It was a fact of life that when military were deployed, very often they had to give up their canine companions. When Erin realized that she was receiving pets from the animal shelter to foster that had been turned in by deployed servicemen, it made her heart ache. Men and women were fighting for her country, being shipped out to foreign lands and being separated from their fur babies. Traumatic for everyone involved. So, she’d created a foundation to care for animals while their humans were fighting for the country and called it Paws at Home.
On a regular day she could board twenty dogs a day, but that was a lot. The foster group stayed in the house with her, along with her own dog Greta. There was also a barn with eight stalls, a covered exercise barn and paddock area where she could keep farm animals both outside and under cover when needed. She tried to keep costs minimal so that the feeding and care of the animal weren’t burdens on the owners, so occasionally she ran donation contests to contribute to their care and upkeep. There were several local sponsors that loved helping out the military, so she sometimes had extra, just in case of emergencies. Hay was usually her biggest expenditure for the farm animals because there was no grass on her desert property, other than the back yard that she maintained with water for the fosters.
Right now she was boarding nine dogs, a rabbit, two goats and three horses for deployed servicemen. After she took care of her own three horses and the foster group, she was worn out, but satisfied. Erin felt very blessed that she could take care of these animals. She hadn’t joined the military like she’d dreamed of herself, but she could definitely help out those who had.
Leading Wicked to the reinforced side kennel, she placed him inside. While the weather was warm and nice he could stay out here, but he would come inside every night so that she could keep an eye on him and change his bandages as needed.
Turning, she left him standing on the square patch of astroturf on one end of the enclosure, looking around. She would introduce him to the other dogs after he’d had a chance to chill for a bit.
When she looked out ten minutes later from her kitchen window, Wicked had lowered himself to the turf, legs folded beneath him, but his ears were pricked and he was watching her through the glass.
“I haven’t seen him relax at all, have you?”
Erin glanced at her mother, sitting at the kitchen table. “Nope. But he’s had a lot to deal with in the past couple weeks. It’s only been a few days since he lost his leg. He’s lost his handler and he keeps getting moved. It’s probably difficult for him to settle.”
“Yes, poor guy. What do you know about the handler? He survived, right?”
Erin nodded and sat down across from her mother, glass of iced tea in hand. “Yes. I’m going to call Carolina in a bit to get the story. She was a little vague when she sent me to Texas.”
* * *
Three hours later she still wasn’t real clear.
“All I know is that the family refused to take the dog,” Carolina Jones told her when she returned Erin’s call. “They don’t have the training. The soldier is in the poly-trauma center in San Diego, now. He just got in from Germany. Extensive injuries. They’re not sure if he’s going to survive or not.”
“Damn,” she breathed. “Poor guy.”
“According to what I’ve been told, the two of them are heroes, the dog and the man. They saved their entire squad.”
Erin was quiet for a moment. “Can I have his name? I’d like to send him some pictures and updates about his dog. Will Wicked go back to him?”
Carolina sighed. “His name is Luca Carmichael. And I assume so, yes. Normally in this kind of situation the dog will be retired and the soldier will be given first option to take him once he’s able. I’ll be honest, though, Erin. It sounds pretty rough for the soldier. This is going to be a long-term foster while he recovers. If he recovers. The family didn’t even blink at the price I quoted them for a three-month board with you, plus traveling and vet care and your time. If it goes longer than that I’ll have to amend the contract.”
Erin walked to the kitchen window, the phone clutched to her ear. Wicked had finally relaxed a little, soaking up the afternoon sun, and her heart softened as she considered keeping him longer. “That’s fine. I’m not in any rush.”
Chapter 2
Erin remembered those words four days later as she stared at a growling Wicked. Today he even curled his lip at her. She’d never had this much issue connecting to an animal.
It had been days since she’d brought him home to Arizona, and he was just as contrary as the first day. She’d begun to wean him off the pain medication, and she could only assume his hips were aching. With other dogs that had had the same procedure done, she knew there was an adjustment period. Sometimes their good leg would start hurting because it was doing twice the work, basically. She’d taken him to her local vet, but there was no sign of inflammation or stress in the good leg.
“Why do I put up with your sass? Hmm? Yes, you’re a gorgeous dog, but man you have attitude. Why don’t you chill out?”
Carrying the food scoop filled with his kibble, she crossed to the stainless steel bowl sitting on the brick paver. So far, she hadn’t been able to integrate him with the rest of the pack. His attitude didn’t inspire confidence that he would be safe with the rest of her more docile animals, so he’d had to stay in this kennel during the day. At night she gave him one of the bedrooms in the house, after she’d carefully secluded the pack in the back for the transfer.
