ZEPHYR AND THE WOOF

CHAPTER TWO

“Last Ones Adopted”

The cats are the ones who go first. They’re cute and easy to take care of. Birds are exciting at the beginning, pretty in color and easy to deal with. They don’t really need too much. The doves are harder to find homes for. All white and they don’t speak. They just coo.

The dogs, well, they’re harder still. You have to walk them and throw balls for them and brush them and train them. Families adopt the cats and take them home in their plastic cases. The colorful birds squawk as they’re taken home. Some of the dogs get adopted. A fluffy white poodle, a yappy French Bulldog, an older Golden Retriever and a sad, lonely looking Hound dog. People look at the remaining two dogs, but no one thinks they would be good with kids or even with couples.

The day drags on, the rain misting the animals on and off. Granite listens to the chatter of humans and the cooing of birds. He opens one eye occasionally, just to see what’s going on, but then closes it again. He knows what the end of the day will bring. No one wants a tired, old, dog with a nasty scar. He knows he will end up back inside the hospital in his cage where it’s cool and dry, with the old blanket that smells like him and the other dogs that once stayed in his cage. With the squeaky toy that doesn’t squeak anymore. He’s happy enough there. Until someone decides he doesn’t have a use anymore and he gets the ride to McDonalds for a box of chicken nuggets.

That’s always the last stop. A meal of greasy goodness then a needle in the scruff of the neck. It’s when the humans don’t need you anymore. When you don’t have a purpose, a need to fill…a job. Granite always had a job. A real job. A real purpose. He was a Police dog. He and his partner did everything together. They caught bad guys and Granite sniffed out drugs and guns and lost children. Then there was the bad day.

His shoulder doesn’t hurt so much anymore, but he still feels twinges of pain once in a while. The bullet is long gone, but Granite still feels it inside. Then it makes him sad because Frank is still gone and he is still here.

He should be the one that died. Not Frank. It was Granite’s JOB to take that bullet. That’s what he was trained for. He just couldn’t catch all the bullets. Frank got too many of them and the human doctors couldn’t save him. Granite remembers seeing Frank falling backwards, smelling like blood and fear. Frank was tough, though. He wore those human clothes that stopped bullets. Frank was always fine. He’d been shot before. He’d be fine. Frank was always fine. Just fine.

Granite didn’t know what happened until later when he woke up in the animal hospital. His shoulder was on fire and his head was sore. Once he got home he’d be fine, he thought. Frank would make everything better, just like he always did. There’d be bacon on Saturdays, sausages sometimes and those tasty biscuits in his pockets all the time. Granite would go back with Frank and train even harder. He’d find more guns and drugs. He’d rescue more lost children and stop more angry bad guys. Everything would go back to the way it was supposed to be.

Then, nothing happened. Day after day. Frank never came to get him like he did in the past. Frank must be busy. Frank must be in the hospital like he was. Frank must be healing just like Granite. He’d just wait. Frank always came.

Then he heard about what happened from Michael and his mom when they didn’t realize he was listening. Then again, they probably didn’t realize he could understand them. He’d been around humans so long he understood what they were saying.

The animal hospital is so white and clean. It smelled like that horrible cleaning liquid. The one that Frank’s girlfriend would spray everywhere. She said it was fantastic, but it didn’t smell that way. A boy would come and check his wound sometimes. He’d try to be nice about pulling off the white bandages, but it still hurt. Then he’d put on a new one, Granite smelling the dried blood on the old bandage. There was some sort of cream or liquid or ointment that he put on the bandage and it cooled the burning pain.

Granite learned the boy’s name was Michael and he had the same smell as the female doctor. The one that watches him carefully and gives him the shots. Must be his mom, thinks Granite. He learned from Frank that sometimes you have to take the pain to get better. But then, those papers, the dark words written on them destroyed his life. Frank was…gone.

“It was in the papers,” said Michael’s mom. “Frank Muller, a DEA agent killed in a late night raid on a meth lab in Brooklyn four nights ago. The story didn’t mention that a Police dog was shot as well.”

“And that’s him. Granite,” Michael said, indicating Granite in his cage. “And that’s why Granite was brought here. Because we were so close to the shooting,” Michael asked.

“Right.”

“And now what do we do with him?”

Michael’s mom sighs heavily and wipes the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. “The same thing we do with all of the animals that come in here. We patch them up and find them a good home.”

“Mom,” Michael said. “Are you all right?”

“Of course, Michael. I’ll be fine.”

“You look tired. You should lie down for a while.”

