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Erica handed me an electronic device. “Are you familiar with our software? Each dog will need a record and an intake number. We need to refer to the hoarding case number so we can easily access the records for court proceedings. Once the dog is set up in the system, I need you to record their vitals, what medical treatment they need, and what cage they’re going to in quarantine.”

I nodded, frantically trying to keep up with her and use the shelter software that I was only minimally familiar with. I managed to open a record for dog number 32459865, hoarding intake, Hyland Case 656, intact male, Bernese Mountain Dog, black with white and red.

Erica looked in his mouth after reciting the facts. “I’m going to put him at three years old.”

There was a blank space for name, so I called him Cake, because in spite of his matted and filthy condition, this boy was as sweet and wonderful as dessert.

“Outside of vaccinations, he’ll need dental work,” Erica went on. “See where he’s broken and worn down these teeth here? Probably from chewing on the cage wire. Plus he’s got mange and fleas. He’s only fifty pounds, which is underweight. These are big dogs and he should be double that.”

I typed it all in, thankful that I’d been practicing for the last month on both my phone and the laptop I’d purchased.

“Ask the vet tech to draw some blood, just to see if there’s anything going on under the surface. Do a four way SNAP test, then a flea and tick bath and a groom before quarantine. Antibiotic protocol for the mange.”

Erica moved to the next crate with Bill stepping up to take my place as I took Cake to the vet tech. The dog was a matted mess of fur, but he happily walked along at the end of the leash, wagging his tail and looking around him at the chaos. How this animal could be so cheerful after having spent his life locked in a tiny cage, I didn’t know.

“I would not be so happy in your position,” I told him. “You are dirty, itchy, and you are being handled by humans you do not know and an orc you absolutely do not know. The humans at your former home did not treat you well, but things will be better from now on. Is that what makes you happy? Hope?”

“These Bernese Mountain Dogs are usually happy,” Dante, our vet tech, informed me. “The female poodles are having a harder time with all this. And the puppies are terrified.”

I reached down to pick Cake up and put him on the table while Dante slipped a second leash around the dog’s neck and clipped it to the metal pole so the dog would not jump off.

“I hope you had your rabies vaccination,” Dante said. “These owners had the messiest records ever. I’ve got no idea if any of the dogs had vaccines or not. I doubt they would ever have been outside of their cages to be exposed to rabies, but better safe than sorry.”

I didn’t tell him that it was unlikely I would be susceptible to rabies or any other illness. Orcs had been visiting the human world for over a thousand years, and we had never contracted any of their illnesses, nor those of their livestock or wild animals. Back home we were immune to most diseases. Except for the plague, which had roared through the orc population like a wildfire, killing off almost a quarter of our population.

Maybe I should get that vaccination, just in case.

Dante stuck needle after needle into Cake, then drew blood while I held the squirming dog who licked my face the entire time.

“Gwen can do the grooming if you like, or you can and she’ll take your tablet and record the next dog,” Dante said.

I didn’t hesitate. “I will take care of Cake.”

“Suit yourself,” Dante told me before shouting over to Gwen. “You’re up, girl. Take Bwat’s tablet and go check in the next one.”

Cake whined and tried to greet everyone we passed on the way to the intake bathing area. The shelter kept this section separate from the bathing area in the main part of the shelter to avoid any potential disease transference, although we cleaned everything thoroughly with the most caustic and foul-smelling liquids. I gently picked up the matted dog and lowered him into the tub, then turned the water on, adjusting it to a pleasantly warm temperature. Then I secured Cake to the metal ring on the side of the tub and began to gently spray him.

As sweet and friendly as he had been, Cake clearly had reached his limit of cooperation as soon as the water hit his fur. The dog howled, twisted, and tried to climb over the side of the tub, fighting me with everything he had.

“Easy, easy,” I tried to soothe him. “You will feel much better once you are cleaned and the mats are removed from your body. I know you are scared. When I am scared I try to run away just like you are doing. But I am not here to hurt you, I am here to help you.”

The dog quickly exhausted himself, and finally just trembled under my hand as I rubbed the medicated shampoo through his fur and rinsed it off. It took three shampoos before the water ran clear.

Drying him with a fluffy towel, I accessed his fur situation and got to work with detangling spray and the rake-brush. I’d never known these things existed or that animals required such care before coming here to the human world. Volunteering at the animal shelter had taught me about all the injuries, and illnesses that dogs and cats could get, but the staff had also introduced me to all the various fur products and equipment. My clan favored a shaved face and short hair, but I didn’t think even orcs who had intricate hair and beard styles had the array of shampoos, trimmers, and sprays as these human pets.

Even with the spray, Cake’s fur was difficult to brush. I used scissors to carefully remove the tangles from behind his ears, and the ones on the backs of his legs, but the thick mats on his belly and rear just would not come loose.

“You might have to shave those off,” Dante said as he walked a silver-colored poodle to the wash basins.

“The internet says these types of dogs have double-fur and should not be shaved,” I told him.

“I know, but long-term damage to his coat is a better option than having him continue to deal with the pain those mats are causing him,” the vet tech countered. “It’s not like you’d be shaving all of him, just the parts with those mats.”

He was right, but I wasn’t willing to give up just yet. With lots of spray, a gentle hand with the rake-brush, and some scissor work, I managed to eventually free all the mats from Cake’s fur. After I was done, the dog was clean, combed, and dried with freshly trimmed nails. He looked much better than he had when I’d first seen him, but without the clumps of dirt, his emaciated body was clearly noticeable. He had bald patches, and not all of them were where I’d had to cut mats from his fur. But now that the torture of bathing and brushing was over, Cake’s good nature had returned. Once more he licked my face, and happily danced around my legs once I’d lowered him to the ground.

I led him to his quarantine cage, made sure he had fresh water and lots of soft blankets to rest on. The dog was far more interested in the bowl of food, but I did get a tail wag and a happy look as I wished him a good night and left him to return to the intake area to help with the other dogs.

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