Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
C ole
I watch Johan drive out of the yard and it feels odd that he has gone. The guy takes up a lot of space. I mean, he is big. But I didn’t really notice that while he was here and yet when he’s gone, I notice the space he used to take up. I can’t work that out, so dismiss it from my mind and head over to the paddocks to make sure the horses are all fine before I head in for tea with my family. I collect Vin on my way. He likes a good run round the fields.
“Did I see Johan here this afternoon?” my mum enquires once we’re seated at the dinner table. It’s just my parents and myself tonight, like it is most nights, as Tom is with Megan and the girls at his own house. It’s just Sunday dinner that we all get together. I could eat alone in my apartment, but I haven’t got anything prepared and Mum likes to look after me.
“He brought me a dog.”
“Johan has a dog?” my dad asks.
“No, Johan doesn’t have a dog. He found a dog. It looks like there have been coursers in the area again.”
My dad growls and I know why; he hates the coursers as much as I do.
“I’ll keep an eye out and I’ll tell Tom to as well.”
My mother looks concerned. “If you see anything, you call the police, Geoff. No tackling them on your own.”
“Of course.” But my mum doesn’t look convinced at his tone of voice.
“Promise me.” It isn’t a question, it’s a demand, and my dad replies with more certainty before turning back to me.
“Is the dog alright?”
“He should be.” It’s the best I can tell him. I’d taken a quick look at it before tea, and I’ll check on it more thoroughly later, but it looked a little listless and I really hope there isn’t anything else going on with it.
I am a little surprised that Johan seemed so interested in it. I know how much people care for animals, I see it every day. And if anything happened to my horses or to Vin, especially Vin, then I would be sick with worry. But this dog isn’t Johan’s. Then I remember how quickly I had taken to Vin when he’d been brought in, in a similar situation. He’d been found by a member of the public. How I wanted to care for him straight away. I don’t know what to make of the information that Johan would care. I guess I’m always pleased to find other people who also love animals. Maybe Johan isn’t bad. Not that I should think him bad, but I’d been a little wary after what Megan had said about him. But he seems genuine, and he did really well with the horses this morning. This morning seems so far away now, but yes, he was great with the horses.
Talk over dinner turns to other subjects and I tune out as always. I stay and help wash up and then head back across the yard. I want to check on the dog again. When I enter the surgery it is quiet, and I hold my breath, hoping he’s still alive. The lights are low; I have special night lights for when there are residents in the cages. I don’t turn them off completely but have them dimmed. I turn them up a little, not wanting to put on the harsh strip lights, and head over to the cage. The dog has moved slightly from when I last checked up on him. I softly speak a greeting to him. He rewards me by opening an eye, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I never want to see a patient lose their battle with life, but there’s an extra feeling of relief when I realise I won’t have to break that news to Johan. I open up the cage and gently give him a stroke. He wriggles a little and leans into my touch. I grab a stethoscope and listen to his heart again. It’s beating strongly, but still, the dog doesn’t seem as animated as he was earlier. Not that there was much animation before either, but he still seems listless. I put it down to just needing to rest, and close the surgery up again, turning the light back down to a restful level.
I collect Vin for his last walk for the evening, and wander round the fields. I know I promised to tell Johan of the dog’s progress, but I put it off. Eventually I’m back in my apartment and I can’t put it off any longer. I know I have to do it, but what do I say? There’s no way I’m going to call him, but a text should do. However, I can’t find the words. Then I decide I can pretend he’s a client, and be professional. I pull out my phone.
Cole - The dog is the same.
It doesn’t take long before my phone beeps a response.
Johan - This is a good sign. Yes?
Cole - It means that there hasn’t been any change, so yes it could be a good sign.
I don’t know how else to put it. I mean, the dog is listless, but I can’t put my finger on why and I don’t want to give Johan any false hope.
There’s a longer pause this time and I think that is the end of it, but my phone beeps again.
Johan - OK, thanks again Cole, I’m really grateful you helped with this.
What else was I supposed to do, leave the dog to suffer?
Cole - I was just doing my job.
Johan - Well as I said, I appreciate it. :)
Cole - OK
I don’t know what he means with the smiley face emoji, but in case that’s the protocol I send one back.
Cole - :)
After that my phone goes silent and Johan doesn’t send any more texts. I kind of wish he had, I liked the exchange. Easier than talking anyway.
The next morning, after I shower and dress, I put on the coffee machine and take Vin outside while I wait for it to finish. What I am not expecting to see is Johan pulling into the yard. He gets out and Vin rushes over to him, and greets him like a long lost friend. Johan crouches down to fuss him, but soon stands again.
“I thought you didn’t start work until tomorrow?” I’m confused as to why he would be here. He looks away for a second, not meeting my eyes, and looks back.
“I was worried.” I am still confused. “About the dog. Is he okay?”
I was going to check on him once I had my coffee. Checking on any sick patients is the first thing on my list, once I have a coffee in hand and can think straight.
“I was just about to go over there and see. Do you want to come with me?” He smiles and agrees. But he looks anxious again.
“You haven’t checked on him yet?” His voice is almost accusatory.
