime scene, she found Sgt. Morales waiting at the gate for her. The State Police officer looked tired.
Kathy climbed wearily out of her truck and walked over to Sgt. Morales.
"What's up?" she asked, "I heard you have a dog problem?"
"Yeah, we actually do." The Sergeant sighed. "There's this enormous – and I do mean big as a pony – German Shepard type dog that is hanging around. He obviously pretty scared, and really skinny, but he has growled and snapped at everyone who got near him. He seems to especially hate anyone with a gun."
"Probably the old man's dog."
"Yeah. Bet he saw the whole thing. Wish he could talk."
"Maybe when you get a suspect you can do a line up for him."
The Sergeant snorted. "Don't I wish? We're still trying to sort out whose case it is going to be. And I have to say that in the long run, I doubt it will matter anyway."
Kathy raised her eyebrows questioningly, so the Sergeant went on.
"Chances are we are never going to find out who did this or why. Sad, but true. Well," she went on as she turned down the path, "Maybe I'll be wrong. Maybe Ol' Shep out there will tell you who did it and you can crack the case for us."
It was Kathy's turn to snort. She had stopped long enough to get her long comealong pole out of the cage truck. It was a loop of cable on the end of a long hollow pole. The cable ran through the pole to a handle that turned. If Kathy could get the loop over the dogs' head, then she could pull it tight and turn the handle, which would lock the loop in place and use the pole to lead the dog to the truck safely without him being able to get close enough to bite if he was so inclined. She also took the soft rope she used for gentle dogs. She'd rather use the soft rope if the dog didn't seem like a biter. To keep it handy but out of the way, she tied it loosely around her waist.
When they came around the corner Kathy was glad to see that at least some of the bodies had been removed. A few technicians were working a little ways down the gully and when they saw the two officers, they waved them over. Kathy tried to ignore the three bodies she could see stretched out in the gully behind the techs.
"You the Animal Control officer?" a tall, bearded man in overalls asked.
Kathy nodded.
"The dog is over in that patch of brush somewhere" he motioned, "He ran off when I shouted at him, but he scared me half to death when he came up from under that mesquite and growled. Sounded like a freaking lion."
"We do get mountain lions around here now and then." Kathy agreed. "But I can't imagine one hanging around all this activity."
"Yeah. He just caught me off guard. We tried to grab him but he started freaking out and snapping at people. Seems to really have something against anyone with a gun. Then he ran down there and hid. Truthfully, he looks pretty pathetic. Skin and bones. One of the other techs tried to get close to him after he calmed down, but he started growling and snapping again, so we left him alone and called for you."
"Okay. Probably for the best. Don't need anyone dog bit."
Everyone nodded, and then the Sergeant and Kathy stepped up from the gully and started towards the brush the tech had indicated.
"You don't need to come with me." Kathy told the Statie.
"Yeah, but I don't want to stay there either. I'll be glad when they are done here and I can get back on patrol. All I'm really doing here now is keeping track of who is here when and why and what they're doing and – boring supervisory stuff." She grinned and Kathy saw that elusive dimple in one check flash.
"Well, I can maybe use the help. There he is." Kathy pointed out a long, low scruffy black back – all that could be seen of the dog. He really was huge from what she could see. He had wedged himself in under a clump of three mesquite bushes growing together, with a few tumbleweeds caught and mixed in. Kathy could see him shudder with fear when he heard their voices, but he kept his head down and pointed away from them like a child who is pretending if he can't see you, you can't see him. Poor old boy, she was thinking already.
"Okay, I need to get around this batch of brush to his head." Kathy instructed the cop. "Why don't you stay here and keep an eye out. If he tries to turn and run from me, maybe if you yell and wave your hands he'll come back my way. Please don't shoot the old boy."
"No, I won't. Not unless I really think I have to. Doesn't look to me like he could do much harm – but you never know."
Kathy wasn't sure how much she trusted the Sergeant – different law enforcement officers had different attitudes towards dogs. Some of them seemed to almost want to shoot a dog at the least excuse. Kathy was hoping the fact they had called her, instead of simply shooting the dog down and calling it done, was a good sign.
Working her way carefully around the brush, Kathy finally got to a point where she could see the dogs head. Although he was truly a massive animal, she thought he might be quite old from the white on his muzzle and around his eyes. It was hard to see well under the brush, but she thought she saw the light of intelligence in those brown eyes, and a sense of resignation. She was sorry about it, but she thought the best thing was probably to push the comealong pole into the brush, loop him, and pull him out. There was no way she could get in there without being torn to shreds by the mesquite thorns. She hoped she could get the dog out without shredding him, too.
