6
Grace and Ryanclimbed back into the car and set off for the boarding kennels, which were located a couple of miles north of Hamblehurst. Although Ryan chatted about their visit to the vet, commenting on the good news that at least Stanley was in decent health and would hopefully find his way back to his owner or to a new home if no one claimed him, Grace found it hard to concentrate on what he was saying.
What if no one came forward? What if no one was looking for the dog at all? How long would Stanley have to stay in the kennels, or in a rescue centre, before finding a new home? Grace had no idea how long such things might take.
It’s not your problem,she reminded herself as she turned off the main road and into the boarding kennels car park.Stanley isn’t your problem.
But Grace wasn’t sure she believed that.
And as they got out of the car and walked towards the boarding kennels, Grace wasn’t sure shewantedto believe it, either.
Her first glimpse of the kennels they’d come to sent icy tendrils of alarm straight through her.
The boarding facility comprised three rows of crumbling concrete kennels, from which arose the roar of frantic barking. Rusty metal door grilles on the kennel units made the place look like a prison, and even at a distance Grace could see—and smell—the poo and urine strewn across the kennel floors.
The dogs held within the kennels howled and barked, some of them racing around inside the confined spaces, others pressing their muzzles through the metal enclosures, while some simply huddled at the back of their kennel space on the plain plastic crates that passed for beds.
Overgrown pathways led between the kennel units and converged on a small dilapidated building with a faded sign on the heavy door that told visitors to press the buzzer for entry.
If Stanley had been nervous about his earlier visit to the veterinary surgery, he was almost beside himself now with panic. The little dog’s ears went flat and he started panting heavily as they approached what Grace assumed must be the reception office.
Ryan and Grace exchanged a look as she pressed the buzzer, and Stanley let out a whimper. As they waited for someone to let them inside, Grace watched a member of staff push a cart towards one of the kennel blocks, then open the grille door of the first kennel there. The woman removed a metal bowl of food from the cart and dumped it onto the concrete floor of the kennel. The dog inside the kennel, a small border collie, gulped down the food ravenously as soon as the bowl appeared.
The woman slammed and locked the kennel door and moved on to the next one, repeating the action to feed the next dog in line. She neither spoke to the dogs she was feeding nor interacted with them in any way. The woman wasn’t cruel, but her level of disinterest in the frantic dogs who swarmed her each time she opened a kennel door was disconcerting.
When one dog, a skinny little whippet, leapt in fright when the woman dropped the metal food bowl onto the concrete floor with a noisycrack, she barely even spared the animal a glance.
As Grace watched the woman continue with her feeding rounds, she tried to remind herself that these boarding kennels were operating as a business, and the staff probably didn’t have time to fuss over each and every dog whenever they were required to go inside the kennel areas. Still, something about the woman’s cold indifference made Grace ache for the dogs who were staying there.
A simple pat on the head or rub of the ears would surely have soothed the excitable creatures. They were social animals, after all, just like humans, and wanted only to be treated as such.
Grace noticed Ryan’s gaze shifting from the activity over by the kennel block and towards her.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Pasting on a smile, Grace nodded. “Of course.”
The door to the reception building burst open just then, startling Stanley and sending him scurrying closer to Grace’s legs. As he pressed his little body against her, she realised he was trembling.
The woman who stood in the doorway looked to be in her late forties and had the raw-faced appearance of a person who was used to physical work outdoors. She wore grubby grey dungarees which were covered in dog hair, and heavy thick-soled boots, and offered a barely concealed frown in place of a welcome.
“Yes, how can I help?” she said abruptly, and Grace could smell the stale odour of instant coffee and cigarettes on her breath.
“We, uh, we’re here to hand over this stray dog,” Grace said, momentarily losing her words on account of the woman’s brusque manner. “I think the local dog warden might have phoned ahead to let you know we’d be coming?”
The woman’s eyes flicked between Grace and Ryan and the dog standing between them.
“Don’t know nothing about it,” the woman scowled. “But I’ve been out cleaning the kennels since I got here, haven’t I? So you’d better come in while I check the phone messages.”
Turning on her heel, the woman disappeared inside the building, leaving Grace no choice but to catch hold of the door in her wake before it swung shut in her face. As they stepped inside, she caught the look Ryan gave her, his expression as doubtful as hers about the ill-mannered woman they’d just met.
The squat building was as ugly inside as it was outside. Although it appeared to be clean enough, it was grimly run down, with scarred laminate flooring and walls that were long overdue a fresh lick of paint. A cracked plastic screen separated the tiny public space at the door from a small office at the back.
The woman who’d let them inside began rummaging through a towering pile of paperwork stacked beside an ancient computer, before letting out a world-weary sigh and lifting a phone handset and punching some buttons. Grace guessed she must be listening to answer messages left on the device, judging by the look on her face, a look that swiftly morphed from concentration to exasperation.
After a few moments, she dropped the phone handset back into the base unit with a sigh and bustled around the plastic screen to where Grace and Ryan stood with Stanley.
“The dog warden left a phone message about taking in this one,” she said, pointing to Stanley. “It’s not the way it’s meant to happen, the warden just phoning up and telling us what’s what, but he said he’d sort out the paperwork later, so I suppose I’ve got no choice.”
