Rescued
RESCUED
by
Linda Rettstatt
RESCUED
by
Linda Rettstatt
Copyright ©2014, Linda Rettstatt
Smashwords Edition
Cover Art Design – Calliope-Designs.com
Published September, 2014
by
Linda Rettstatt
www.lindarettstatt.com
Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden without the written permission of the author/publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Afterword
About the Author
Dedication
This book is dedicated to the
Tunica (Mississippi) Humane Society for their tireless efforts to further the cause of no-kill shelters and provide care and
safety for homeless and abandoned animals.
*
And in loving memory of my friend, my sister in spirit—Georgia (Ginny) Pisano Burkholder—who bore a deep love for and commitment to animals in need of care.
Acknowledgements
I grew up in a home where a pet was almost always a part of the family. My mother insisted she did not want an animal in the house. But she was the first one to lure some poor, lost and shivering dog in from the rain using leftover ham from supper and giving it a name before anyone claimed it.
My first babysitter, when I was just crawling, was a black cocker spaniel named Laddie. Story has it that, if I tried to crawl off the blanket my mother would spread in the back yard for me while she hung laundry, Laddie grabbed me by the seat of my diaper and tugged me back to safety. He also had a ferocious bark if anyone came into the yard and got within five feet of me. When a pet passed on, it wouldn’t be too very long before I either dragged another one home or pleaded with my grandfather (who couldn’t say no) to get me a puppy. I want to lovingly acknowledge: Laddie, Gizmo (the cat), Myrtle the turtle, Puddles, Susie, Bobo, Puffy, Eric, and Thumbs (my polydactyl cat). They’ve long crossed the Rainbow Bridge, but each left an indelible mark of love on my heart.
My life took me into places and situations in which having a pet was not feasible. I want to thank my friend, fellow author and dedicated cat rescue person, Kimberley Koz, for introducing me to some of the most charming cats ever and convincing me I could become a good cat mommy if I worked at it. Five years ago, I adopted my cat, Binky, from a local city shelter. It is not, unfortunately, a no-kill shelter. Some would say I saved Binky’s life that day. I would say she also saved mine in a way. She gives me companionship, lots and lots of laughter, and unconditional love. (Okay, maybe not totally unconditional. She’s a cat, after all, and undying devotion is dependent upon Fancy Feast.)
I became aware of the Tunica Humane Society via Facebook and began to follow their posts. I’ve been very deeply touched by the dedication and commitment of their staff, volunteers and donors and of the fact that they are a no kill shelter. Every animal deserves a chance and THS strives to give them that chance for a happy life. This book is my way of recognizing the wonderful work they do and of supporting them by donating a portion of the proceeds to THS.
I want to especially acknowledge the tireless efforts of Sandy Williams, Director and Founder of the Tunica Humane Society. And I thank Sandy for her insights into animal rescue that deepened my understanding in the writing of this book. Yes, this book is fiction. But don’t assume some of the rescue stories aren’t true to life. I’ve read Sandy’s rescue stories on Facebook!
I encourage anyone who is considering adding a pet to their family to adopt and to support the no kill shelters in your area. Even if you can’t adopt, animals in these shelters always need sponsors.
Chapter One
Alex shielded her eyes against the bright July sun and called to her sister, “You see him?”
“He ran down toward that stand of trees.”
Waiting and watching, she saw the tall grass wave from a flurry of movement. “Gotcha.” She took off, motioning for Kellie to circle around in hopes of setting a trap. As she raced into a clearing, her right foot sank ankle deep in muck and she stumbled. “Crap.” She pulled her foot loose, then dug into the muddy mess to retrieve her sneaker.
Kellie waved to get her attention and pointed.
Alex nodded and slogged through the rain-soaked field. Sweat poured down her face and stung her eyes. When she stopped about five feet from Walter, he stood and stared at her, panting.
Realizing he was outdone, he lay on his back and rolled over, exposing his belly.
Alex dropped onto the ground beside him. “Walter, what is wrong with you? I know you miss Amy. We all do. But you’ve got to stop running off like this.”
The seventy-pound shepherd-collie mix looked up at her, his tongue lolling to one side.
She rubbed his tummy and attached a leash to his collar. “You look like a pig that’s been rollin’ in the barnyard. And we have people coming to meet you in an hour.”
Kellie caught up with her and bent over, winded from the chase. “That dog’s gonna be the death of us both. How are we gonna get him back to the shelter?”
Alex stood and tugged on the leash, urging Walter to his feet. “How do you think?”
“Alex, not again. I just got the upholstery cleaned from the last time.”
“I told you to bring a blanket.” Before Alex could start back across the field, Walter bolted, pulling her along behind. She dug in her heels and held the leash with both hands. “Stop!”
