Ann Roth - Montana Vet

Could the day get any worse?

It could and had. While she was still reeling from Rich’s stunning news, Mrs. Oakes, who worked Tuesday through Friday, had called in sick with a case of stomach flu. Edgar, the senior citizen volunteer who answered the phones on Mondays, had been busy with other commitments, leaving Emily to man the front desk. Then the Tates, the couple scheduled to foster and, fingers crossed, adopt the high-strung red setter that had been at the shelter for nearly a week, had postponed until Friday. With the kennel filled to capacity, Emily had counted on freeing up the dog’s cage for another animal in need.

Instead she’d had to turn away two dogs. She’d spent several hours calling everyone she knew, pleading for someone to take in one or both animals. With a lot of begging, she’d finally found them temporary homes. They needed to be seen by a vet, and someone needed to pay for those services.

Her head was pounding now, and her empty stomach was demanding food. With a sigh, she stood and carried her half-empty mug of tepid coffee through the archway off the front office, which had once been a living room. A short walk down the hall led to her small office, formerly a den. There she retrieved her purse from under the desk and dug through it for aspirin. She downed the pills with a healthy slug of the coffee—a combination guaranteed to give her stomach fits if she didn’t eat posthaste.

Until now, she hadn’t had the time. “I need lunch,” she said.

Susannah, the three-legged whippet Emily had taken in and adopted when she’d first opened the shelter, had been napping on the doggy bed in the corner. Now she trotted over—if you could call her odd, limping gait a trot.

Although Emily lived in the apartment upstairs, every morning she stowed a sack lunch in the kitchen on the main floor. Susannah accompanied her there, licking her chops and wagging her tail.

“You already had your meal,” Emily said, but the dog knew she was a soft touch.

Moments later, she returned to Mrs. Oakes’s desk with the sack lunch and a fresh cup of coffee. Susannah was excited now, yipping and grinning as only she could. “Oh, all right,” Emily said. “But first, sit!”

She quickly obeyed. Emily always marveled over that. After all, Susannah had only one front leg. When she’d arrived at the shelter at the age of about one year, she hadn’t even been house-trained.

“Good girl,” Emily cooed. Reaching into the lunch bag, she pulled out the dog treat Susannah had known was there. Seconds later, content, the dog settled down on the braided rug nearby.

Emily was munching on her sandwich when the two-way radio buzzed. Caroline, one of the regular volunteers, was out back with the dogs.

“I have to leave soon,” she said. “Do you want me to put everyone back in the kennel?”

“They’ve been out for a while now, and I cleaned their cages and filled their food and water dishes, so yes. Thanks, Caroline—you’re the best.” Emily meant that. The volunteers who gave so much of their time and effort kept the shelter going.

She finished her lunch, sipping her coffee and culling through applications from the high school kids who wanted to volunteer this semester. Doing so would earn them community-service credit, an annual requirement for students at all four of Prosperity’s high schools.

Suddenly Susannah woofed, moved awkwardly to her feet and loped toward the door with her tail wagging. It had taken almost two years of patience and TLC, but she’d finally learned to trust people. The bell over the door jingled.

“Come here.” Emily snapped her fingers. The dog obeyed, but wasn’t happy about it.

An instant later, a girl entered the office. She looked to be fourteen or so, and was tall and gangly, just as Emily had been at that age. Her shoulder-length, light brown hair had bright red streaks in it, and bangs that same red all but obscured her large eyes. She moved hesitantly toward Emily, her obvious self-consciousness at odds with the sullen look on her face.

It was that contrast that reminded Emily of her own painful adolescent years, as a lonely teen whose mother worked long hours to put a roof over their heads, after Emily’s father had left.

“Hi.” She smiled. “I’m Emily Miles, the founder of The Wagging Tail.”

“Hi.” Not even a semblance of a smile.

Susannah jumped up and raced forward with her tail waving. Smiling now, which did wonders for her face, the girl petted the happy canine. “Cool dog. What happened to his leg?”

“Actually, she’s female. Her name is Susannah. When she arrived at the shelter, she had a bad infection in her foreleg. We had to amputate.”

The girl looked horrified. As if knowing they were talking about her, Susannah woofed softly and retreated to the rug.

“Some of the dogs we take in are in pretty bad shape,” Emily said. “But with love, patience and a good home, miracles can happen. I’ll bet you’re here because you want to do a semester of community service at The Wagging Tail.”

The girl’s eyes widened in surprise. “How did you know?”

“It’s that time of year. I didn’t catch your name.”

“Taylor.”

“Nice to meet you. Which school do you attend?”

“Trenton High.”

The school was less than a mile from the shelter. Emily nodded. “Are you a freshman?”

“Sophomore.”

“Okay. Do you have any experience with dogs?”

Taylor looked at her as if she were crazy. “I like them.”

“Have you ever owned or taken care of one?”

The girl shook her head and crossed her arms. “Why are you asking so many questions? I said I liked them.” As in, Isn’t that enough?

Not exactly the warm and friendly personality Emily wanted at the shelter. Although Taylor had been both with Susannah. As a teen, Emily had never been this sullen, certainly not when she wanted a job.

“I’ve had a lot of interest from high school kids this semester, and I may be full,” she said. Most of them had left any attitude behind and put on their best faces. “But if you’d like to fill out an application, I’ll look it over and get back to you.”

“You don’t want me.”

For one telling moment, Taylor’s shoulders slumped. Then the surly look reappeared and she raised her head.

Emily guessed that she’d been rejected by someone, somewhere. Having been there herself, when her father had walked out of her life, she sympathized. “I didn’t say that,” she replied with a smile. “School started in late August, and here we are a few weeks later. Most of the kids who want to work here applied last week.” She patted the stack of applications on the desk. “I’m in the process of selecting volunteers now.”

“We only moved here a few days before school started. I would’ve come in sooner, but I just found out about this place.”

While it seemed a plausible excuse, Emily wondered if Taylor’s attitude had cost her opportunities at other organizations. Wanting to help the girl, she opened a desk drawer and pulled out a blank application. “There’s still time to apply.” She handed the form over. “Why don’t you fill this out?”

“Whatever.” The girl stuffed the paper into her backpack. “Where are the other dogs?”

“They spent most of the afternoon out back. Now they’re in the kennel—that building over there.” Emily pointed at what had once been a large, detached garage. “Would you like to meet them?”

“Uh, yeah.” Taylor’s snarky tone indicated that this was obvious.

Shaking her head at the girl’s hostility, Emily leashed Susannah, then led Taylor down the concrete walkway. The afternoon sun had barely begun its descent toward the horizon, but already the air was noticeably cooler and felt like autumn. In central Montana, the weather was known to change quickly, and in a matter of hours, the temperature could vary by as much as twenty degrees.