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Live Oak, Georgia, which is where Bailey O’Donlan-Mitchell lives, is about an hour north of Atlanta. I made it in forty minutes. I have driven in New York City traffic. I have driven in Los Angeles traffic. And I have driven in Atlanta traffic. None of those things prepared me for driving with a mutant hair-sloughing, whiny baby, bossy britches, very LOUD, pouting, sulking, protesting canine.
It’s like he knew Bailey was a vet and had some sort of canine ESP going on that I wasn’t aware of.
He tried the cute face, the paw on the shoulder, the head tilt, the low whimper. When none of those worked, he showed me his butt and howled. He pawed the seats, grumbled under his breath, plopped down and popped right back up again. Every time he stood, he barked. Loud, piercing, ARF! ARF! ARF! He acted like a pop-up book with big teeth and gunshots.
I cooed. I coaxed. I cajoled. I bribed. I promised steak cooked medium rare. I tried music. He particularly hated most nineties music but seemed to settle a bit when I stuck in a Sinatra CD. That lasted for all of about three minutes so I hit the gas.
Live Oak is a small rural town with a general store, a couple of restaurants, a post office, a dentist, doctor, lawyer, a few parks, Bailey’s family pub and her vet practice which connected to her house on the side. I pulled into the vet parking area since it was barely daylight and I didn’t want to wake her husband, Logan, or her two children.
I knew either Bailey or her assistant, Sam, would be up feeding whatever motley crew she had in the kennel area. Or if not feeding, then cleaning kennels. The job of a veterinarian was complex, messy, sometimes sad, but mostly wonderful. She got to see all kinds of animals and make them better or keep them healthy. I loved it here. And I hoped Max would, too.
Just as I switched off my headlights and cut the engine, Bailey came bounding out of the office and pulled my door open with a happy grin. “I thought that was you! This is a brilliant great surprise! What brings you up to my neck of the—?”
WOOF!
Bailey’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. “A dog, have ya? And how did ya go about gettin’ a dog in the wee hours of the mornin’? And one the size of a great tanker at that?” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Yer not fluthered are ya?”
“I liberated him from horrible people. I can’t help it he’s big. I’m quite sober, thanks. And if you’ll calm your Irish, I’ll tell you what happened.” If she wanted to go full Irish, I’d have to go head-on Italian, and then the whole town would wake up. Best to keep it down before Jack, her brother, my sometimes date, and the town sheriff showed up and arrested us both.
“Best let me meet your fella first.”
I reached in and caught hold of the panty hose. I gave a slight tug and Max jumped right onto Bailey, knocked her flat and slathered her face in dog slobber.
“Max! Maximus!” I tried the mom voice, but he wasn’t having any.
Bailey laughed, a big gut rolling laugh and hugged the dog to her then shoved him off and stood. “He’s a brawler then, not a biter. That’s good.”
I grabbed the pantyhose and Max sat, tongue lolling. Bailey lifted her scrub shirt and wiped off most of the dog slobber. I didn’t know whether to laugh or be horrified. “Are you okay?”
“Aye. He’s not the first to knock me on me arse. Took me by surprise is all.”
“All that slobber, you might need to be autoclaved.”
“I got it from the good end, believe me.”
I snickered, then told Bailey the events leading up to now.
She eyed the dog with a bit of sadness. “People, sometimes people just aren’t good. He’ll be happier now with a good and loving family. Aye, if he’s not chipped, I may know someone.”
“What? No!” My hands started moving like a mad music conductor. “Basta! Basta! (Stop! Enough!) I’m keeping him.”
“Ah jeez, Soph. Are ya mad as a box of frogs, then? This could go arseways on ya.”
I narrowed my eyes, planted my feet, and went hipshot. “Well that’s why I’m here. You can do his checkup and stuff, and teach me how to have a dog.”
She gave me a stare of her own. When she got serious, her Irish disappeared and her love for animals came out straight. “Are you willing to commit the next ten or fifteen years to him? Are you going to train him? Do you want a dog? He’s going to be a huge responsibility and he’s going to be yours. He’ll be family. You’ll have to love him.”
“I already do.”
Bailey searched my face then nodded. “Take him potty, then bring him into the office.”
