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Lia managed to toss the old lariat over Karma’s head before the pup slid into the ditch runoff-turned-torrent. It jerked out of her hands, rope burning her palms when something launched the pup into renewed flight and panic tumbled her into the current. The rope snaked along the bank and moon-glow allowed Lia to track the wailing pup’s progress. The thrice-damned flood’s velocity had doubled and out-raced anything with two legs. Lia twice tried and failed to tackle the slithering rope.
Lia tackled the trailing lasso a third time and yelled when she managed to grasp it. The movement of the water slowed and Lia took the momentary advantage to gather the slack, looping it around her elbow and palm. She had to be careful not to choke the pup. But she had to get her out as quickly as possible. Karma had stopped crying, and she prayed the puppy still lived.
Lia carefully towed the pup toward the bank. Her brow furrowed at unexpected resistance. The dog-child was just four months old, she shouldn’t be that heavy. If Karma was hooked on something, pulling could cause more injury than the cold.
“Karma, you there?” Her heart clenched at the thought of losing the pup. She began to breathe again when the resistance gave way. Twenty seconds lasted a lifetime before the Rottie pup blinked owlishly up at her from the water, finally within reach. Reaching down, careful not to slip into the water again herself, Lia grabbed the purple collar and leather lariat and lifted, but it remained caught on the black mound of debris. She started when the rubbish moved.
Brown eyes blinked, and white fangs gleamed. A black dog’s teeth hooked through the opposite side of Karma’s collar.
The puppy twisted, wriggled and whined, and licked the big dog’s face. The German Shepherd closed his eyes with a whimper of painful resignation as Karma bathed his sore, battered muzzle where dark blood welled.
He looked like a warrior, a courageous koa fighting the storm. He’d risked his own life to save Karma.
She held out her hand to the injured dog, not wanting to spook him. How long had he been in the frigid water? He’d survived both the tornado and the flash flood—amazing. His lips and gums were pale, but his shiver reflex remained intact. Good. Once shivers stopped, it’d be hard to bring him back. Karma would die, too, if the shepherd refused to let go.
“Aus.” She tried the German Schutzhund command first. The dog just blinked, so she tried again. “Drop it.” Lia spoke with quiet authority, and was heartened when the black shepherd released. His training and discipline had aided his survival and prevented panic that might have killed him. She could see that his paws touched the bottom of the ditch, but he was so weak he couldn’t stand for long. And he certainly couldn’t climb out without help. She had to hurry.
She dragged Karma out of the water, shrugged off her jacket and rolled her into a puppy burrito. For once, the recalcitrant pup settled without a struggle, wrung out from her ordeal. Or maybe Karma also realized time was running short for the Samaritan dog. His wet fur turned him into a shadowy wraith, but Lia didn’t question the shepherd’s intent. True warriors, no matter the species, acted brave and generous.
“Shadow-dog, hold on. I’ll get you out.” She spoke with quiet confidence from habit, then gasped when he confirmed his name with a yelp—and something else. A tickle behind her eyes, deep inside Lia’s head made her blink.
What just happened? No time to puzzle it out.
Lia kept her tone low and warm, imbued with as much confidence as she could muster. The Shadow-dog had to trust enough to let her help, and at five foot eight inches and 118-pounds soaking wet, she couldn’t get him out by herself.
“No problem. A’ole pilikia.” That’s what Abe always said. No excuses, make it happen. Her hand touched the bracelet, and she stuck out her bottom lip with determination. Buster and Beau were in her truck. One would be enough.
“Thanks for saving my baby-dog.”
His ears flicked. Again, a feathery whisper-sensation jittered her nerves, and she knew he understood and recognized something familiar in her words. No, not words exactly, but intentions maybe? Spooky, but felt a delicious tickle inside her head at the same time. Time enough later to figure it out.
Lia kept up a constant murmur, confident he understood her intent, if not the words. Lia avoided eye contact with the black dog, and thrust one arm to the elbow in the icy water. His warm panting heated her cheek as she threaded the rope under his chest beneath the water. He stayed still, liquid eyes watching her every move. He nosed her cheek and she understood he’d granted permission.
“Good dog. Brave dog.” She brought the rope out of the water on the other side of his body, and cinched it into a loop over his shoulders. She secured the tail end of the rope to a cedar sapling so at least he wouldn’t drift away. “I’ll be right back. Just wait.” His yelp of despair cut her to the quick, hurting her deep inside in a way she couldn’t explain. Lia raced back to the truck with Karma.
After securing the puppy, Lia unbuckled the tracking harness from Thor. The old dog snored on the front seat of the truck. He’d been through enough and hadn’t anything left to give after he tracked down the canine escapees. Thank goodness she’d not needed his help to find the Pit Bull pair. At least she wouldn’t have Sunny Babcock coming after her. Lia had kenneled the pair in the back, and now led Buster out of his kennel. She knew Buster’s kryptonite. Even now, the Pit Bull carried his rubber chicken security squeaky in his wide, drooly mouth.
Within minutes, Lia had harnessed Buster, raced with him to the edge of the flood, and threaded the end of the braided lariat to his harness. She’d have to play it by ear. She didn’t know what pull-command the dog knew. But Buster would do anything for his squeaky. It had to be enough.
She lured Buster away from the flood until the lariat grew taut. Slow and steady, that’s what we need. Jerking the line might further injure Shadow.
“Hey Buster, love your squeaky? Want a squeaky? Look what I’ve got.” Lia made the toy squeal and held it just beyond his reach until Buster strained to grab it. “Good dog, Buster, get it!” She tossed the squeaky onto the ground about six feet away, far enough he’d keep pulling but not so far he’d take off and drag the injured shepherd. Or so she hoped.
Lia rushed to the edge of the water where the rope dug into the soupy bank. She shoved a stick beneath the line to serve as a rolling fulcrum for the rope to ride. Buster’s eager efforts inched the black dog out of the water. But the rope pulled the shepherd so tight against the bank, his paws had no purchase.
His eyes were closed, his mouth half open, and tongue lolled pale and cold. The rope around his chest cut into his fur, and she worried it impeded his breath.
“Hey Shadow! Don’t die on me!” She smoothed his cut brow. He blinked, and his tail stirred the water, but otherwise he didn’t move.
Lia yelled encouragement over her shoulder. “Buster, get your squeaky. Get it, good boy.” Another foot and she could grab the shepherd without risk of falling in herself.
“Shadow, you’ve got to want this, too.”
What incentive to offer? Buster loved toys, Karma loved treats, but neither toys nor treats would stir this black dog from death. What would reach this brave warrior, when he’d already given everything?
Then she knew, as clear as a shout on a clear, still day. “Wanna go home? Home, good-dog. Shadow, let’s go home.”
He stirred, yelped, and his paws strove to reach for the bank, just as Buster gave one final charge. Lia caught the black dog’s front legs behind his elbows, trusting his teeth to stay clear of her face, and pulled as his pistoning rear paws clawed the bank. He collapsed on top of her, both of them safe on the bank, panting in concert with one other.
The black warrior dog stared into her eyes, as if demanding Lia keep her promise. For a split second the image of a cat-eyed woman with white-streaked hair filled Lia’s vision. Then Lia blinked, and the vision disappeared.
