AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What? What happened?” I stood and gathered my purse and camera.
He read aloud as he stood. “Hoarding situation. It’s bad or they wouldn’t be calling me in. You’ll probably get a notification. They’re calling in all the regulars.”
“Oh, my gosh,” I whispered.
The hoarding situations I’d encountered in the past, like the one that resulted in Bex adopting Lilliput and Moony, were not anything that required emergency backup. My gut clenched at what might be waiting for us at the shelter.
We hurried out to his truck where he keyed in his response before tossing me his cell and pulling out of the parking lot.
“The password is curly. Keep me updated,” he ordered.
Just as I got my belt on, my cell buzzed with Kerry’s message.
“It’s Kerry,” I told him. “They’re asking for volunteers to come in to bathe, comfort, and transport.”
His cell dinged and I read the screen out loud. “Current guesstimate, fifty animals, mostly dogs. Backyard breeder. Went away for the weekend. Delivery driver needed a signature, heard the barking from the backyard and peeked over the back fence when nobody opened the front door.”
Barrett’s hands gripped the wheel as he listened quietly, then, softly, he asked, “You up for this, curly? It’s going to be ugly.”
I nodded. “Of course. It’s part of the reason why we have shelters in the first place, for animal welfare.”
He glanced at me, assessing, then nodded. “Okay but take frequent breaks. Don’t let it overwhelm you. These animals have been living in filth for so long it’s not going to matter if you take five minutes here and there to catch your breath, step outside to smell clean air. Got it?”
Barrett
It was the worst case he had seen in a long time.
Diagnostic assessments ranged in severity from matted and dirty, to emaciated, to broken limbs, to raging infections. They dealt first with Injuries and obvious infections, then sent those animals to the volunteers to shave down and clean up as much as possible, taking great care around the treatment sites.
All of them had fleas. Every single puppy, and there were many, had eye infections and loose stools. Heartworm tests were drawn, broad spectrum antibiotics administered, IV fluids started, x-rays taken, and limbs stabilized until it could be determined if surgery would help.
There were two emergency surgeries, one for a flipped stomach and the other for an intestinal blockage which turned out to be an ingested cat toy. Only one little girl appeared pregnant, and she was not in good shape. There was no telling what shape her puppies would be in.
He’d like to say that this was the reason he had become a veterinarian, but it wasn’t true. He became a vet because he loved animals and loved working with them.
These situations angered him to the degree that his stomach threatened to upend its contents. The smell of feces and vomit was inescapable. That was mild compared to the stench of infection from weeping wounds caused by fleas and constant scratching.
Apart from the smell, were the cries and yelps as he examined them, turning them this way and that, gently prodding, running his gentle, probing hands over their quivering forms.
All of this fed his anger and broke his heart.
He took breaks as needed, as did his colleagues, before going back in to deal with the next case. After four hours he went to check on Willa, shocked that she had slipped his mind for so long.
He found her and Bex working side-by-side, their voices low and soothing as they bathed the freshly shorn animals.
“Hey, curly,” he said tiredly coming up behind her.
She jumped, startled, and looked at him from over her shoulder. She was on edge and pale, her freckles standing out in stark relief, but her eyes were steady on him.
“Hi, my Viking,” she answered softly, “are you doing okay?”
He nodded. “You?”
She grimaced. “It’s worse than I thought it would be.”
He nodded again. There was nothing to say.
“Hi, Bex. Rhys with the kids?”
