Epilogue
ARLEN
Three years later…
About fifty beagles are exploring the little penned-in area outside the sheet-metal warehouse. It’s a sunny day, and they squint in the bright light. Days like these, bathing in sun rays and rolling in the grass, are still new to these dogs.
They’re not the only ones experiencing scary, exciting new things.
“I don’t see why I have to be on camera,” I say, kneeling down over an old dog that spent its entire life in a cramped lab being poked and prodded.
“Because it’s your organization.”
Cat squats in front of me in her signature cargo shorts, boots, and baggy long-sleeve shirt. Only now, the shirt is a bold blue with the logo we created on it: a howling dog silhouetted by a mountain.
“It’s our organization,” I correct. “You go talk to the news crews.”
“We named it Dog on the Mountain because of you . We started it through donations to your foster program.” Cat gives me a familiar look. Her face says, pull your head out of your ass…
My eyes dart to the other volunteers. “Can’t one of them do it?”
“No!” Cat grabs me by the arm, leading me toward the waiting reporter and her cameraman. “You’re the founder. If you want to enact change, you have to be brave.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Sure,” she laughs, dragging me along. “If you don’t talk to this reporter, then I won’t do that thing you love so much tonight…”
I shush her, eyes wide. “Not fair.”
I’d rather be playing with all these recently freed beagles, or working with the vets to clear them for adoption, or setting up online profiles and getting in touch with shelters and foster homes.
But when Cat wants something, she gets it.
“Fine,” I growl. “Just… stand next to me, please.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m terrified…”
The reporter is an overly-neat lady with a plastic smile that never droops. It’s kind of frightening.
Cat pushes me in front of the camera, slipping her arm under mine and smiling.
“There he is, the founder of Dog on the Mountain .” The reporter gestures to the cameraman. “We’re in Fort Collins, Colorado, where hundreds of beagles have been surrendered by the Quality Market Research Facility. I’m joined by Arlen Reed, founder—“
“And his wife,” I interject. “Cat.”
Cat waves and smiles. “Hi, mom!”
“Uh. Yes.” The reporter smiles wider, and I fear her face will shatter.
“The Reeds, founders of Dog on the Mountain , a Colorado-centered rescue organization, have made it their mission to rid the state of testing commercial products on dogs. Mr. Reed, what does today’s victory mean for your movement? ”
For a few seconds, I just stare into that black void of a lens on the camera. The reporter shoves her microphone in my face, but I’m completely frozen.
Until I feel Cat squeeze my arm.
I look down at her, finding my center in her green eyes. On national TV, I brush a curl behind her ear and smile.
“This has been our dream for years,” I say, still staring at my wife.
“But it’s only the beginning. We have hundreds of dogs here that need good homes.
We know there are good people out there, and this is how they can help.
Please, visit our website. We’ll have profiles on the freed dogs as soon as we’re able.
And if you can’t adopt or foster, please consider donating. ”
Hey, that wasn’t so bad. I guess I can be cordial if it means getting these dogs put into loving homes.
Cat nods, brimming with pride.
“And will the fight continue?” the reporter asks. “Are there plans to pressure other facilities to release the dogs under their care?”
“Care? Care? ” I turn, staring back at that camera like all those corporate assholes who run the labs are staring right back.
“Let me tell you something: every person involved in testing chemicals and medication and fucking cosmetics on dogs should be put down. We’re coming for you.
In fact, I think we should castrate every fucking CEO on the board of these private facilities that thinks they can make a buck treating animals like shit! Let’s see how you like it—“
Cat squirms in front of me, still smiling. “My husband is very passionate about our cause. Visit the website! Dog on the Mountain! ”
I’m pulled off before I can publicly commit to any more acts of violence.
“Told you,” I say, fuming. “Told you not to make me do it!”
“Are you kidding? That was great,” Cat laughs. “You’ll be viral in a day.”
“I don’t want to be viral…”
“More views, more people finding out about our organization, more dogs getting adopted.”
We stand in the grass, watching the beagles run about happily. A few bay together, and it slowly turns into a joyful howl that builds and builds. The volunteers smile and laugh.
It’s hard to hear that sound and not feel joy. Even for an old asshole like me.
“You’re probably right,” I say.
“Always am.”
I turn to look at her, my crazy wife who made all my dreams a reality. These days, her curls have gone wild and long. Her eyes are even brighter than the day I met her. Mountain life suits her, but not as much as a life spent doing everything she can to help dogs in need.
One dog in particular.
“You know,” I whisper, leaning in and running my hand down her back, “there’s something in the RV I need to show you.”
“Oh? Where in the RV?”
I squeeze her ass, hoping the camera isn’t pointed at us. Or maybe it would be better if that went viral too. I don’t know shit about anything but taking care of dogs and loving my wife.
“The bed,” I growl.
“I suppose…” Cat takes my hand, leading me off toward the RV parked behind the warehouse. “You’ve been a good boy. You get your treat.”
“You want it just as badly as I do.”
“ More ,” she says, biting her lip. “ Come .”
I follow her like a dog, guided by instinct. That’s how it’s been since the day I found her lying in the mud.
That’s how it will always be.
Our life is full of dogs. But when I take her, I’m the animal. I’m the dog on the mountain.
I’m crazy for her, and there’s no fixing me.
~The End
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