“It’s, like, seven in the morning. No, I haven't checked on him yet.” I know my job, and in larger kennels, they probably wouldn’t start until eight o’clock. If I had more cause for concern, or thought the dog might have needed round-the-clock care, I would’ve stayed in the patient room last night. I’ve had to do that a few times in the past.
Johan doesn’t look happy but doesn’t say anything. As I open the door, he pushes past me and strides to the cage. I can just see round his huge frame, that all but blocks my view, that there’s nothing to be worried about. The dog is fine; he’s even standing now.
Johan bends over, a relieved smile on his face. Pushing his fingers at the cage, he tries to stroke the dog through the bars, but his chunky fingers can’t reach far.
He grins up at me. “He’s alright.” He huffs a laugh. “He’s alright.” He turns back to the dog like he can’t quite believe it.
“I said he should be.”
Vin, having finished checking all his favourite spots outside, rushes in and greets the dog, who starts wriggling enthusiastically, his tail wagging furiously.
“Woah there fella.” I put a hand on Vin’s collar. “No excitement just yet. I need to check him again, and remove the drip before it gets ripped out.”
I walk Vin over to the door and push him out, shutting it so he can’t get back in. He can go and play out in the yard for a bit.
“Can we check him now?” Johan asks, and I realise I’m not going to get my coffee anytime soon.
“Do you want to bring him over to the table?” I gesture to the observation table and Johan unbolts the cage. The dog wriggles himself out and into Johan’s arms. “Careful with that drip!” I quickly unhook it from the cage and bring it over with Johan and the dog. As he puts the dog on the table, I hand him the bag, most of the contents now gone.
Then I peel off the bandage around his leg and withdraw the catheter. I take the bag from Johan and discard it on the side. Now that the dog can stand up, I can see how painfully thin he is, but he seems to be in good spirits and is leaning into Johan’s touch as he strokes a massive hand very gently down his back. I see Johan wince as he can feel every bone in his spine. It’s so awful when animals are allowed to get in this condition.
“What now?” Johan looks at me.
“I’ll quickly check his heart again, then we’ll see if he wants to eat something, though he might need to go outside to relieve himself first.
I quickly grab my stethoscope and check his heart and lungs again.
“All good,” I pronounce. “Nothing that a few good meals and a bath can’t fix.”
I hand Johan a slip lead to put on him. “We don’t know his history, what he’s like with other dogs, other animals, or if he’s a runner.” I knew a collie once who would focus on something and run for miles, and no amount of calling would bring her back until she was ready. Johan nods, and places the slip lead round the dog’s neck. Before he goes to lift him off the table, I stop him with my hand.
“Hold on, I need to do something first.”
“What?”
I fetch my scanner. “I need to check for a microchip. It will tell us who his owners are.”
Johan’s face looks like thunder. “Whoever they are, they don’t deserve him.”
I don’t disagree, but still I have to check. I wave the scanner along the back of the dog’s neck—it doesn’t read anything. I try again, running it down the front of the neck and chest and then down the front legs, as microchips—about the size of a grain of rice—can sometimes move. I still can’t read anything. I move along his back, and even try his hind legs, though for it to have moved that far is rare. Eventually I turn it off.
“It looks like he isn’t chipped.” It doesn’t really surprise me. Why would the owners of a dog being used for illegal activities want it to be traced back to them?
“So, what does that mean?” Johan looks less thunderous, but still not happy.
“It means that I wait a week to see if anyone comes forward to claim him, and if not, he’ll go up for adoption.”
Johan nods but doesn’t respond to that. Instead he asks, ”Can I take him outside now?”
“Yes, just let me grab Vin. I don’t want him overwhelmed by another dog at this stage in his recovery.” I head to the door and, opening it, call Vin, who rushes in.
Johan picks up the dog and takes him outside before setting him down. I close the door, leaving Vin inside, and watch them. The dog seems glued to Johan's leg as he takes him over to a patch of grass near the paddock fence. The dog sniffs for a bit and then takes a long pee. Johan looks at me as if his firstborn had just done something amazing. It looks like things are going to be okay. After a few minutes, Johan comes back over, and I let Vin out to meet the new dog. Luckily, Vin has calmed down a little, so he greets the rescue very politely, and after a few tail wags and a few bum sniffs, it looks like they will be okay.
“Can I get him some food?” Johan asks.
“He needs something really gentle for a few days, so I wouldn’t be giving him regular dog food just yet. But scrambled egg would be best right now.”
“Oh okay.” Johan looks a bit crestfallen.
“I was going to make him some, do you want to help?”
“Yes, of course I do.” He almost starts towards the stairs to my apartment.
“Erm.”
He stops and looks back at me. I gesture to where he’s holding the dog. “There is no way he is going up there until he’s had a bath. Put him back in the surgery for a bit.”
Johan looks a bit sheepish but agrees. He heads into the surgery and takes a few long minutes coming out.
“What were you doing?”
“I was just making him a bed, he won’t be able to reach the cage if he wanted to curl up so I put his bed on the floor.”
“His bed?” I find his concern for the dog amusing. I mean, I get it, but I hadn’t expected it of him.
“Well, my jumper,” Johan smiles, and I find myself smiling back with amusement.
I call Vin and we head up to my apartment, to coffee, finally.