Chapter 12 Noah
Chapter twelve
Noah
Iam… Wanted. Needed. Useful. Central.
For the first time in my life, I am the expert here. Every person in the veterinary practice looks at me before they move the next dog.
Waiting. Trusting that I know what to do.
Armed with a folder of my notes on each dog, I’m the triage officer.
Triage officer.
I can't stop grinning.
Rhys is in his consulting room, one of three vets who are seeing the dogs.
And I'm directing who they get. I know every dog as they enter.
I have a nurse beside me, armed with an identichip implant gun, so there will be no confusion about who anyone is.
I welcome each dog as they are unloaded and brought in.
Seeing their tails wag as they recognize me makes this all worthwhile.
They remember the quiet voice that fed them in the dark.
The hands that scratched behind their ears when no one else bothered.
“Bitch Sixteen,” I greet the next dog, patting her head as she dances excitedly at my feet. “She's only eighteen months old. Not currently pregnant. Her last litter was twelve weeks ago. I call her Pepper.”
She is weighed, chipped and taken to see one of the vets. Inside the consulting room, each one is getting a check-up and an ultrasound scan. Those confirmed they aren't pregnant will be fostered out somewhere. That part isn't down to me, but I'll get the details in my official file.
“Bitch Twenty-four. Harriet.” I stroke the old girl's head gently. “She's eight. She was put to stud with our male, Bobby, three weeks ago, but I haven't seen any signs of pregnancy.”
She's chipped and taken off to see the next available vet.
This is bittersweet. Seeing each of my girls free and heading to a better place is paired with the quiet sting that I might never see them again. I raised their puppies. I watched their bellies swell and their litters grow, and now they have to learn how to live all over again.
But then Rhys's door opens to call the next dog in, and each time his eyes meet mine. Like he's checking I'm still standing.
That look replaces the ache instantly.
Next comes a box of puppies. I take each one out, check my notes against their birth dates, and they get chipped and recorded with the silly little names I gave them.
I remember when they were small enough to fit in the palm of my hand; now they're lively bundles of chaos.
I take pride in getting them this far despite everything.
This is the rescue mission of the decade, and the cameras haven't stopped rolling.
They aren't in the consulting room with Rhys; they are out here with me.
Recording my efficient records and confident words.
Finally, after all the girls and the you ger pups, it's the two boys and then our nursing ladies.
Pups in cardboard boxes come in with their mums for a quick check and then move into the practice hospital wing.
I'm glad Rhys has such a large practice with multiple kennel wings.
Then, with the last dog called into the consulting room… I'm not.
Not needed. Not wanted. Not in control. Not important.
The system doesn't need me anymore.
It runs perfectly well without the kennel boy. I could hand over my file and disappear, and no one would notice.
“Noah?” the head nurse, Tree, calls softly. “We need you to record the temporary housing for each dog.”
All the pieces I just fell apart into snap back into place.
“I should have brought more paper,” I say, flushing.
As I follow her through, a refill pad appears in front of me.
Officer Hendley, Tree, and I stand around a prep room table.
We check names, ID chip scans, and fostering forms. I file the foster parent information sheet with each dog in my file with their help, smiling as I see the photo of each dog who will spend her first night in a proper house, with a person who has a hand free for strokes all evening.
I have to wipe away a stray tear before I can move to the practice's emergency kennels.
There’s a sliding door at the entrance to the kennels, and I'm bathed in a soft red light.
The room smells of milk and disinfectant, full of tired dogs.
All ten kennels are full. Most with my girls, and one elderly cat on a drip wondering what the hell has happened to his sanctuary.
Each of the dogs is given a quick check of her new ID chips, and then I add their hospital check forms to my file.
“These are your last babies, Pumpkin. I promise you'll never have to do this again.
Not for someone else's profit.” I stroke her head, and then she licks my hand as I stroke each of her adventurous pups.
Those tears start again, and I try to wipe them away, unable to keep my movements from the gaze of the camera.
After tucking each of my mummies in for the night, I move to the general kennels, where the pregnant girls are being housed. I feel a pang of guilt seeing them all in these small kennels. They didn't have luxury before, but they had room to turn around. Here they just have beds.
“It's just a start.” A firm hand settles on my shoulder, and I glance around at Rhys. He doesn’t remove it.
“They’ll all find forever homes, thanks to you. We just need to run more checks on these before we can safely find them foster homes.”
“Foster homes?” I know they are evidence, but they need forever homes now.
“You are going to be very busy, Noah.” Rhys turns, checking the cameras are done with us. “The producer wants to make you the face of the rehousing campaign. They'll fund all the care and medical expenses for the dogs if you'll be the host who checks up on all the dogs.”
“Yes,” I reply instantly. “Oh, but I don't have a home. I just have three sets of clothes.”
“You can stay with me.” Rhys says without hesitation. Like this had already been decided. I hug him, completely uninvited. He freezes for a moment before hugging me back.
“Thank you for making this possible,” I sob carefully, ensuring my words come across as gratitude for this monumental rescue mission, rather than removing the two bulky obstacles that had been firmly sitting in my way.
I just hope he doesn't see me as an obstacle in his path.