Off to the side of the parking lot was a thick grassy area with bushes and a few small trees surrounded by a split rail fence and a sign that said EXIT RAMP. I walked Max over and he immediately relieved himself. He sniffed around a bit then gave me a tail wag so I figured he was done, not at all sure if he was actually done or not. How did a dog tell you if it had to go poop? I made a mental note to ask Bailey.
We followed Bailey into a warmly lit room with a lovely wooden desk and flowers on the sill. I took a seat on a tufted chair and Max plopped down beside me. The office smelled like cedar chips, lavender, and jasmine.
Bailey closed the door between her office and the back exam rooms and kennel area, then sat behind her desk.
“Okay, first. If he’s chipped, you may have to give him back and then we can get the police involved. If he’s not chipped, I don’t want to hear another word on how you got him. Unless ya happened to find him wandering around knackered and loose and he was in dire danger of getting hurt. Ya understand what I’m saying?”
I nodded. As a vet, Bailey probably had sworn some sort of oath to report this kind of thing. Also as a vet, I knew she’d protect an abused animal at any cost. I’d have to get, and keep, my story straight. “Got it.”
“Ach, all right. Now then, a German Shepherd is a working dog. You’ll be needin’ to exercise him a lot. Better yet, give him a job to do. Shepherds are highly intelligent. They learn quickly, to be sure, so they’re easy to train.”
I nodded, absorbing every word and thinking hard.
“Sophie, he’s one of the smartest bloody breeds in the world. He’s going to kick your arse.”
I hmmphed. “I’m the mom. He’ll listen. Plus, he needs me.” And I was pretty sure I needed him just as much, maybe more.
Max snorted, rolled onto his back and showed me his belly. I bent down and rubbed it.
“Uh huh. Looks like he’s already got you pegged.”
I pulled my hand away. “What? Is he conning me again? He does that.”
Bailey dimpled. “Aye, of course he does.”
“Does that mean I can’t pet him? That seems awfully mean.”
“Ach, of course, you pet him. Pet, rub, hug, kiss, all that is bang on. Just remember though, you’re Alpha. You’re his pack. He’ll be wantin’ to please and protect ya. He’ll also be sly and cunning when he wants his way. Or when he just wants a belly rub. Even a wee snog.
“Then I’ll just have to be smarter than he is.” I have a master’s degree, I should be smarter than a dog, shouldn’t I? Oh boy. I wondered if they made doggie IQ tests.
“Max is big which means he’ll eat all twelve apostles and the revered mother, then he’s goin’ to poop piles as big as dinner plates. You’re going to have to learn what truly goes into owning a living, breathing, eating, pooping machine. He’s young so he’ll be accident-prone and high energy. He’ll act the maggot until he’s grey in the face. He’ll chew. He’s a dog so he’ll want attention pretty much all the time. He’s got a lot of fur which means daily brushing. You’ll also brush his teeth twice a day whether he likes it or not. Make it craic, and he’ll be fine.”
“I gave him hotdogs and he puked.”
Bailey’s mouth twitched. “He looks like he’s been mistreated and is probably malnourished. I’ll give you the correct food and recipes for healthy dog treats.”
“Ravioli? Spaghetti? Risotto? Canolli?”
“No, no, no, and no. No pizza, meatballs, ziti, chicken parmigiana, pesce, formaggio, osso buco, pesto, antipasto, carbonara, or anything else you serve in your restaurant. He’s a dog. He’ll get fat.”
As she rattled off dishes and foods in perfect Italian, my hopes sank. Max would love Luca’s meatballs. Maybe if I only gave him one. As a treat. Bailey didn’t have to know. I wanted Max healthy, but everyone needed a treat now and then.
I looked down at Max who had rolled from his back to his front looking crestfallen because I’d pulled my hand away. His eyebrows lifted, moving from me to Bailey and back again. He knew we were talking about him, so I gently stroked his fur hoping to reassure him that he wasn’t in any danger of being sold to gypsies or anyone else for that matter. Love, at least in my world, was something to cherish. And it was never taken lightly.
“Do you want me to report the former owners? I could tell Jack.”
“No. Listen, I don’t want to take the chance that Max might be given back to them. I mean, technically, I er, found him, in a roundabout way of course, so I’d probably be the one to wind up in jail. If they get another dog, Chandra will let me know and then we can do whatever it takes.”
