The first dog Dex had brought to Cedar Ridge was Lennie—a horribly abused pit bull who’d been found on the street. Among his many injuries, his eyes had been gouged out. The wounds had looked awful and were no doubt painful, but they weren’t life-threatening. Her treatment had been fairly basic: cleaning and suturing the wounds, sealing his eyes, a course of antibiotics, and the usual treatments for parasites and malnourishment.
What made that day memorable was Dex. He was quiet as ever and only took his attention from Lennie to answer her direct questions and listen to her instructions for home care. When he ignored her and spoke to the dog, however, his whole aspect changed. He became gentle and loving. He didn’t pull back from any unpleasantness or worry about getting blood or pus on his clothes. He was fully invested in making things as easy on Lennie as he could.
It had taken her ten minutes to reassure him that the dog would be comfortable and calm while he stayed overnight for the procedures. Dex had wanted to stay—and he’d insisted that George, a terrier mix bonded with Lennie, be allowed to stay.
Only when she’d agreed to that had Dex agreed to go home for the night. He’d only adopted the dogs that same day, and already he’d been their ferocious protector.
She looked at him now, with this pup he’d known an hour or two at the most, and knew that he was already fully bonded and would mourn her passing.
Kelsey spent her life with animals and the people who owned them. Not every pet owner was a good one. Most were okay, many were devoted, but some were negligent at best, and others should never have been allowed within fifty feet of a trusting animal. One thing she was sure of: someone who loved animals the way Dex loved animals was a good soul. It didn’t matter what bad things he might do, how angry he was or how violent he could be. He was loving and gentle with animals, ergo he was inherently decent.
She’d known that before he’d saved her life. But he’d done that, too.
She wasn’t afraid of Dex Denson anymore. In fact, it might not be a stretch to say she’d developed a little crush.
“I brought a blanket to wrap her in,” she said when Dex looked up. His angry expression had eased into sadness.
“Can I just hold her?”
It was going to be difficult to get a good stick in a pup so small and frail, but she didn’t think doing it while Dex held her would add much complexity. “Sure.”
She went to the prep station, took the cap off the hypo and added a butterfly. That would help her get a good stick on the first try.
When she crouched before Dex, she said, “Her heartbeat is slow and erratic, which can slow this process down, but even so, it should only be a minute or two.”
“Will it hurt her?”
Kelsey shook her head. “No. Some dogs get anxious when the feeling begins to set in, but they’re usually dogs that are already anxious about being at the vet. She’s so quiet, I think all she’ll feel is the pain abating as she goes to sleep.”
“Okay. That’s good.” As Kelsey moved to begin the stick, he asked, “What—what do you do with the bodies?”
Animal carcasses that weren’t used in vet schools were sent out to be incinerated as bio-waste. The clinic had an arrangement with a pet cemetery that sold urns and small plots, but that wasn’t appropriate to this situation. She didn’t think. Then again, maybe Dex would want … “They’re cremated. If you want her ashes, I can arrange for that, and put you in touch with a company that sells urns for pets.”
“No, no. Just—can she go with her mom? I think she’d want to be with her mom.”
One of the most challenging aspects of becoming a vet was building up enough callus on her heart that she didn’t cry every time she saw an animal in pain or dying, didn’t key off every grieving pet person’s sorrow. She still felt it, but had learned, for the most part, to keep the signs of her feelings in check. Sometimes, though, her feelings would not be denied.
This was one of those times. She bit down on her lip until the urge to spill tears backed off. “Yeah, Dex. I’ll make sure she goes with her mom.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Ready?”
When he nodded, Kelsey found the right spot on a tiny foreleg and slipped the needle in.
By the time the plunger was fully depressed, the pup’s respiration had slowed and shallowed. By the time she removed the needle, she was gone. To confirm, Kelsey put her stethoscope in her ears and set the disc on a tiny, still chest. Silence.
She met Dex’s eyes and nodded.
He lowered his head and snugged that poor baby as close as he could.
“I’ll leave you alone. Stay as long as you need to; I’ll make sure nobody else comes in. Just knock on this door”—she indicated the door to the work area—“when you’re ready, and somebody will come in to take care of her.”
Without looking up, he nodded.
Kelsey stood and gathered up the used supplies. When she stood, an impulse grabbed her, and she set her hand on Dex’s shoulder. He tipped his head and rested it on her hand—for a second only, then lifted it as quick as a flinch and curled even more snugly around the pup.
She set the supplies on the counter and slipped from the exam room. When the door latched, she leaned back on it and closed her eyes. That had really rocked her.