The dog stilled and looked back at her as if to say, “What? You said we have people to meet.”
When they reached Harley’s Haven, the no-kill animal shelter Alex operated, Kellie surveyed the condition of the rear leather seats of her Solara convertible and groaned. “I should get plastic seat covers. Next time we’re bringing your car.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up. But I have to get Walter hosed down first.”
Her sister gave her an appraising look. “You might want to hose yourself down while you’re at it.”
Alex looked down—mud coated her legs up to her knees and blood dotted her arms where briars had snagged at her. Her right shoe was completely covered with now dried mud and she shuddered, thinking about the passenger side of Kellie’s car. “Thanks, Kel, I owe you one.”
“You owe me about a gazillion. I have to get to the office. I’ll talk to you later. I can drop the car off at Boomer’s
and have it detailed. You owe me.” She cast a stern look at Walter who now lay at Alex’s feet, looking every bit the perfect angel. “Walter, you do this one more time and we’re through.”
The dog lifted his head and whined.
Alex handed Walter off to one of the volunteers to bathe him. She rinsed her shoes in the utility sink and set them on the sideboard upside-down to dry out. After wiping off most of the mud, she rummaged in the closet in her office. No spare change of clothes. Oh, well. She slid her feet into a pair of pink flip-flops.
Harley’s Haven had been a dream of Alex’s from the time she was a teen and volunteered at Doc Newsom’s veterinary practice. That’s where she adopted Harley, a border collie who had been her best friend for ten years until cancer forced her to make the decision to euthanize him to end his pain. Three years later, with the help of money inherited from her grandfather, she bought an old auto-repair shop and opened a no-kill shelter, taking over the animal control previously operated by the city. She worked for her uncle at Out Back as a manager-slash-waitress and that just about paid the bills. But her work at the Haven was what nurtured her heart. She never could pass up an injured or lost animal. At this point, the shelter was over capacity and she’d had to partition off part of the lobby to provide a space for two litters of puppies.
Her uncle suggested once that she might benefit from therapy, that perhaps it was her own rough start in life that created her obsession for rescuing strays. She’d never known her father. Her mother left her and Kellie with their grandfather when Alex was seven and Kellie was three. And she never came back. But the experience hadn’t seemed to impact Kellie in the same way. Though now that Alex thought about it, Kellie seemed more dedicated to rescuing human strays, mainly of the male variety.
The phone rang and she sat at the desk to answer. “Harley’s Haven. This is Alex.”
“This is Sheriff Davis. We have a couple of strays folks are complainin’ about over in Parkville. Woman who called says one of ’em seems to be injured. Says they’re hangin’ out behind the Piggly Wiggly.”
She glanced at the clock. She had a couple coming in fifteen minutes to hopefully adopt. And she had a little over an hour after that before she had to get to the grill for her shift. “I’ll try to get someone out there as soon as possible, Sheriff. Thanks for the call.”
Where was she going to put two more dogs? Well, if the couple adopted, that would free up one kennel. And if these two dogs have been together, they should be fine sharing the space for now. She flipped open her notebook to the volunteer list and started making calls. One of the lobby dogs, Rufus, an older Golden, wandered into her office and rested his graying muzzle on her thigh. She absently scratched his ears while she begged one person after another to try to capture the two strays. Everyone she spoke with apologized, but couldn’t make the run until the next day. Then a minor miracle—Dave Kirby called back to say he’d be in the area of the strays in Parkville and would try to pick them up and hold them at his place until they could be seen by the vet. Alex thanked him, ever so grateful for her volunteers. She never fooled herself into believing she could do this alone.
The owner of a local trailer park called to say Alex had twenty-four hours to capture a female dog, her litter of puppies and another abandoned “mutt” or he would “take care of them” himself. She knew what that meant—it would be a long night crawling around in the dark. “More puppies,” she groaned. She quickly posted to her Facebook page asking for foster homes for some of the pups.
The Andersons arrived with their ten-year-old son who immediately asked to see puppies. “I do have a few puppies ready for adoption right now. Why don’t I show you a few other dogs, too, and you can decide.”
She presented them with a rat terrier mix of about a year old that was new to the shelter and a little shy, a Jack Russell mix that leaped as if he was on springs, and a more sedate pit bull named Opie. Mrs. Anderson was put off by the Jack Russell’s energy, the rat terrier’s shyness, and she immediately nixed Opie, insisting that, “Pit Bulls can’t be trusted.”
At that point, Alex was thinking maybe Mrs. Anderson shouldn’t be trusted either. She didn’t seem all that eager to take on a dog. They finally decided on Sheba, a one-year-old Beagle who happily crawled into the boy’s lap and slathered his face with kisses.
