She gave me a thumbs-up before heading down the bar to check on her other customers.
I turned to face the room, watching the locals as they went about their Thursday evening. About half the booths in back were occupied, couples and groups of friends laughing and conversing over glasses of wine. Several of the tables in the middle of the room had been pushed together to accommodate a large group of young women who had a row of wine flights on trays between them. I envied their carefree attitude, laughing and drinking with friends. I’d been one of those girls until a few weeks ago.
And once, a very long time ago, I’d been a carefree teenager who loved Taylor Donovan with all my heart. I didn’t think of Taylor often these days. Yes, I’d seen her at my grandma’s funeral, but we hadn’t spoken to each other. I hadn’t talked to Taylor since I was sixteen. Seeing her yesterday had shaken me. It had reminded me of that one perfect summer we’d spent together.
Actually, I’d had a lot of happy summers with Taylor. Ever since I was a little girl, I’d spent my summers with my grandmother here in Vermont. Taylor’s family lived just down the street, and she and I had quickly become best friends. Even then, she’d been an animal lover, always showing me baby birds and other wild creatures that she’d nursed back to health. In elementary school, she’d wanted to be a vet when she grew up, but later on, she’d decided she was too squeamish. I smiled to think of her working at the animal shelter now. Talk about finding the perfect job.
It made me wonder about my own job. Had I done as well as Taylor at following my dreams? I loved numbers and was an exceptional financial analyst, but did it make me as happy as saving homeless pets made Taylor? Suddenly, I wasn’t sure.
As I sipped my wine, the carbonation tickled my tongue and stung my nose. Maybe I should have gotten the chardonnay. There was a small stage in the back corner of the bar with a piano tucked against the wall.
When we were kids, while Taylor was rescuing animals, I’d been playing my grandmother’s piano and singing along to all my favorite songs. I hadn’t played the piano in a decade.
“You have live music on the weekends?” I asked the bartender.
She nodded as she wiped down the counter. “Every Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday night. And we’re hiring, if you know anyone who’s interested.”
I glanced at the piano. Maybe I should use my time here in Vermont to get back in touch with the things I used to enjoy. After all, when was the last time I’d done something just because it might be fun? “Actually…I’m interested.”
4
Taylor
I walked down the row of dog kennels to check on our two newest arrivals, the dogs whose owner had passed away yesterday. Dexter was curled up on his bed in the back corner, but he got up and walked over when I approached his kennel. He was a pit bull, mostly white with a brown head and kind eyes, tail wagging hopefully.
“Hey, buddy,” I said. “How are you today?”
His tail wagged faster, causing his whole body to sway from side to side.
“You’re probably missing your mom, aren’t you?” Today, I was hoping to locate a family member of his deceased owner who would step up to take him and Violet, the other dog that had been removed from the property last night.
Violet was going to be more difficult to place, though, if she was indeed pregnant. The vet would confirm when she arrived for rounds later today. I moved to stand in front of Violet’s kennel. The brown pittie lay on her bed, fast asleep. Her belly was rounded, and her nipples were swollen. Her pregnancy was a foregone conclusion as far as I was concerned.
And that meant—unless a relative of her owner wanted to take her—I would have to find a foster home for Violet before she gave birth, because the shelter was no place for newborn puppies. I wished I could take Violet myself, but my lease agreement only allowed two dogs. Even if I moved Blue, my current foster, to a different home, my landlord would balk at the idea of puppies. But maybe a family member would come to claim the dogs. I had a list of people provided by the sheriff’s department that I would be contacting today.
Violet lifted her head to look at me, and her tail began to wag.
“Hey, sweet girl,” I said.
She got to her feet and approached the front of her kennel. Her tail was still wagging, but she trembled as she walked. She was scared, and for good reason. It must be terrifying to be uprooted from her home and placed in a concrete-walled kennel where she didn’t know anyone, especially while she was pregnant.
“I’m going to get you out of here before those babies are born,” I told her. I didn’t reach through the bars to try to pet her. That was a great way to get my fingers bit. Not that I thought Violet was aggressive, but it was standard policy with any newcomer to the shelter. Frightened dogs were unpredictable. Instead, I crouched down to Violet’s level and spoke softly to her.
As the care supervisor at the Chittenden County Animal Shelter, I oversaw the intake of new animals, coordinated the staff and volunteers who cared for them, and met with potential adopters to help them find the right pet for their family. Right now, my only full-time employee was Alleya, who would be coming through soon to walk the dogs and take Violet for her vet appointment, but we also had a number of volunteers who helped care for the animals.
I left Violet and spent a few minutes greeting the other dogs currently in our care before making my way back to my office. We were expecting five new cats on Monday, arriving through a transport program I’d helped to initiate that brought adoptable animals from overcrowded shelters in the South to find new homes here in Vermont. Thanks in part to my outreach efforts, the Chittenden County Animal Shelter was well funded and successfully placed hundreds of animals a year, including many that came to us from out of state.
Minnie leaped up to greet me as I entered my office, running in excited circles around me while Blue watched from his kennel in the corner. It was a huge job perk that I got to bring my dogs to work with me, although Minnie was endlessly miffed that she had to stay in my office while we were here.
“Let me make a few phone calls, and then I’ll take you for that thing you want,” I told her, not saying the word “walk” out loud so I didn’t get her excited before I was ready. I sat at my desk and called the transport coordinator for the incoming cats. They’d be flying from Georgia into Boston, courtesy of a network of private pilots who volunteered their planes for animal rescue missions, and then a volunteer would drive them from Boston to Burlington.
Once I’d confirmed all the details, I opened the email the sheriff’s department had sent me with a list of family members who might be able to take Dexter and Violet. First, I dialed the dead woman’s sister, Jean, but the call rang through to voicemail. I made my way through the list, receiving one rejection after another. Just as I’d finished my last call, my phone rang.
“Chittenden County Animal Shelter, this is Taylor,” I answered.
“Hi Taylor, this is Jean Templeton. You left a message earlier about my sister’s dogs.”
“Yes,” I said, sitting up straighter in my seat. This woman was my last hope of getting Dexter and Violet out of the shelter today. “Thank you so much for getting back to me, and I’m so sorry for your loss.”