Oh No He Didn’t

Frankie

This guy. How dare he lump Brad in with other dogs who have been trained to be vicious. He was curious, not malicious. Since he’s so small, he snuck through a hole behind a plant in the yard, and I didn’t notice he had gotten out until thirty seconds after the plant stopped rustling. My heart stopped when I feared for a moment he was lost. What kind of irresponsible dog owner loses their dog after four days?

I was already sick and tired of these party animals next door after spending the weekend listening to their stupid music pounding through the walls and incessant hollering. Like they can’t just text each other from different floors of the house like normal people. I was willing to let it go, but now that this guy has threatened my dog, he’ll learn that I won’t just roll over.

Actually, I probably will. If I upset him, he’ll be more inclined to report Brad. And I really don’t want to move again. Nor do I want to draw attention to myself.

This sucks.

Life was peaceful here. Until this entitled motley crew of frat boys came on the scene.

“This is why I prefer animals, Brad. People are the worst.” I lie back on the couch and let Brad curl up on my chest. I take deep breaths, watching as he rises and falls along with each inhale and exhale. He’s the embodiment of love and peacefulness; he’s nothing like the stupid neighbour made him out to be.

But I won’t put my dog at risk to prove a point.

“Guess I better go block off the fence, huh? We don’t want to upset the blond grump again.”

Though, instead of getting up to repair the hole, I stay and enjoy Brad’s snuggles for a few more moments. I have to admit, after my first day of classes, it was nice to come home to something other than silence. Even if he’s proven he isn’t fully house-trained, mopping up a tiny pee puddle is a small price to pay.

A few minutes turns into an hour, and I’ve accomplished nothing. But I’ve also felt a calmness I haven’t experienced for years, despite the angry neighbour confrontation. And that feeling is one I’ll protect at all costs.

“How have your first few days of classes gone?” Dr. Ellis asks, stroking Brad’s head.

I lean back in the office chair, enjoying being off my feet for a moment. “Fine. My vertebrate anatomy class seems really fascinating. Well, they all do, to be honest. I have another one on genetics that I’m excited about.”

“Sounds like a full course load. Are you sure your volunteer time here won’t get in the way?”

“No!” I practically shout. “Sorry. No, it won’t. My time here is important to me. I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”

“Third-year demands are a lot more than the first two. You’ve never had to balance a class schedule with your time here, so if it gets to be too much, just let me know. You do good work and we’re happy to have you, but I don’t want you burning out.” He gives me a gentle smile. “Oh, but an update on Brad’s siblings. They were both transported to a rescue in New Brunswick, so they’ll be able to place them in homes there. You know how hard it is for bully breeds here.”

I sit upright, smiling back. “That’s good news. Speaking of, Brad got out through a hole in the fence yesterday and ran up to my new neighbour.” Just the memory of the encounter makes my blood boil. “I won’t even get into how over-dramatic he was, but he told me if Brad gets out again, he’ll report him to the city.”

Dr. Ellis sighs. “That’s definitely a risk of owning him. You’ll have to be really careful, Frankie, because no matter how gentle or sweet he is, some people will see him as a monster.” He stands straight, lifting Brad from the desk and cradling him in one arm. “Tell you what. Let’s go microchip him just in case, but promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I will. That would be good peace of mind, though.” It might not stop him from getting out again, but at least knowing he’s registered to me will ease my mind a little because he won’t just get tossed in a shelter with no one to advocate for him.

Watching Dr. Ellis work, noting his care and concern for every little thing, is such a great learning experience. He’s in his early 30s, I’d assume, but he’s been working as a vet for six years already. Not only is he passionate about animals, but he runs a program for vets to address mental health issues that are abundant in the field.

He’s been a wonderful mentor, and some days I wonder if everything that happened over the last few years led me here for a reason. As if all the stress and fear and turmoil was pushing me to find Dr. Ellis… and now Brad.

“Why Brad? I meant to ask earlier?” he asks after injecting the microchip between my dog’s shoulder blades.

“It’s stupid. But… the day I got him, I was in the backyard and one of my new neighbours—not the cranky one—started talking over the fence. It got me thinking that I didn’t want them knowing I live alone, so I needed to come up with a human name for the dog. Later that night, we were watching Happy Feet Two and when Will the Krill came on, I just… He’s voiced by Brad Pitt. Get it? Brad Pit… bull?” I flash a toothy grin, just to really drive home my lameness.

Instead of teasing, he just laughs. “That’s a good one. I like it. And now you can say Brad’s at home waiting for you. Smart.”

“Exactly.” For some reason, his understanding makes me feel less self-conscious about it.

Since he’s best friends with my landlord, who also happens to be dating my aunt, he’s familiar with my situation, and I don’t feel like I need to hide things here. That’s part of the reason why my volunteer time is so refreshing. Not only do I get to work with animals, but I don’t have to pretend to be someone or something that I’m not.

I get to be the anxious, paranoid mess that I am, without fear of judgment.

“Mrs. Harman is here, Dr. Ellis,” Rhonda says, peeking her head through the door.

“Oh, thanks Rhonda.” He feeds Brad a treat, reinforcing his good-boy behaviour. “Do you want to put this guy in the back? Then you can help me with Rusty.”

“Sure. And thank you for this,” I say, picking up Brad, acknowledging the microchip.

Two minutes later, I’ve secured Brad in the surgical recovery area and returned to the exam room. A heavily pregnant Mrs. Harman is beside herself because her beloved Siberian husky ate half a package of her birth control pills… which she clearly isn’t in need of at the moment.

Dr. Ellis does an initial assessment, asks Mrs. Harman questions, and does his best to comfort her. After he’s administered a hydrogen peroxide solution to force Rusty to vomit, I’m tasked with holding the bucket in hopes we’ll find undigested pills. It’s glamorous work.

Once Rusty has purged his stomach and relaxes on the table, we begin a routine blood draw. I cuddle the vocal husky who is not enjoying the poking and prodding.

“Okay. Let him relax.” Dr. Ellis hands me a cotton ball, then picks up the vials of blood to take for analysis.

He exits the room, leaving me to comfort the upset dog and his distraught owner.

“Dr. Ellis is wonderful. Your dog is in great hands.” I give Mrs. Harman a reassuring smile, but she can do little more than sniffle and nod.

This is one of the hardest parts of this job. Watching people so worried over their beloved pets and not being able to ask the animals what exactly is wrong. Not to discount the challenges of being a human doctor, but it is a bit of a head start when someone can explain what hurts.

The hardest part of being a vet, though, is when there’s nothing more we can do. I don’t suspect that’s the case with Rusty here, but his owner obviously loves him. Now that I have Brad, even after a few days, I understand on a new level.

Rusty trails a slobbery slurp up the side of my face that tells me he’s quite content now that nothing is stabbing him. I tug my shirt upward to wipe my face right as Dr. Ellis returns. He explains timeframes for test results and encourages Mrs. Harman to take Rusty home, reassuring her he’ll call with results as soon as he receives them.

She insists that she’ll drive right back if she needs to and again says that she’ll do whatever it takes to make sure her dog is okay.

Her intense determination to care for her dog makes one thing clear: no grumpy neighbour is going to come between me and Brad.