Lost & Found - Jacqueline Sheehan [21]
“I’m not an easy mark. I just don’t like to see a good dog suffering. If you haven’t contacted the owners by the time he’s ready to be released, I can be the foster home until we find them.”
She stood up and wiped her hands on her thighs. This is what she and Bob would have done. “Or maybe I shouldn’t. I just remembered, he’ll be alone while I’m working…”
“That’s right. And while you’re out, he’ll be sleeping. Dogs would hate for this secret to get out, but they’re a lot like cats. They look for a good place to curl up and sleep.”
Rocky took a breath and shook the memory of past foster dogs away. “Yeah, yeah. Show me his meds. Or will he be done with meds by then?”
The conversation was making Rocky’s head go woozy. In the early days of their marriage, Rocky had assisted Bob in checking on animals that had to stay overnight. This was the longest time that she had spent in the back room of a vet clinic since Bob died. She walked over to a cool steel table, put her hands on the edge and leaned into it.
“Are you feeling okay? This dog is going to be fine, I’m not trying to stick you with a dying dog.” Sam sounded like he was trying to reassure her.
“You really are new at this, aren’t you?” Sam asked.
For a moment Rocky wanted to tell him that nothing was new, everything was new, that he should be careful because he and Michelle could have their world pulled out from under them by a drunk driver, a predestined heart attack, or lightning could strike and everything that he loved would be taken from him.
She pushed off from the table. “You’re right. I’m new at this.”
In two days, Rocky got the call that the dog was ready to be released.
“I’ve been out of town for a day. When you come get your dog, I want you to come and take a look at the arrow that I pulled out of him,” said Sam.
“He’s not my dog. I’m just sort of a canine rehab center for this guy. He belongs to somebody. He misses somebody.”
“Whatever you say. We close at noon today. Stop over then. You’ll need to bring your truck.”
Reserving a place for vehicles on the ferry was difficult for visitors to the island, especially during the season; full-time residents had a year-round pass. But Rocky discovered she had the additional power to make last-minute requests if she was on emergency business, as she had been with the Lab. And this time of year, there was a pleasing absence of vehicles loaded down with deck chairs, bikes, and beer.
Dr. Reynold’s clinic had a cat door and a dog door. The two sides of the clinic were delineated by the neutral zone of the receptionist’s island. Rocky paused a moment and went in the dog door.
Sam opened the door behind the examining room where all the supplies were kept. On the counter was the shaft and point of the arrow that he removed from the black dog.
“Did you notice anything about this arrow?” he asked her.
“I didn’t see it. I only saw the shaft of the arrow and I was honestly thinking a lot more about the dog. But you want to tell me something, so let’s jump to that part.”
He rolled the shaft around in his palm. “This entire arrow is handmade. Look at this,” he said, pointing his finger at the string around the arrowhead.
“This stuff that looks like string? This is made from tendons of a deer, wrapped around the shaft to attach the point. Probably used hide glue. Do you know how long it takes to make one of these? From start to finish? If you include the time it took to cut and dry the wood, and I’m told this is probably Osage, about three months. I know that if you go to the trouble of making one of these, you don’t shoot it at a dog. You go for the whole, pure experience. You want to shoot a deer, a turkey, a pheasant. Something is very wrong here.” He dropped the arrow into her hands.
“Does anyone on the island have this as a winter hobby, like rug braiding or bookbinding? You must know everyone,” said Rocky.
“I have never heard anyone brag or do a show and tell about making a bow and arrow the good old-fashioned way. And that’s the kind of thing someone would have to brag about.”
Rocky