Betina Krahn - Soldier's Rescue

“But, Dad, the dogs are hurt and I can—”

“Go!” Nick thundered. “Now!”

Kate was aware of the boy heading away from the group, shoulders rounded and feet dragging. She looked up at Nick with a question she didn’t get to ask.

“I don’t want him seeing this,” Nick said roughly. “He’s too young. It’ll give him nightmares.”

Kate nodded and ran ahead to make sure the exam table was clear and to prepare the necessary supplies. When she looked up, Isabelle and three other volunteers were crowding the doorway behind Nick, who settled the dog on the table with a grim expression.

“He’s in shock. We have to find out where all that blood is coming from.” It was a short-haired dog, but she gave his front leg a pass with the clippers anyway and then thrust the coil of tubing and needle pack at Nick. “Get this going while I check out his wounds.” She sensed his hesitation and looked up. His face was taut and his jaw was set, but after a moment he went to work establishing the IV, and her gaze moved on to one of the older volunteers, Harry Mueller, who was just pushing into the room. Harry had been the one trying to help the other dog. “What happened?”

Harry wiped his face on his sleeve and shook his head. “Gone.”

“Damn.” She froze for a second and then drew a sharp breath. “Well, let’s see what we can do about saving this one.”

For the next several minutes she worked intently, cleaning away blood and investigating cuts—some jagged rips and others clean slashes. There were fresh scars and lumps that looked like old swelling in several places, including on the dog’s head. Part of one ear had been ripped off recently and was only half-healed. The certainty settled in her gut like a stone. “These are fighting injuries.”

“Yeah,” Nick said, looking around for a place to hang the IV bag, but, finding none, simply held it himself. “From the looks of him, this guy has seen plenty of action. We’ve heard rumors that they’re back in this area. The dogfighting rings.”

“But why would they dump their injured off on us?” Isabelle asked from behind Nick. She folded her arms tightly across her chest as she edged around the others to see the damage for herself. “Don’t they usually just bury the evidence somewhere out of the way and move on?”

No one said anything for a minute, then Kate looked up at the ceiling to clear her vision, then back down at the wound she was stitching. “Maybe somebody had an attack of conscience.”

She quit counting knots after a while; it seemed like she stitched forever, having to layer some in the deeper cuts. Swelling caused some of the lacerations to go together unevenly, leading her to comment that he might not be pretty afterward.

An ache had begun in the small of her back by the time she finished. The group crowded into the doorway had since moved on; only Isabelle and Nick remained.

“That’s it,” she said, snapping off the gloves, tossing them into the nearby can and arching her back. “That’s all we can do. I’ll bring over some antibiotics later, and we’ll have to watch him closely for the next few days.”

“You think he’s got a chance?” Isabelle asked.

“A slim one.” Kate frowned as she studied her handiwork, then turned to the sink to scrub her hands and arms up to the elbows. Her clothes were a disaster. “Maybe twenty-five percent.”

“All that work for twenty-five percent.” Nick’s voice sounded thick.

She reached for a towel and turned to look at him. “Without that work, his odds would have been zero.” She met the storm in his gaze with a calm she had learned at her grandmother’s side. “That’s what we do...better the odds. We give it all we have and trust in the outcome.” She paused and ran a hand gently over the dog’s battered, heavily stitched head. Emotion that had been held at bay by professional duty came rushing in.

“You learn early on, working with animals, that you’re a conduit for healing, not the source,” she said quietly, as much to herself as to him. “We’re not responsible for every life we touch. That’s a burden too big to bear. After a while the weight of that kind of thinking would paralyze us. It’s also a recognition that we’re part of the natural processes of life. We help wherever we can, whenever we can, always knowing that the outcome may be out of our hands.”

Tears pricked her eyes, and she grabbed her stethoscope to busy herself listening to the dog’s heart: slow, but still beating.

Moments later, Gran entered with an anxious expression, towing a young boy behind her.

“Ben and I were wondering what’s happening.”

Nick wheeled and found Ben moving toward the table where the injured dog lay—swollen, stitched and inert—in a mass of bloody cloths.

“Did he die, too?” Ben asked, his eyes wide.

“What the hell?” Nick ground out before checking himself and bending to take Ben by the shoulders. “I told you to—” He reddened with what looked like chagrin and then glowered up at Nance. “He doesn’t need to be seeing this stuff.”

Kate watched Ben recoil from his father’s anger and rounded the table to intervene. “It’s all right, Nick. It’s probably not as bad as he might imagine. If you’ll let me explain to him—”

“He’s seen enough for one day.” He turned Ben toward the door and gave his back a gentle push to get him going. “He’s just a kid, for God’s sake.”

Shocked silence descended as Nick rushed Ben out, and the sounds of their departure wafted back through the offices. It took a minute for the tension to dissipate. Kate felt Nance studying her and hoped her grandmother wasn’t reading every confusing emotion she was feeling. Nance looked to the door where the two had escaped.

“I’ve seen a lot of creatures in pain in my time,” she said with a concerned look at Kate, “enough to know that one is carrying a load of torment inside him.”

Kate nodded, her anxiety melting into something softer, something more complicated. It was too late for grandmotherly warnings. She was already involved, heart-over-head, with the trooper and his adorable son.

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