The pack avoided him for the most part, as if they sensed his anger, but little Sophie seemed intrigued. As Erin completed her chores around the house and kennel, Sophie would follow along behind, just to be near her new protector. Erin didn’t mind the tiny little dog, but she worried that she would accidentally step on her. Or that one of the other dogs would accidentally hurt her in play, or something. Sophie only weighed four and a half pounds, and it would be easy to crush her. It didn’t help that her fuzzy multi-colored brown coat blended into the wood floors like they were camouflage.
In spite of Wicked’s nasty disposition, though, Sophie was fascinated with him. Erin didn’t dare let them be together in the same cage. One careless, disgruntled snap of Wicked’s jaws would kill the little mixed-breed, she had no doubt. But Sophie didn’t appear to be concerned. While Erin restocked Wicked’s food and water, the little dog curled up just outside the cage fence, waiting patiently.
The schedule had been changed today, though. Erin wanted to get some pictures to send to Wicked’s handler so she’d left his amputation bare this morning when she’d walked him out to the cage. The multiple cuts seemed to be healing. It was certainly better than when the injury had first happened. The first night she’d changed the bandage it had been pretty gruesome, but it needed to be documented. Erin planned on writing a letter to Wicked’s handler and keeping him updated on the dog’s progress. She had no idea how cognizant or aware the man was, but hopefully he would appreciate the updates, even if he read them later.
She waited for Wicked to relax a little. Or at least quit snarling. That probably wouldn’t be what his handler needed to see. She got several decent pictures and uploaded them to her email so that she could get them printed at Wal-Mart, then sent to her house in a few days. That would give her a chance to write a note to go with the pics.
Wicked watched her for several minutes, then lowered himself to the ground. Erin took it as a good sign that he didn’t move away from her. After a few more pictures, she stood and exited the enclosure.
Holding the door open for Sophie to enter the coolness of the house, Erin crossed to her computer to order the pictures.
It wasn’t until a little while later that she noticed that Sophie was missing. Making the familiar clicking noise that called the dogs, she looked through the group. George was there, with his long brown hound ears that were longer than his legs, black and white Greta with her alert topaz eyes, waiting for a task or a wild tennis ball to fall from the sky. Bait and Switch were
there, the matching mixed breed Mastiff brothers that had outgrown their owner’s home, their big fawn bodies wiggling. But no Sophie.
“Where’s Sophie?”
Greta, the most intelligent of the group, immediately turned and started looking for Sophie, her play buddy. George did as well, nose to the ground. Bait and Switch wandered over to check to see if she was hiding in their dogfood bowls.
Erin searched the house, looking in all of the normal places Sophie liked to hide. But there was no little brown coated terrier mix. She crawled on her hands and knees looking beneath the couch, then checked the bedroom to see if she’d gotten trapped when the door closed. No Sophie. Then something made Erin look out the kitchen window.
The blood chilled in her veins and she caught her breath, the bottom dropping out of her stomach. Tiny Sophie was in the cage with Wicked. And he was snarling at her.
Erin waited, breath held. She was too far away to call out, and if she ran outside she worried that she would startle Wicked into behaving rashly. For several long seconds she watched the drama, her heart aching. Indecision fought within her. She knew she should go rescue Sophie, but her interference might cost the little dog her life.
Then Wicked did something interesting. He leaned his head down to sniff. Sophie turned obligingly, tail in the air. When Wicked got his fill, Sophie walked herself all the way around him, sniffing like he had, though it was hard for her to reach anything. She lingered at the scar on his foot, as if she could scent the blood from the incision, then moved on. Eventually she wandered away, with no care in the world that she’d almost died.
Tiny Sophie had called Wicked’s bluff, and survived!
Erin went out then and called Sophie from Wicked’s pen. She jogged out, butt wagging and curled against Erin’s leg. Lifting the dog into her arms she looked into her dark, sweet eyes. “That was not a very smart thing to do,” she grumbled.
As Erin looked at the fence around Wicked’s enclosure, she realized the terrier had probably just squeezed through one of the wire chain link diamonds. Jeez, something else to worry about now.
For the next two days, Sophie went with Erin to feed the injured Malinois. Jogging into the cage like she owned the place, she sniffed the injured dog, then usually curled up beside him as Erin did what she needed to in his cage.
Then, on the third day, Wicked was waiting at the door of the cage for the little dog to come in. Sophie wiggled her tiny butt with excitement and Wicked’s long tail swayed back and forth. It was also the first time he didn’t growl at Erin, so she took that as a good sign. When it was time to exit the cage, Sophie seemed torn. She looked at Erin pleadingly.
“What, dog? I have no idea what you want.”
She did, actually, but she wasn’t sure it was a good idea. Wicked was such an unknown and she didn’t want to risk the safety of her other dogs.
“Let’s take it slow,” she told the terrier. “We’ll bring the others out one by one and see how they do.”
The thought sent a shiver of anxiety up her spine.
