Cathy Thacker - A Cowboy Under The Mistletoe

At the “standoff” between him and his canine pal, Ally did her best to stifle a grin. Which showed how much she knew.

“You want to try?” Hank asked.

Her eyes twinkling, Ally tilted her head to one side and said drily, “I don’t think she’s in a mood to listen to me, either. But…” She rose gracefully and moved to the makeshift bed, patting it firmly. “Come on, sweetheart. You’ll be more comfortable in here.”

Surprisingly, Duchess rose, climbed in and settled down immediately.

Hank was stunned-and grateful. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Ally waved the papers still clutched in her free hand. “I think we’re supposed to introduce the puppies to Duchess next.”

That was indeed the protocol. The only surprise was that Ally-a confessed dog loather-wanted to be present for this, too. But maybe tonight, Duchess and her big brood, were changing all that, as well as Ally’s feelings about being at the ranch. Which only went to show that miracles did happen at Christmas, Hank thought.

Keeping his feelings to himself, he asked, “You want to do the first one?”

Ally bit her lower lip, abruptly appearing shy and uncertain once again. “Maybe you better.”

Figuring the littlest pup needed her mama most, Hank picked her up and laid her ever so gently in front of Duchess.

Once again, the mother dog turned her nose away, prepared to go to sleep.

Hank tried again, with the same result.

For whatever reason, Duchess wanted nothing to do with her tiniest whelp.

Ally shot Hank a look that mirrored his own consternation.

The worry Hank had felt earlier, when they’d been resuscitating the pup, increased. “Let’s see if we can get the little one to nurse.” He put the tiny pup at a nipple. She suckled weakly and soon fell right back to sleep.

Hank frowned in concern. “Let’s see how the rest of them do.” He picked up the hardiest pup, a male, from the warming bed and put him in front of Duchess.

The retriever immediately nosed the whelp, kissing and licking him. Encouraged, Hank put him to a nipple. The pup immediately latched on and began to nurse.

And so it went with the remaining whelps, until finally, they were left with eleven pups and ten nipples. Reluctantly, Hank removed the littlest one from Duchess’s side, and handed her ever so carefully to Ally. The last puppy took the little one’s place and began to nurse vigorously.

Ally cradled the tiniest puppy against her chest. “What are we going to do if she doesn’t nurse any better than that?”

Hank studied the sweet-faced golden retriever curled against the warmth of Ally’s breast, and knew they were the castaway pup’s last hope. “I’ll tell you what we’re not going to do,” he stated firmly. “We’re not going to wait. I’m calling Kurt right now.”

TO ALLY’S RELIEF, Kurt McCabe came right out to the ranch, even though it was well past midnight. The personable veterinarian brought a digital scale and his vet bag and checked over the dam and her litter. “Duchess and the whelps all look great,” Kurt said when he’d finished recording the weight and sex of all five males and six female pups.

“What about the littlest one?” Ally asked.

“She’s definitely a little weaker-as well as tuckered out from her rocky start. That’s probably why Duchess initially turned away from her-because she knows instinctively that this pup is going to need more care than the rest, if she’s to survive. And on her own, Duchess can’t provide that,” the vet explained.

Ally glanced at Hank’s face, to gauge his reaction. Obviously, this was something the handsome rancher already knew. Which was why he had looked so concerned, and insisted they ask his cousin to make a house call, even if it was the dead of the night.

Her respect for Hank grew.

Ally turned back to Kurt, watching as he gently lifted the littlest one from the warming bed. “Fortunately, the pup’s heart and lungs are strong, and there are a lot of things we can do to help her out,” he continued.

“Like what?” Ally asked, feeling as protective as if she were the mama herself.

Kurt handed her the puppy. As before, she held the tiny puppy against her chest, and felt it instinctively cuddle close.

“The first thing I’m going to do is give her an injection of replacement plasma to help boost her immune system.” Kurt paused to give the puppy the shot.

The little one flinched and let out several high-pitched squeaks.

Ally took comfort in the whelp’s strong show of indignation. Judging by the looks on Hank’s and Kurt’s faces, they also thought it was a good sign.

“It’s important you keep her warm. She’s going to need to be hand-fed every two hours or so, until she’s strong enough to nurse alongside her littermates.” Kurt removed several cans of formula and a bottle from his bag, along with another set of instructions. “Come morning, let her try nursing again. Even if it’s for only a couple minutes, she’ll get colostrum. And of course, keep introducing her to Duchess. Sooner or later they should begin to bond.”

And what if they didn’t? Ally wondered, exchanging concerned glances with Hank. How would that impact the tiny puppy? Would it alter her chances of survival? Would she grow up feeling like Ally had-as if she never quite fit? Not with her family, not on the ranch, not at school… and now, maybe not even at the job that had been her whole life for the last ten years?

The thought of the defenseless little puppy being rejected made her heart ache.

Mistaking the reason behind Ally’s melancholy, Hank stepped closer and patted her arm. “I know this little gal is only twelve ounces-which, according to the weigh in we just did, makes her roughly twenty-five percent smaller than her siblings. And definitely the runt of the litter.” He paused to gaze into Ally’s eyes before continuing in a consoling voice, “But often times the smallest one will turn out to be the scrappiest.”

“That’s true,” Kurt agreed.

Realizing worrying about things she couldn’t change wouldn’t help anything, least of all the tiny puppy cuddled in her arms, Ally began to relax.

Only to see Hank frown again. “The bigger problem is…who do these dogs belong to?”

Kurt nodded toward the wriggling bodies in the warming bed. “These dogs are all definitely show quality purebreds.”

Duchess was pretty enough to appear in the Westminster Dog Show, Ally thought, and her puppies were miniature versions of her.

Kurt continued, “Duchess was obviously bred deliberately.”

“Which means someone has to be looking for her.” Hank knelt down to pet the retriever. He rubbed her large shoulders and stroked behind her ears with so much tenderness Ally felt her own mouth go dry.

“The larger question is how she became separated from the breeder in the first place.” The muscles in Hank’s own broad shoulders tensed. “Since I’m sure some of these puppies, if not all, have got to be spoken for already.”

Surely not the littlest one, Ally thought, then caught herself up short. What was she doing? she wondered in alarm. This puppy wasn’t hers to keep! None of them were…

Kurt unhooked the stethoscope from around his neck. “Some dogs want their privacy when they give birth, and slip off to nest in secret. My guess is that’s what Duchess did.”

“But wouldn’t someone have reported her missing by now?” Ally asked.

“You’d think so,” the vet replied.

“It’s a mystery,” Hank concurred grimly. “But one I intend to solve.”

Kurt packed up his vet bag. “I’ll do everything I can to help.” He paused to pet Duchess and several of her puppies. Standing, he glanced wryly at Hank and Ally. “In the meantime, try not to get too attached.”