Chapter I Dog Days （Lena） #2
If I could throw this woman out on her butt, I would, but I can’t do that to the little guy squirming in Brady’s arms, and I can’t give Dr. Ezzie a lawsuit either.
One of these days, my soft spot for animals will get me into trouble. But that’s the whole mission at Pawsome Hearts—healthy paws and claws first and always.
“Hold on, I’ll go ask my boss,” I say, leading them to the closest exam room. “If you guys can just wait here for a second, I’ll be right back.”
The blonde rolls her eyes and immediately sinks into the single available seat, making a face like its plastic coating feels offensive to her skin. Her boyfriend sets the dog down on the table, smoothing a hand gently over its big ears.
His ears, I correct myself.
The dog’s coat looks a little matted, but his butt wiggles as his tail wags and he licks Brady’s fingers. For some reason, I linger on the scene.
His hands are big. Easy to notice from the way they span the corgi’s back and neck, but they’re affectionate too. Soft and soothing.
The dog clearly loves the attention, leaning into his palm.
I’m oddly transfixed.
Look, it’s not like I’m doubting he can be nice to animals. Most people are—I like to think of it as a baseline morality test.
Either you’re kind to the innocent beings we share the planet with, or you’re a shitty person.
Easy.
But that also doesn’t mean you’re an angel if you show some basic human decency. It just means you’re probably not a demon.
Brady gives me another high-voltage smile.
“Thank you. I appreciate it,” he says, like he’s expecting me to curtsy.
Bitchface rolls her eyes to the ceiling again and huffs loudly.
Obviously I’m nothing but another nuisance in her oh-so-rough existence.
It must be so terrible, strutting around the world when you’re rich and beautiful. I wonder what fancy dinner reservation the corgi rescue interrupted.
Considering dog-whisperer Brady is with Possessed Barbie in the first place, he can’t be your normal, everyday upstanding person, regardless of how much this corgi adores scritch-scratches behind the ear.
“Sure.” I nod, smile, and close the door behind me.
Dr. Ezzie’s door is still cracked. I rap on it gently, trying to ignore the heavy silence inside her office.
“Hey, Doc?” I call. “We have a couple here with an abandoned dog, and I wondered if you’d be okay giving the poor thing a quick look? The air’s pretty rancid today, and he doesn’t look too comfortable.”
Although if that tail was any indication, he’s not feeling too awful.
Dogs aren’t like people—if they have any serious issues, they usually show it. Lethargy, lack of enthusiasm, lack of appetite. Lack of responsiveness to affection.
Still, it’s not my place to say.
But I don’t get a response.
I push the door open, revealing Dr. Ezzie, and I do a double take. Her mouth is pressed tight, and her eyes are red.
Guilt punches me in the stomach.
I was right: Whatever was on that call wasn’t good news.
And now I’ve gone and dragged her out of her cave before she was ready.
But I don’t let my face reveal my guilt. Maybe she knows it looks obvious she’s been crying, but that doesn’t mean I need to stare and make her feel worse.
I don’t need to look shocked.
Dr. Ezzie never cries.
In the years I’ve worked here, I’ve never seen her shed a single tear. Even yesterday, when she got the call about her dad’s fall and rushed to the hospital, there was nothing but strong determination on her face.
The guilt in my belly tightens into a knot.
Something must be horribly wrong.
But she forces a smile anyway, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Certainly, Lena. Thanks for showing them in. Anything I can do to help.”
She stands.
“They’re in Room B,” I say too brightly.
Yeah. No one will hand me an Oscar anytime soon for my acting.
I just try to cling to my calm even though I’m stressing like crazy. My boss so doesn’t need this today.
She follows me to the exam room, though, where Blondie scrolls TikTok with the volume cranked up while her obscenely hot boy toy strokes the dog’s back.
“Hello, I’m Dr. Ezzie,” Dr. Ezzie says coolly, her professionalism snapped back in place. “How can I help?”
Brady glances at me before saying, “We found this boy on a hike down by the beach, stuck under some driftwood and panting like mad. Don’t know how long he was there. I figured it was long enough with the bad air.”
I can’t help it—I look out the window, staring at the evening haze painting gloom over everything.
It’s a minor miracle the dog is even here.
What kind of man goes hiking in this black lung environment? A masochist? Some health freak who puts muscle and endurance over long-term lung capacity?
Then again, judging by his build, I shouldn’t be surprised.
“He was whimpering when I tried to coax him out. He wouldn’t come,” he continues, “but my driver had some beef jerky, and we caught him eventually. No collar or anything. He’s a friendly pup.”
