Chapter 32
Chapter thirty-two
Noah
Honey is struggling. I know it the second I step into her kennel. It’s not dramatic. Not obvious. Not the kind of thing anyone watching the show would notice.
But I do.
Her breathing is too fast. Her eyes don’t settle. And every time one pup squirms too hard, she flinches.
We've already taken the weakest puppies away from her, but ten puppies is still too many. Even eight would be pushing it. Six strong puppies would have been the goal before. Not twelve runts. But I'm not running a farm for profit. Here I have the luxury of raising everyone as if their lives matter.
I crouch beside her, running my hand over her head, feeling the tension beneath her skin.
“Hey, girl… you’re doing so well.”
Her tail thumps weakly against the bedding, but she doesn’t relax. Around her, the puppies wriggle and fight, tiny squeaks filling the kennel as they compete for space.
Too many mouths.
Not enough milk. Not enough rest.
I reach in automatically, lifting one of the larger pups away to give the others a chance.
Old habit. Old survival.
“Still trying to do it all yourself?” Rhys’s voice comes from behind me, calm, measured.
I don’t turn. “I’m just helping.”
“You’re redistributing chaos,” he corrects.
I swallow because he’s not wrong.
I’ve been here before. Different place with worse conditions and fewer resources.
But the same feeling.
That if I don’t fix it, no one will.
“She can’t handle ten,” I breathe. “We need to strip her litter down to six. Six healthy pups sell better than twelve runts.” My fingers run through her soft fur as I stroke her head. “And if she can't raise those six…”
No. I've saved her from that fate. She has a future without the obligation to produce puppies over her head.
“We need to reduce the litter. Supplement the ones she keeps. But we can’t keep them all here… not with Bobo, not with Figgy’s litter, not with everything else.”
“And you are one person,” he cuts in.
I hate that. Not because it’s wrong. Because it’s true.
I shift another pup, trying to get the smallest remaining one onto a free teat, holding him in place with my fingers. He latches weakly. My chest tightens.
“I can make it work,” I insist.
Rhys crouches beside me. Not touching. Just there. Watching.
“You already are,” he says. “That’s the problem.”
I finally look at him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re stretching yourself thin trying to keep all of them alive exactly as they are.” His gaze flicks to the litter. “Instead of making the decision that gives them the best chance.”
I know what he’s saying. I’ve known it since I walked in. I just didn’t want to say it out loud.
“If we take two off…” My voice drops. “The rest have a better chance.”
“And the two?”
“They get bottle-fed. Heat support. Round-the-clock care.” Maybe with the nurses' support, I can survive adding more bottle-fed pups.
“With staff,” he reminds me.
Not just me. Not just my hands. Not just my responsibility. I look back at Honey.
She’s watching me now. Tired. Trusting.
Breaking. She whines as a puppy kneads against her incision site.
“I don’t want to choose,” I whisper.
“You’re not choosing who lives,” Rhys says evenly. “You’re choosing how they survive.”
That shouldn’t make it easier, but it does.
Because this isn’t the farm. This isn’t cutting losses. This is giving them a different kind of chance.
I reach into the pile of warm, wriggling bodies and lift the smallest. The third smallest of all twelve, but the smallest still with her.
Then hesitate. My hand hovers over the second.
If I take the smallest, I leave the bigger pups to dominate her milk.
If I take the biggest, I'm leaving the most vulnerable to struggle. I want to take them all and free Honey from her struggle.
I hate this. I hate that I know how to do this.
“Which one?” I ask.
Rhys doesn’t answer immediately. He watches, letting me think. Giving me time to choose.
Finally, he answers
“The one you’re worried about.”
I nod.
He's right. I take the smallest away, give them the help they need to bottle-feed rather than fighting for space.
I lift the second pup, cradling both against my chest.
They’re warm. Alive. Still fighting.
“Okay,” I breathe. “Okay… we can do this.”
Rhys stands, already shifting into action.
“I’ll have Chloe prepare the incubator for two more. Heat pad, formula, feeding schedule.”
“I’ll do the first feed,” I say automatically.
“No,” he replies instantly.
I freeze.
“You’ll supervise the first feed,” he corrects. “Then you’ll step away.”
“I need to…”
“You need to trust your team.”
God, I hate that sentence. Because it feels like letting go. And letting go has never been safe.
But…
This place is different.
He’s different.
I look down at the two pups in my arms.
Then back at Honey and her remaining eight pups. Already there's more space for them to thrive.
They look more settled.
More… manageable.
“You’re right,” I admit quietly.
Rhys nods once. There's no smugness. No victory. Just certainty.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get them set up.”
Getting onto my knees is awkward until I slip the pups into my pocket. I can feel Rhys’s disapproval without even looking at him. I ignore it and stand up anyway.
I have to leave Honey to keep fighting for her pups, knowing these won't be the last I take from her.
Rhys walks with me to the nurse's room where the incubator is set up for its three current residents.
I'm not rushing. Not me dragging everything behind me.
Not struggling to do it all myself. Not carrying everything alone.
And somehow… that makes it easier to breathe.