Stella glanced up. “Hear what?”
“I thought I heard a noise at the back door.”
“I didn’t hear anything.” Monica set her spoon down and scanned the windows. “What did it sound like?”
“A scratching. Must be the wind blowing something up against the door,” Rex said, explaining it away, before taking another bite of cereal.
Several minutes later, Monica stood. “I think there is something out there. I keep hearing a whimper mixed with the scratching.”
Rex and Stella joined her as she walked to the door, opening it against a barrage of wind and rain. Sitting on the welcome mat was a dog, emaciated with every rib jutting out from its loose skin. His black and white fur was caked with mud and dried blood matted a patch on his thigh. The dog shook from fear and pain and looked up at the humans with eyes begging for salvation.
Monica reached out, but the dog cowered and whimpered, his lame leg a hindrance to movement. “We have to do something. We can’t leave him out here like this.”
“Go bring me a towel from the bathroom. I’ll see if he’ll let me pick him up.”
Rex crouched down, placing himself at eye level with the mutt. “Hi there, fellow. Looks like you’re in quite the bind. We’re going to help if you let us, okay?” He slowly reached his hand out, stopping several inches from the dog’s snout. “C’mon buddy, I’m not going to hurt you, I want to help.”
Unsure, the dog stared at him with large brown eyes. Then as though realizing his life depended on Rex, he took a labored step to nuzzle the palm of his hand.
“Good boy.” Rex ran his hand over the dog’s hair, softly assuring him he would be fine.
Mom handed him a towel and Monica helped wrap the dog as best as they could. He rubbed and patted the towel over the dog, trying to simultaneously dry him and clear the gunk off him.
“I think he was hit by a car. He needs to see a vet,” Monica said calmly as he continued grooming the dog.
Rex’s forehead creased. “Where’s the closest vet?”
“Paws and Claws, where we took Roscoe.” Stella glanced at Monica. “Roscoe was the kids’ childhood dog.”
“Dr. Chauvin is still there? He was ancient when we were kids.”
Stella gave him a warning look. “He’s only several years older than I am, and his son took over last year.”
“In my defense, everyone looks old when you’re a kid.” He winked at his mom. “Except you, who has always been young and beautiful.”
“Nice save.” Stella turned her attention to the dog. “Take him there, and I’ll call ahead to let them know.” She ran upstairs and came down with an old comforter. “Use this to keep him comfortable.”
“We’ll call you with an update.” He removed the wet towels and wrapped the dog in the dry, fluffy blanket.
Scooping the pup in his arms, he transported the dog to his truck as Monica opened and held doors for him. The dog occasionally whimpered as they drove through flooded streets.
Monica sat in the back seat with him, occasionally reaching down, offering him a soothing pet. Weather conditions worried him the office may have closed, and loud sighs of relief came when they saw the vet office was indeed open.
Rex pulled directly in front of the office doors, jumped out and rushed the dog in before they could get drenched again. Monica filled out the necessary forms, so that he could sit with the dog on the waiting bench.
As providence would have it, there were no other animals waiting to be seen and within minutes they were taken to a room. A vet tech weighed the dog, a mere forty pounds, yet his frame suggested he should be closer to sixty. The doctor came in the room not much later to thoroughly examine the dog.
The doctor came in, and Rex recognized Todd Chauvin from their school days. “What happened to this fellow?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never seen him before, he showed up at my mom’s door while we were having breakfast.”
“Hmm.” The vet frowned as he looked over the animal and performed an examination. “I would venture to say he hasn’t had a home in some time. He’ll be fine but will need a lot of love and care. He is severely malnourished, which is a bigger concern than the injured leg. We can keep him here at the clinic temporarily until he gets better.”
“What happens when he is well?” Monica laid a hand on the dog’s back.
“We will try to locate his owner. He’s not registering a microchip and by the looks of him, I doubt we’d be successful. The staff will try to find him a home but if not, we’ll have no choice but to transfer him to animal control.”
“Can we take him?” Where had that come from? His lifestyle didn’t allow for a pet, but then his lifestyle was changing, wasn’t it?