Ma
ybe she could get really lucky.
She squatted down on her heels and made eye contact with the dog, then looked away. In a soft singsong she called him.
"Puppy, puppy, puppy. Dinner, dinner, dinner."
His ears pricked when she said "dinner."
Kathy patted the ground in front of her and made kissing noises at him. He lowered his head and whined, then dragged himself a little closer with his huge front paws.
"Oh. Good boy. Good dog. Dinner, dinner, dinner. Treats!" She added.
He whined again, deep in his throat and inched a bit nearer.
Kathy knelt so she could get a hand in her pocket for the dog biscuits she carried.
"Lookee here, big boy. Good boy. Treat? Cookie? Biscuit?" Kathy held out the dog biscuit.
The dog made a soft moaning noise and crawled a little closer. He had started to pant and she could see how pale and dry the inside of his mouth was now – also that his teeth were dark ivory, and some of them broken or missing. Yes, this was a truly old dog, and he was probably severely dehydrated and half-starved. She really didn't want to grab him and drag him around if she didn't have to. She glanced up at Sgt. Morales and saw the woman was waiting patiently. The Sergeant nodded and stayed quiet. She got it – let's not hurt the old boy if we can help it. Kathy felt a flash of gratitude.
Kathy risked sticking her arm in the brush a little ways to lay the biscuit as close to the dog as she could reach without being shredded by the wicked thorns on the mesquite. She carried on talking to him in a soft voice, concentrating on words that made his ears come forward, "Biscuit" "Good boy" and "Dinner" seemed to be what he recognized. Probably hadn't been called Puppy in a long time. She laid the comealong down, and pulled the rope out from around her waist instead. Moving slowly, she made a big, roomy loop and got the knot in her hand.
The dog inched forward to the biscuit and inspected it thoroughly with his nose before giving it a tentative lick. Then he looked at Kathy again. Probably taught only to take food from his owner, or with permission, she thought. It was common training for watchdogs. She tried for a common cue.
"It's okay. Okay, big boy. Okay." She said, making a few more kissing noises. The dog stared at her as if trying to decide if she could be trusted, and then turned his head sideways and gummed the biscuit into his mouth. As he crunched gratefully, Kathy slowly reached towards him with another biscuit in her free hand, sliding it along above the dirt, patting the ground now and then and still talking.
"Come here. Here big boy. Come. Be good." Not surprisingly, given his immense size, he had certainly been called "big boy" by someone he loved sometime. It always brought his ears forward hopefully for a second, and then they dropped again. At least he wasn't growling.
Kathy began moving the other hand towards him, with the rope in it, also low to the ground. The dog looked longingly at the biscuit and Kathy held it up for him.
"It's okay. Okay." She sang softly.
He took the biscuit with infinite gentleness and she slid the rope over his head with the same care. He stared at her a moment, the biscuit still in his mouth. Kathy held her breath.
The dog dropped the biscuit and bolted, jumping over Kathy and bursting out of the brush. Kathy hung onto the rope as she rolled over to elbows and knees and ignored a dozen sharp pains from stickers and thorns as she got her feet under her, but remained crouched low. The dog had hit the end of the rope, and whirled to face her. He stood with his head low and front feet extended in a crouch of his own. A low rumble escaped his throat and Kathy understood well the tech's initial fright. She hoped she hadn't made a bad mistake by not using the comealong.
Trying to move slow and sound reassuring, she talked to the dog as she stood up. "Easy big boy. Good boy. Be good. It's okay. Let's go get dinner, big boy." By then she was standing, bent towards the dog a little. She tugged gently on the rope. The dog stood up out of his crouch and raised his ears, cocking his head slightly.
"That's it. Good boy, good big boy, be good now. Let's go get dinner, okay?"
The dog took a small step towards her. That was enough. Kathy made kissing noises at him and smiled, lips closed, and took a few steps so that the rope gently tugged at the dog again. He took a couple of steps to follow.
Kathy turned.
And saw the Sergeant crouched with gun out, leveled and aimed at the dog.
"Um – don't think we need that." Kathy said in the same singsong she was using to talk to the dog.
"Sorry" the sergeant grinned a bit sheepishly, standing up and holstering her gun. "Spooked me when he growled and then burst out of the bushes like that. Good job with him. I don't want to spook him, so I'm going to turn now and walk out of here, okay?"
