Jodi Picoult - Lone Wolf

I leaned down and grabbed the handle of the crate with Walter, beginning the long climb uphill. “If you’re telling me this to make me feel any better about taking a wild animal to a hospital, it’s not helping.”

Walter glanced at me. “I’m telling you this,” he said, “because Zazi’s no stranger to miracles.”

It’s actually something Walter has said that gives me the idea: Just cause it looks like a dog don’t mean it is one. Since no one would ever be stupid enough to bring a wild animal into a hospital, folks who see me with Zazi will assume he is a domestic animal instead. That means all I have to do is come up with a valid reason to have a dog there in the first place.

The way I see it, I have two options. The first is a therapy dog. I have no idea if they use them at this particular hospital, but I know there are trained volunteers who bring Labs and springers and poodles into pediatric wards to boost the spirits of the sick kids. From what I understand, these dogs are usually older, calmer, unruffled-which pretty much leaves Zazi out of the running.

The only other kind of dog I’ve ever seen in a hospital is a Seeing Eye dog.

At a gas station, I buy a pair of hideous, oversize black sunglasses for $2.99. I call my mother’s cell, to tell her that I am on my way and that she should meet me in my dad’s room, with Cara. Then I park in the hospital lot, as far away from other cars as I can get.

The front seat has been moved back on its runners to accommodate Zazi’s crate, which takes up every inch of available space. I get out of the car and open the passenger door, eyeballing the wolf through the metal door of the crate. “Look,” I say out loud, “I don’t like this any more than you do.”

Zazi stares at me.

I try to convince myself that when I open this crate the wolf isn’t going to sink his teeth into my hand. Walter’s already put a harness on him; all I have to do is attach the leash.

Well. If he does bite me, at least I’m already at the hospital.

With brisk efficiency I open the crate and snap the heavy carabiner onto the metal hook of the wolf’s harness. He jumps out of the crate in one smooth, graceful motion and starts tugging me forward. I barely have time to close the car door, to whip my sunglasses out of my pocket.

The wolf takes a piss on every lamppost lining the walkway into the hospital. When I yank on his leash once to get him moving, he turns around and snarls at me.

If the volunteers sitting at the welcome desk of the hospital think it’s strange to see a blind man who’s dragging his dog, instead of the other way around, they don’t say anything. I am blissfully thankful that we are the only ones in the elevator that takes us up to the third-floor ICU. “Good boy,” I say when Zazi lies down, paws crossed.

But when the bell dings just prior to the door opening, he leaps to his feet, turns around, and nips my knee.

“Shit!” I yelp. “What was that for?”

I lean down to see if he’s drawn blood, but by then the doors have opened and a candy striper is waiting with a stack of files. “Hi,” I say, hoping to distract her from the fact that I have a wolf on a leash.

“Oh!” she says, surprised. “Hello.”

That’s when I realize that if I’m blind, I shouldn’t have known she was there.

Suddenly Zazi starts loping down the hall. I struggle to keep up, forgetting about the candy striper. An Amazon of a nurse follows. She is taller than me, with biceps that suggest she could probably beat me in arm wrestling. I saw her the first day I came to the hospital, but she hasn’t been at work again until today-so she doesn’t recognize me, or question my sudden new disability. “Excuse me, sir? Sir?”

This time I remember not to turn around until she calls me.

“Are you talking to me?” I ask.

“Yes. Can you tell me which patient you’re here to see?”

“Warren. Lucas Warren. I’m his son, and this is my guide dog.”

She folds her arms. “With three legs.”

“Are you kidding me?” I say, grinning with my dimples. “I paid for four.”

The nurse doesn’t crack a smile. “We’ll have to get clearance from Mr. Warren’s doctors before the dog can go inside-”

“A guide dog can go in all places where members of the public are allowed and where it doesn’t pose a direct threat,” I recite, information gleaned from Google on my phone after my sunglasses purchase at the gas station. “I find it hard to believe a hospital would violate the Americans with Disabilities Act.”

“Service dogs are allowed into the ICU on a case-by-case basis. If you’ll just wait here for a second I can-”

“You can take it up with the Department of Justice,” I say as Zazi starts pulling hard on the leash.

I figure I have five minutes max before security gets here to remove me. The nurse is still shouting as Zazi drags me down the hall. Without any direction from me, he leads me through the doorway of my father’s room.

Cara is cradled against the canvas sling of a wheelchair; my mother stands behind her. My father is still immobile on the bed, tubes down his throat and snaking out from beneath the waffle-weave blanket. “Zazi!” Cara cries, and the wolf bounds over to her. He puts his front paws on her lap and licks her face.

“He bit me,” I say.

My mother has backed into a corner, not too thrilled to be in the same room as a wolf. “Is he safe?” she asks.

I look at her. “Isn’t it a little late to be asking that?”

But Zazi has turned away from Cara and is whimpering beside my father’s bed. In a single, light leap, he jumps onto the narrow mattress, his legs bracketing my father’s body. He delicately steps over the tubes and noses around beneath the covers.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” I say.

“Just watch,” Cara replies.

Zazigoda sniffs at my father’s hair, his neck. His tongue swipes my father’s cheek.

My father doesn’t move.

The wolf whines, and licks my father’s face again. He drags his teeth across the blanket and paws at it.

Something beeps, and we all look at the machines behind the bed. It’s the IV drip, needing to be changed.

“Now do you believe me?” I say to Cara.

Her jaw is set, her face determined. “You just have to give it a minute,” she begs. “Zazi knows he’s in there.”

I take off the sunglasses and step in front of her, so that she has to meet my gaze. “But Dad doesn’t know Zazi’s here.”

Before she can respond, the door bursts open and the desk nurse enters with a security guard. I shove the sunglasses onto my face again. “It was my sister’s idea,” I say immediately.

“Way to throw me under the bus,” Cara mutters.

The nurse is practically having a seizure. “There. Is. A dog. On the bed,” she gasps. “Get. The dog. Off. The. Bed!”

The security guard holds me by the arm. “Sir, remove the dog immediately.”

“I don’t see a dog in here,” I say.

The nurse narrows her eyes. “You can drop the blind act, buster.”

I take off my sunglasses. “Oh, you mean this ?” I say, pointing to Zazi, who jumps down and presses himself against my leg. “This isn’t a dog. This is a wolf.”

Then I grab the leash and we run like hell.

The hospital decides not to press charges when Trina the social worker intervenes. She is the only member of the staff who understands why I had to bring the wolf to the hospital. Without it, Cara wouldn’t broach a conversation about my father’s condition and his lack of improvement. Now that my sister has seen with her own eyes how even his wolves can’t elicit a reaction, Cara can’t help but understand that we’re running out of options, out of hope.