“I am tired,” Mom says. “So tired.” Then, she fell backwards against the wall and slid downwards to the floor.

“Mom,” Michael screamed and jumped towards her.

The animals sensed it and started barking and howling. Even the lizards and hamsters went crazy. They knew what was happening. Even if Michael didn’t.

Granite wakes up slowly, one eye at a time. His ears twitch, always gathering sounds, even when he’s asleep. The humans are shutting down the tent and packing up the extra stuff. He knows what’s next so he pulls himself to his feet, one leg shaking badly and stiff. He shakes off the rain. He sniffs the air, getting the scent of coming night.

All the other cats and dogs are gone, adopted to families or couples or that pit bull who went to the tough young woman. Nobody left except him and the annoying terrier. No one wants them. And probably for good reason. He’s old and the terrier is crazy. Too crazy for any child. It makes him think about the future and McDonalds. It’s okay, Granite thinks. He’s done his job. Frank’s not coming to get him. He failed Frank. He didn’t catch enough bullets. Now…now…it’s just a matter of time until he has no use.

The woman, Tracey, comes over with a towel and rubs him dry. Granite licks her face in gratitude. She laughs happily. He smells Monty’s been here and Michael’s hugged her. He feels happy when he sniffs Michael’s scent. The boy’s always concerned about the animals. Even the cats.

Michael tries to help with the clean up, but Tracey shoos him away. They talk for a minute. Tracey nods her head at Zephyr and Granite. She puts her hand on his shoulder softly, but he shrugs it away angrily. He gets mad and yells, then spins away and stomps his feet. Granite feels a growl coming out of his throat, which wakes up the terrier right quick.

“What’s going on,” Zephyr barks.

“Quiet, pup.”

Zephyr quiets down, but watches intensely.

“Why are they fighting,” Zephyr asks.

“If you stop barking we might found out,” Granite growls. The two dogs settle down and listen. Granite watches carefully as the argument unfolds quickly.

“No! No! No! I won’t let you do that!” Michael spins and stamps his feet. “They didn’t do anything wrong!”

Tracey sighs. “But Michael, you know no one is going to adopt them. Even if we bring them out tomorrow or next week or next month. One’s too crazy and the other is too old.”

Zephyr looks at Granite and growls, “I knew you were crazy.”

“So,” asks Michael.

“So, it’s a better way, Mike. Your mom understood that,” Tracey says. “You don’t want them to end up in one of those horrible State-run places. In two or three months,” she starts and glances at the dogs. “Then, they don’t have a choice any more. They just can’t afford it.”

“And do you know how many dogs and cats and lizards and birds lived in my house while they were looking for homes? My mom never, ever, ever gave up on any of them!”

Tracey looks away and then back at him. “Michael, I have too many animals right now. Too many dogs and too many cats. Monty can’t even sit on my couch anymore. I’m sorry, Mike, but I can’t take any more dogs. And I can’t afford to keep them. And it’s the law. No more than 6 dogs to a household.”

Michael says aggressively, “I’ll take them. I’ll take them to my home.”

“Your dad won’t let you, Michael. You know that.”

Michael quietly says, “I don’t care what he thinks. He wouldn’t even…”

“Michael…”

“He wouldn’t even…come to…” Michael pretends to cough, but he’s trying not to cry. “He wouldn’t even come to the hospital!”

Tracey steps towards him, her arms spread to try to encompass his entire soul and heal it. Michael lets her overwhelm him, but doesn’t believe what she’s saying for a second. “Michael…he loves you, too.”

Michael pushes away angrily. “No, Tracey. He doesn’t.”

Tracey tries not to let that get to her, but she knows it might be true. “He’s trying, kid. He’s trying.”

“Then let me take the dogs home. Just for a while,” he says quietly. “My father will never know. He’s barely home anyway.”

Tracey sighs, but doesn’t fight him. “Here. Take some food. They’re going to need to eat in the morning. And Granite needs these pills,” she says, handing Michael a small prescription bottle. “Put them inside a piece of chopped meat and he won’t even notice. It’ll help with his arthritis.”

Tracey pulls Michael’s hood over his head and kisses him lightly on the cheek. She rubs the wet dogs and gathers Monty from under the tent. Granite hears her say, “We’ll go over later. See how he’s doing.”

Monty says quietly, “Maybe we can stop at that market you like. Make some food?”

“Okay,” Tracey says and waves at Michael. Zephyr wonders what’s going to happen next. He heard something about food. Granite sinks deeper into the ground.

©Peter Stone — 2021