After completing all the paperwork and paying the vetting fees, the family left with Sheba prancing along beside her new master. The older couple arrived to check out Walter. This didn’t turn out so well. Walter made a fool of himself and ended his show by peeing on the man’s leg. Needless to say, the pair left without a dog in tow and with no promise of returning.
Alex shook her head as Walter settled onto the comfy sofa and let out a deep doggy sigh. “I swear you know exactly what you’re doing. Don’t you want a new home? Surely you can’t want to live here forever.”
The dog stared at her and yawned, then closed his eyes. He was quite comfortable there.
Alex had just enough time to stop at home, shower and change and get to the grill. She’d have to run to the trailer park after work. At eleven p.m., in the dark, alone. She thought of calling Kellie to meet her but, after the day’s episode with Walter, thought it best to give her sister time to forget the nastier side of animal rescue.
*
The Happy Trails Mobile Home Park was a hub of hot summer night activity. Music blared, groups of people gathered on small decks attached to run-down mobile homes and in the gravel parking areas, leaning on old cars and sipping beer from bottles. The aroma of marijuana wafted in the breeze. Alex got out of her Honda and opened the back door to remove a large pet carrier and flashlight.
She located the abandoned trailer numbered 267 the manager had told her harbored one of the litters. On her hands and knees, she flashed the beam of light beneath the trailer. On her second sweep around, she spied movement. The puppies couldn’t be more than a few weeks old and were crying and climbing over one another. As she crawled on her belly to get closer and reached for one of the pups, she heard a low growl off to her right. Slowly lifting the light, she caught the glistening teeth and fixed gaze of a mutt with severely matted brown fur. “Okay, Mama. Don’t panic. I’m not going to hurt your babies.”
Alex inched backward slowly, keeping the flashlight beam on the mother dog. She pulled a baggie of biscuits from the carrier and tossed one. The dog extended her head and sniffed. She was interested, clearly hungry. Alex waited. The dog took a hesitant step, then two and snatched up the biscuit. Holding out another, Alex said in a soft voice, “You want another one? Here you go. Come on.”
The dog stretched her neck and whined. She wasn’t used to trusting people. And why should she? People had obviously let this dog down. Alex tossed the biscuit and backed up a little farther. She was going to need a bigger carrier, unless the dog came along willingly. Another biscuit, another few steps, and the mama dog was out from under the trailer. She chewed on the treat, eyes on Alex the entire time.
“Poor girl. Look at you.” She removed a bright orange rescue leash from her hip pocket. “You want to come with me? Have a nice bath and some real food?”
When Alex lifted up on her knees to get closer, the dog took a step back and snarled. “Okay. Okay. Take it easy.” She was going to have to set up a trap and hope the dog wandered into it. That meant a trip back to the shelter. It was already near midnight. It was times like this, Alex thought she was crazy. Something Kellie had suggested more than once.
Maybe she could find the other dog first. She backed away and got to her feet, picking up the flashlight and carrier, tossing the remainder of the biscuits to the mama dog. The other trailer was two rows over and it was pitch black back there. She shuddered as she slipped between trailers and into the darkness.
It took a while to spot the black lab under the dark trailer. Tired brown eyes stared into the beam of her flashlight from above a graying muzzle. He had to be at least ten or twelve years old. He didn’t react, b
ut also didn’t move. Just laid there, looking exhausted. The trailer had rotted lattice-work skirting and she had to search for a space where the wood had broken away and she could crawl beneath.
Alex heard the footsteps and the click. She banged her head as she tried to back out from under the mobile home. “Ouch.”
“Back out of there real slow.”
“I’m not armed. I’m just trying to retrieve the dog under here.” She scooted back and looked up at the man holding a shotgun. “Jimbo called me this afternoon.”
The man lowered the gun and grinned. “Yer the one I talked to?”
“You’re Jimbo?”
“Somebody called and said they saw someone crawlin’ around under a trailer. I didn’t expect you to show up here this time of night.”
“But you said I had twenty-four hours or you’d dispose of the pups.”
“That I did.”
The old dog’s ears perked and he whined at the sound of Jimbo’s voice. “Do you think you could hold this flashlight while I get this dog out of here?”
“I can do that. Better’n crawlin’ under there myself. God only knows what’s under there besides that dog.”
The thought made Alex shudder, but she’d learned a long time ago to keep her focus on the animal to be rescued. Otherwise, she’d run screaming like a girl from these dark, smelly places. She dug into her pocket and produced a biscuit, extending her hand. The lab stretched his neck, sniffed, then snatched the treat and gobbled it hungrily.
Alex inched back, coaxing him. Finally, he crawled forward and emerged with her from beneath the trailer, shoving his muzzle into her hand. Alex laughed. “You want more, huh?” She looked up at Jimbo. “Do you know who this dog belongs to?”