"Perfect" Kathy agreed, "Once you are out of sight, I'll go over the other way – looks like I can get us along that game path and out to my truck without having to try and get him to go past the techs."
Sgt. Morales nodded, then walked casually away.
The dog watched her, a low growl in his throat.
"Whatsamatter big boy? Don't like scary people with guns?" If the dog had been trained as a watchdog at some point he might have been trained to focus on anyone with a gun. Or maybe he was here when the killings went down, and now he didn't like anyone with a gun. That would make sense. Well, if they were shot. It occurred to Kathy that she had never even heard how the people here had been killed.
Slowly, gently, talking softly to the dog who, as he walked closer to her turned out to be a truly immense example of the German Shepard breed, Kathy walked the dog out to her truck. Now that she could see him, he appeared to be very old, and probably not a pure German Shepard, but some kind of mix that contributed to his size. His coat was longer than most Shepards, and very dense – and sadly matted with probably a few million goats heads, stick tights, and even buffalo stickers. He truly was little more than skin and bones, and a bit wobbly in his walk. Whether from dehydration, starvation, or typical Shepard hip dysplasia, or even arthritis, it was hard to tell. Kathy doubted he would be able to jump into the cage under his own power. She would have to trust him.
Bending down, she stroked his head for the first time and was rewarded with a look from those deep brown eyes that would have melted any dog lover's heart. She put one arm under his chest and the other under his rump and lifted. He grunted and closed his eyes. Kathy was shocked at how light he was, truly he couldn't be much but bones – and she could feel every one of them against her chest and arms. She put him gently into the big cage on the back of the truck, and then went to get the blanket she kept behind the seat. She couldn't bear the idea of him lying on the hard, metal bed as bony as he was.
Sergeant Morales came back up the path as Kathy got the blanket under the old dog, who had lay down in the bed of the cage truck and then seemed unable to get up.
"That is the biggest German Shepard I've ever seen in my life." Morales commented. "You did a great job with him, by the way. If I ever need an Animal Control cop, I'm asking for you." Her smile was brilliant white, and the dimple flashed along with her dark eyes.
"Thanks." Kathy grinned back. "I'm glad I was able to come and get him. Would have been a shame to have him shot."
"Yeah. Some of the guys get a little trigger happy – I admit it." Morales said with a disgusted expression.
"Hey – have you cop types figured out how these people were killed yet?" Kathy asked.
Morales sighed. "Shot, the ones we've examined so far. Execution style. Why?"
"He didn't seem to like your gun much. Some watchdogs are trained to focus on a gun. Or – "
"Yeah. He saw or heard this go down. Sure wish I could interview him!"
"Hah. I'm glad you can't. Poor old dog wouldn't survive the grilling I took today." Kathy said, ruefully.
"Yeah. Sorry about that. Until we can decide who this is going to belong to, it belongs to everyone." Morales shrugged apologetically.
Kathy glanced back at the dog to see him lying flat out and pant
ing, his eyes closed.
"I'm kind of worried about him. I'm going to get him on home, get some water and food into him if I can. Call the vet if I can't. I better be going."
"Well, thanks again. If you ever need a Statie for backup, I'll be there for you." Morales nodded, flashed the dimple, and turned back to the gate.
Old Dog
After radioing in, Kathy drove the Code truck home as slowly and carefully as she could, avoiding as many of the potholes and ruts as possible. The dog never made a noise, and she prayed he had not simply lay down and died back there. It was past time for her to be off duty so she went straight home and backed up by the front door. Curtis stepped outside and they stood together contemplating the big dog.
The Shepard mix had managed to roll up on his belly at least, and raised his head. He panted hard, his mouth open wide and Kathy noted again how pale and dry the inside of his mouth was.
Turning to Curtis, she said, "I think we need to keep him in the house tonight. Obviously he needs plenty of water, and maybe we can get some food into him, too. So far he has had about half a biscuit. His teeth are pretty awful. He's an old boy."
Curtis nodded and asked, "Is this the dog problem out at the crime scene? Looks more like he has problems than like he is one."
Kathy chuckled. "That's him. He managed to spook the techs with growls and snaps, but I think it might have used up his last drop of adrenaline to do it. He was cautious, but decided to come along with me without a lot of trouble."
"Is that why your uniform pants are ripped half off your ass then?" Curtis smiled.
Serendipity (Animal Heros From The Land Of Manyana Book 1) Page 3