His driver?
I have to stop myself from snorting.
Seattle money is annoying.
Young Seattle money is fucking infuriating.
Oh, I’m sure he feels like he deserves a Purple Heart today, courageously taking precious time away from living like a prince to breathe some smog and help a lost corgi. All with his hired help stepping in, because God forbid he do anything himself.
For a second, I try imagining what that must be like. Having someone there to wait on you hand and foot.
Nope. Can’t picture it.
I’ve worked hard for everything I have. That doesn’t make me better than him, no, but it sure as hell doesn’t make him better than me.
“Let’s have a look and see if he’s chipped,” Dr. Ezzie says, once she’s given the corgi a quick inspection. “Ah, here we are. Lena, can you grab the owner’s info, please?”
I step up to the computer as she scans the dog’s chip, clicking through the database as Dr. Ezzie advises Brady and Blondie what to do.
As we suspected, our boy is a little dehydrated and his lungs are irritated, but otherwise he’s unharmed.
I’d bet my bottom dollar that Ice Queen over here doesn’t have any intention of caring for the corgi a minute longer than necessary. She must be counting the seconds until they can leave.
It’s a little impressive, to be honest, to be that heartless and self-centered. God must’ve missed her when he was passing out empathy.
As if she can sense what I’m thinking, she glances at me, her mouth pinched in a frown. On anyone else, it would be unflattering, but she somehow manages to pull it off.
Pouty. Picture perfect. Evil.
I give back a little smile.
Just a tad patronizing, because if she thinks her looks will do her any favors here, she’s dead wrong.
“His lungs sound okay,” Dr. Ezzie says, checking the corgi again. “Though he should stay indoors until the air clears up.” She checks her watch. “If you’d like, you can stay another hour for observation.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Brady sounds grateful. “I’d definitely like to keep him here as long as you can give us—or until his owner comes to pick him up. I’m happy to pay for that too. Just send me the bill.”
Blondie huffs loudly.
Holy shit, if she keeps that up, I will punch her.
How can anyone be so dismissive with an animal in need?
“His name is Charlie,” I announce from the desk. “I’ve got his owner’s number here—I’ll just step out and give her a call.”
Dr. Ezzie gives me a proud smile. “Yes. Thank you so much, Lena.”
It’s just my duty.
Regardless of who brings in a pet, I’m always at my best. It’s the least they deserve—just like how Charlie needs to go back to his family.
“We’ll be out of your hair soon,” I hear Brady saying. “Thanks again for taking us in. We appreciate you making sure he’s okay after normal business hours.”
“Of course.”
He’s making it harder to hate him.
Sigh.
I shut the door and block out the rest of the conversation so I can make the call.
Our receptionist, Trish, has gone home for the evening—and given how quiet it was, I said she could head home early if she wanted and I’d help cover the phones.
Friday evening and all.
So many companies give that spiel about how they’re family, but that’s genuinely how it is here. My colleagues are more than coworkers.
My heart lurches when I think about Dr. Ezzie and her bad news again. Whatever it is, the odds are stacked against any big improvements. For Esmerelda Serena and her family, there’s just a long way down.
Tick tock, the empty room announces.
Mom always said I had a morbid streak. Always prone to stressing about worst-case scenarios and black-swan disasters.
I suppose that’s true, but what’s the harm in being aware?
Just knowing what the worst might look like.
Just in case, y’know.
That’s one life lesson I learned the hard way, and one I’ll never forget.
“Hello?” The owner has an elderly quiver in her voice as she answers.
“Hi, is this Mrs. Hernandez?”
“Who is this?”
“This is Lena from Pawsome Hearts veterinary clinic over on Edmunds Street in Beacon Hill. I’m calling about your dog, Charlie.”
“Oh, you’ve found the little Houdini?” The relief in her voice is palpable. “Thank you! I’ve been worried sick. My niece was out walking him yesterday, and he broke off his collar and escaped. We were sure something dreadful had happened—and it was so out of character for him!”
“He was found down by the beach, from what I know. We’ll make sure he gets some food and water. Any dietary restrictions?”
“No, and thank you, dear. My poor Annie, she was so distraught. She’s walked him hundreds of times and there’s never been any trouble. But all it takes is once. Is he truly okay? He wasn’t hurt?”
“Nope, just a little dehydrated. Plus some lung irritation with the bad air. He should stay indoors overnight until the sky clears up. When would you like to pick him up?”