CHAPTER 7 - OLDENBURG, GERMANY—JULY 19, 1916 #2
They entered Nia’s pen and kneeled beside the dog. Near her head was gnawed bits of bread and potato.
Nia slowly opened her eyelids. She attempted to stand but whimpered and flopped onto her belly with her chin pressed to the ground.
Anna stroked the dog’s back. “It’s okay, Nia. This is Emmi. She’s going to help me take care of you.” She gently lifted the dog’s front right paw.
Emmi grimaced. “Damn trenches.” She stroked Nia’s head, and then examined the remaining paws, all of which were inflamed with redness and blisters between the pads.
Anna kissed Nia on the head and whispered, “We’ll be back to feed and care for you soon.” Despite her heart telling her to stay, she forced herself to go about their duties.
For the next hour, Anna and Emmi accompanied dogs to do their business.
She presumed that Fleck required that dogs be taken individually, similar to the daily experience they would encounter when they were partnered with a blind veteran.
Working together at the hospital was beneficial, Anna believed, as they alternated turns pumping water and carrying buckets of water to fill bowls.
They used the same tandem approach for feeding the dogs.
The food in the bins was chopped turnips, similar to feed for cattle.
And given a burlap sack of whole turnips which sat next to a butcher block and tarnished cleaver knife, Anna assumed that making dog food would soon be added to her list of duties.
Regardless of her disappointment of being confined to canine care and nursing duties, she wouldn’t have changed her mind about working here, even if she had known the full scope of the role.
The shepherds were sweet and affectionate, as well as incredibly intelligent, given they waited for permission to eat, leave their pen, and go potty.
Their coats were thick and soft, and the manner in which they panted with a protruding tongue was simply adorable.
It took a concerted effort for Anna not to give in to her urge to hug the shepherds.
Also, all of the dogs were female, which Anna and Emmi had deduced from escorting the dogs to do their business.
By the time the trainers arrived for work, each of the dogs were fed, cared for, and wearing their harness, except for Nia, who was curled on the floor of her pen.
After a brief introduction by Fleck, who called Emmi “Emilie,” the trainers took a group of dogs to the obstacle course.
Before Anna and Emmi embarked on picking up dog piles and cleaning pens, they tended to Nia.
“Her paws are bad,” Emmi said, kneeling beside Nia. “Especially her front, right paw.”
Anna rubbed Nia’s head. “What do you think we should do?”
Emmi pointed. “The ground in this barn is damp. It’ll make it difficult for her paws to heal.”
“Straw?”
“It’ll help, but what she needs is a dry, warm place to sleep.”
Anna envisioned smuggling her home, and quickly buried her thought.
“Let’s clean and dry her paws,” Emmi said.
Anna retrieved water and antiseptic. Together they cleaned Nia’s paws, and then dried them using a few of Norbie’s old handkerchiefs that Anna had stashed in her purse. Afterward, they gave her food and water, but Nia only nibbled a bit of turnip.
“Try to drink, Nia,” Anna said, cupping a handful of water to the dog’s mouth.
Nia lapped water, and then lowered her head.
For the rest of the day, Anna and Emmi cleaned pens, picked up dog piles, shuttled shepherds to trainers, chopped turnips into dog meal, and made a homemade salve from remnants of a beeswax candle, which Anna applied to a shepherd with a bleeding elbow callus.
Between her duties, Anna tended Nia. She managed to get a bit of food into Nia’s belly by mashing turnips into a paste, which was easier for her to swallow while lying on her side.
Twice, Nia had attempted to stand, but she yelped and flopped to the ground.
“I wish I could take you home with me,” Anna said, caressing Nia’s head.
Nia raised her eyes. Her tail slowly brushed the ground.
The trainers finished their work in the late afternoon.
Anna and Emmi escorted the dogs, one by one, from the obstacle course to the barn, where they removed their harnesses and gave them fresh water.
While the trainers congregated outside to smoke cigarettes, Anna and Emmi labored to feed the dogs their evening meal.
As Anna scooped a cup of turnip feed from a bin, Fleck entered the barn and approached her.
Anna’s skin prickled. “May I help you, sir.”
He pointed to the metal cup. “My instructions were to give them one level scoop.”
Anna looked at the feed, heaping from her cup. “Sorry, sir.”
“No food must be wasted,” he said.
She pushed bits of turnip back into the bin. She held the cup to Fleck.
“Better,” he said.
Anna deposited the food into a bowl. She was relieved when Fleck stepped away. But he didn’t leave the barn. Instead, he raised his clipboard and began to inspect each of the pens. Oh, no.
Fleck went from pen to pen, examining the condition of each shepherd, as well as the cleanliness of their area. After each inspection, he scribbled onto his clipboard. As he examined the dog with the elbow callus, he asked, “What’s on her?”
Anna and Emmi darted to the pen.
“A salve, sir,” Anna said.
“Where did you get it?”
“I made it,” Emmi said.
He ran a finger over the dog’s elbow. “The bleeding has stopped, and she’s no longer scratching it.”
Anna looked at Emmi and smiled.
“Make more of it,” he said. He stepped into the adjacent pen, where Nia was curled with her nose toward her tail. “I see this one hasn’t improved.”
“She’s drunk water and eaten some food,” Anna said.
He lifted Nia’s front paw and shook his head. “If she’s unable to recover soon, we’ll need to euthanize her.”
A pang pierced Anna’s stomach. “She’ll recover, sir. We’ve treated many soldiers with their feet in horrid shape from the trenches.”
“This a shepherd, not a soldier,” he said.
Anna swallowed. If she stays here, she might not recover fast enough for him.
She looked at Nia, her eyebrows dancing as her eyes looked from Fleck to Anna.
Harbor your heart, Norbie’s voice crowed in her head.
She gathered her courage and said, “The obstacle preventing her quick recovery is this cold, damp ground.”
Fleck scraped the earth with the heel of his boot.
“Sir,” Anna said. “I am willing to take her home to care—”
“Nein,” he said.
Anna took a deep breath. Her mind and heart raced.
“I realize that you want this dog to recover quickly, but we need a warm, dry environment, which we don’t have.
You have demands to meet, and I want to help you achieve them.
If this shepherd remains here, she’ll eat your food, take up space, and you might end up having to euthanize her. ”
Emmi’s eyes widened.
Fleck crossed his arms.
“But if you permit me to take her home, she will not eat your food, and she will not take up space, which I’m sure you will need for incoming shepherds. And I will deliver you a healthy dog to train, rather than one to euthanize.”
Fleck paused, tapping his clipboard.
Anna fought to keep her hands from trembling. Oh, God, please.
“All right,” he said.
“Thank you, sir,” Anna said. “You won’t regret—”
“I want a daily report on her condition.”
“Of course,” Anna said.
Fleck turned and left.
Emmi approached Anna. “I can’t believe you did that.”
“Nor I,” Anna said, her legs quivering.
Anna and Emmi finished their work. One of the trainers, a man in his late sixties with hairy eyebrows, reminiscent of albino caterpillars, helped them carry Nia to his wagon.
Instead of sitting up front, Anna hunkered in the bed of the wagon with Nia’s head on her lap.
The driver snapped the reins and the wagon jerked forward.
As the horses clopped over the dirt road, Anna stroked the dog’s ears. “You’re going home with me.”
Nia nuzzled Anna’s hand.
She leaned in and whispered, “I promise to make you well.”