Chapter 36
Chapter thirty-six
Noah
Figarolle sits down on her familiar bed under the heat lamp of her new kennel. I tuck each pup into place, guiding the smallest to the back teats where the milk is strongest.
“Nipples,” I correct myself under my breath. The cameras have me thinking in farm terms again. “Five fat puppies for you, Figgy. Because you're my good girl, yes you are.” Her tail beats like a drum, but these kennels are lined with rubber, so the thud is different.
She may be back in a kennel, relieved to be in the only surroundings she's ever known, but the signs of Rhys's kindness are everywhere. From the padded floors with gentle heating below, to the smooth corners and walls.
The room smells different here.
Not bleach and stale urine that seemed to cling to the floors.
Warm milk. Clean bedding.
Safe.
It must have cost a fortune. Frank and Derek would have pocketed the profit. Rhys spent it.
Frank and Derek took all the money, never re-investing anything into the business. They pocketed thousands of pounds per litter, but always acted broke.
I always wondered about the money, but between taking care of the dogs and grabbing a few hours of sleep, I barely had time to eat, never mind worrying about someone else's finances.
Figarolle, and her five pups are settled in.
Her last pups.
She'll never be called Bitch Eight ever again.
I have the urge in the back of my mind to grab Toffee, Honey, and all the other mothers. The years of rapid-fire actions driven into my mind. To tick each task off my list before twice as many join it.
But I have an hour.
One hour to help Figgy feel at home in her new kennel.
Not to fix anything.
Not to save anyone.
Just… to sit.
I don’t know what to do with that.
My body keeps waiting for the next problem to land in my lap.
Another labor. Another fading pup. Another mess to clean up before it gets worse.
But nothing comes.
Just Figgy.
And five warm, breathing puppies.
It's amazing what Rhys could throw together in a few days. There were already windows on the roof, but now there are motor blinds; I can control each one from my new tablet. Adjusting the natural lighting across the room.
Right now it's dark for Figgy; the only light in her kennel is from the heat lamp above her bed and the light of my tablet as I digitalize all the facts I'm holding in my brain. One hand working. The other hand stroking.
I don’t have to check over my shoulder here.
Not with Rhys in the building.
Nothing gets past him.
Nothing.
The tablet still feels strange in my hand after eight years of keeping everything in my head.
Every feeding time. Every weight. Every warning sign.
No more paper records; now it's digital, and everyone in the practice can access the information.
If I forgot before, something suffered.
Now…
I can write it.
And someone else will see it.
Someone else will help.
It feels like finally having permission to exhale.
Now I don’t just help; I track, manage, check. I can keep the practice running and still make sure Figgy’s smallest pups are feeding properly.
At some point I have to leave her so I can bring the other mothers over. I still need to fit in their settling-in sessions.
But Figgy stands up when I do. She leaves her puppies and follows me to the door.
“No, Figgy. You need to stay with your puppies.”
The poor girl has never been anywhere but the kennels. Even when she moved rooms, it was the same floor, the same smell of bleach.
Now everything is different.
“Just a little longer.” I return to the room. I'm the only familiar thing she has left. Toffee, Honey, Pumpkin and the other moms are still waiting to stretch their legs and have room to move around.
But I am busy getting Figgy settled back on her bed with her pups.
Then the door opens. Honey walks in with Tree, her puppies whimpering from inside a cat carrier.
“How's she doing?” Tree whispers as they walk past.
“Fine while I'm here,” I reply.
“Take all the time you need.” Tree disappears into the next kennel, and I turn back to Figgy. “Maybe smelling your friends will help.”
She wags her tail and rests her head on my knee.
A minute later, Martha enters with Pumpkin and her puppies in a basket. She waves at me on her way past.
Finally, Chloe enters with Toffee.
My little families are getting their comfort without me needing to abandon Figgy.
Rhys was right about not having to do everything myself.
They aren't just helping me; they're helping my dogs without being asked. Without guidance.
Figgy sits up, moving further onto me, licking her tongue across my face. She's licking away the tears I didn't realize were falling.
I let out a soft, breathless laugh, pressing my forehead gently against hers.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I know. I know.”
But she doesn’t.
She doesn’t know what this is.
None of them do.
This isn’t just another room.
It isn’t just better lighting, softer floors, warmer beds.
This is the first time in eight years that everything hasn’t been balanced on whether I can keep up.
I glance up.
Tree is crouched beside Honey, calmly guiding a pup toward a teat.
Martha is lining Pumpkin’s basket with fresh bedding, talking softly as if she’s done this a hundred times.
Chloe sits cross-legged with Toffee, one hand on her flank, completely at ease, as if she belongs here.
No one is rushing or shouting. No one is waiting for me to fix it. They’re just… doing it.
Helping. I swallow hard.
For so long, every second mattered. Every delay cost something. Every mistake showed. Every weakness… punished.
Here…
I shift slightly, adjusting Figgy’s smallest pup without thinking. Here, I can pause. And nothing breaks.
The room feels full in a way I don’t recognize. Not crowded. Not overwhelming. Just… shared.
Like the weight has been divided without anyone needing to say it out loud.
“I thought I had to do it all,” I whisper, more to myself than anyone else.
Tree glances over, offering me a small, knowing smile, but she doesn’t interrupt.
She doesn’t need to.
I look back down at Figgy, at the steady rise and fall of her breathing, at the pups tucked safely against her.
At the calm.
“I don’t, do I?” I add quietly.
Figgy just huffs, settling deeper into the bed, her paw pressing lightly against my leg like she’s anchoring me there.
And for once…
I let myself stay.
Not because I have to.
Not because something will go wrong if I leave.
But because I can.