Leaving Sophie with Wicked, Erin went inside to bring out Greta. As soon as Erin grabbed the leash, Greta was at heel and humming with energy as they walked down the porch steps. Wicked watched everything carefully, but made no aggressive moves. Erin wasn’t daring enough to open up the cage yet, but she took it as a good sign that he wasn’t snarling. He hadn’t even gotten to his feet yet, so maybe just having Sophie in there was enough to calm him.
She let Greta roam the yard. Then she retrieved George. He sniffed at the cage where Wicked and Sophie sat, but again there wasn’t a lot of interest. Something else caught his attention and he trotted away.
Erin brought Bait and Switch out, but they didn’t even look at Wicked. The two big dogs sauntered away to pee.
As much as she’d been stressing about introducing the dogs it was a bit of a letdown how calmly everything played out. She looked at Sophie. “You must be a little magic gremlin or something dog.”
Sophie ended up being the catalyst that broke Wicked out of his moping bitterness, and in return Erin could see a boost in confidence in the little animal. She had a ninety-pound Belgian Malinois Military War dog backing her up. A couple of times when she got too pushy Erin had to correct her. The little dog cowered when she was issued the slightest correction, so it was easy enough to keep them in line.
Then one day almost three weeks after Wicked had arrived they were all trapped inside by the blazing spring heat. Erin didn’t mind it because it gave her a chance to catch up on her computer work. There was an email from an unfamiliar address in her box. She clicked it open.
Ms. Knox,
I’m in shock! No one told me Wicked was alive! I just assumed he was dead and no one wanted to tell me because of what I was dealing with. Your pictures are the best gift I’ve ever been given.
My family says they had no way to take him in, so I have to thank you for that as well. Right now I can’t argue with much of anything. As soon as I’m able I will take him back.
Is Boss eating ok? How is he getting around? It looks like they left part of the leg. Do they plan on taking the rest? Are there other injuries? Can he still play with the ball? That was his favorite thing to do.
Sorry for all the questions but I literally thought my K9 was dead. He was my 24 hr partner for the past several years.
I don’t know you, but you have a very precious piece of my heart in your care. Any scrap of information you can send my way will be gratefully received.
Luca Carmichael
Erin reread the note several times, her heart aching for the man. Why hadn’t they told him the dog had survived? Wouldn’t that have been good for his recovery? Given him something to strive for?
She looked across the room at the dog. “Hey, Boss.”
Immediately his head lifted and his ears came to attention. His laser-focus eyes centered on her. Then he climbed to his feet, bumping Sophie away. He padded toward Erin and she had to grin. Thank you, Mr. Carmichael.
Standing, she crossed to the large coffee table in the living room. She lifted up the top, revealing a treasure trove of toys. All of the dogs crowded around to see what was in the goody box. She tossed a few things out for the others, then found a ragged tennis ball in the bottom corner. As soon as she drew it out, Wicked stared at her even more directly. His tail wagged slowly and she could see the excitement running through his body. Erin hesitated. Would it hurt him to chase it? The stitches and everything were gone, but…
Screw it. This was the most excited she’d ever seen him. Tossing the ball through the air, she gasped as Wicked took off after it, faster than she’d ever seen him move. He hadn’t even hesitated. Rather than bring the toy back to her, though, he padded over to a corner and curled up to chew on it. Wicked used his front paws like hands and held the ball. Pulling her cell phone from her pocket, she snapped a picture of him, then turned back to the computer.
It’s good to hear from you, Mr. Carmichael. Last I’d heard you were just out of a coma in San Diego. The staff must have thought it best not to tell you about Wicked, though I don’t understand their reasoning.
He’s a gorgeous dog, but I’ll be honest. He’s been depressed ever since I got him. My little terrier-mix Sophie actually bearded him in his kennel last week, and he’s been more open the past few days. Then, when I called him Boss just now he really perked up. I had a spare tennis ball in the toy box and as you can see by the pic I’m attaching, he’s all over it. Thanks for the tip! This is the most animated I’ve seen him in the three weeks I’ve had him. If you have any other secrets you can tell me about him, I’ll take them.
He gets around ok now, but he was pretty shaky at first. They left that part of his leg in the hope that they could build him a prosthetic in a month or so. We have a referral card. Once my regular vet thinks the wound is as healed as possible, we’ll go see the prosthetic doc. I’ll keep you posted, of course. There were a few other cuts across his body and a fairly deep abdo
men wound, same side as the leg, but my vet took the stitches out of them just the other day. There were some burns and some bald patches where he may never grow hair back, but no other lingering injuries. Can I ask how he was wounded?
He’s been eating kibble, but I’m sure he’s lost weight. I know these types are lean anyway, but I’ve been trying to get more meat on his bones. I do up a homemade chicken and rice mixture for the terrier, who has a sensitive stomach, and he’s been eating some of it along with his regular food. Vet visit next week so I’ll know then if he’s gaining.
I hope you’re healing well. He tolerates me caring for him now, but I know he’d much rather be with you.
Erin
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Wicked Healing Page 2