“Okay, I won’t say anything. In fact, I’ve already forgotten how you got him. But you promise to tell me or Jack if they get another dog?”
I nodded.
Bailey glanced from Max to me. “He may eat your furniture. Chew up your houseplants. And your shoes, which I know are Italian.”
I shrugged. “All that can be replaced. I just want Max to be happy.”
“Besides baths, grooming, and nail trimming, you’re going to need a real collar, actually a harness is better, a leash, tags, treats, a bed, crate, bones, chew toys and stuffed toys. Tennis balls, training treats, poop bags ... shall I keep going?”
I saw my savings account take a hit and didn’t care in the least. “Just write it down and I’ll make sure I get it.”
Bailey nodded, smiled, and rose. “All right then, shall we take him to an exam room? I’ll check him over, give him his shots, and set you up for some basic training. While you’re working with him, I’ll get the supplies you’ll need.”
Bailey’s reception area had three distinct sections. One for cats, one for dogs, and one for clients who had both or neither. Like maybe they had a parrot or a ferret or a sick hamster. She had exam rooms, kennels, a surgical suite, a grooming area, a small retail shop, an adoption area and probably other things I either hadn’t seen or didn’t want to know about.
We passed through the dog reception area and were just about to enter Exam Room A when Max hit the brakes, fell to the floor in a dramatic Southern-Belle-With-The-Vapors fashion and whined. I thought maybe his doggie ESP had kicked in again because he knew what was coming, but no. Just down the hall, about six feet away was a fat orange kitten bouncing along the wall without a care in the world.
“Escapee?” I asked, and gripped Max’s makeshift collar in case the words ‘game on’ popped into his big furry head.
“That’s Tilley. She’s vision impaired. We let her have the run of the place when we’re closed.” Bailey walked over to the kitten, cooing softly, and scooped her up.
Max growled. A low, deep rumble that had my anxiety meter pegging in the red zone.
Bailey simply stopped, looked at Max and said, “No.”
Max rumbled again, but then whimpered and tried to commando crawl toward Bailey.
“What do I do? Does he want to eat the cat?” Panicked, hoping Max wasn’t going to bite me, the wall, or especially Bailey and the kitten, I tried pushing Max into the exam room. He didn’t budge.
“Kneel next to him and talk softly. Tell him this is Tilley. Pet him and repeat that he’s a good boy.”
I knelt, even though I was picturing scenes from the Godfather in my head. “That’s Tilley, Max. She’s a little cutie. What a good boy, Max. What a sweet puppy, Max. Look, that’s Tilley.” My hand moved from Max’s head to his back, behind his ears, and Bailey bent down just out of reach, and I kept talking, Max whined, the kitten mewed, then Max flopped over onto his back, stretched out his leg, gently swiped the kitten with a paw, and pilfered it. The kitten seemed to float through the air, landed softly on Max’s chest, and he slurped it worse than what he’d done to Bailey.
I gasped.
Bailey touched my arm. “Wait,” she whispered.
Max rolled to his belly, moving Tilley with him until she was between his front paws. Max made a rumbling noise in his chest and raised his eyebrows at us in challenge. When nobody moved, he nuzzled the kitten, licked, nuzzled and put his head down next to her. The kitten purred and climbed onto Max’s nose, head, then made her way onto his back. Max sighed in doggie contentment. The kitten purred louder, turned around, misstepped and tumbled over Max’s ear. Max rumbled again, softly, and the kitten homed in with kitten radar and settled between Max’s feet.
“Cavolo! What the heck just happened?”
“Lord Lantern of Jaysus! We may have a couple here that aren’t quite the full shilling.” Bailey patted her temple with her index finger. “They’re both chancers is what they are.”
I went off in Italian wondering if my stolen dog had just stolen a cat and we were both doomed to a life of larceny. Then Bailey’s words hit and I didn’t care one single bit if my dog was retarded. “You mean, like they’re both gonna be riding the short bus?”
Bailey scratched her head. “I think it’s more interspecies love at first sight.”
“Oh. Well. That’s okay then. As long as Max doesn’t decide she’s a Scooby snack.”
“He’s being protective, not aggressive. I’d say he’s been around cats before.”
“Is she completely blind?”
“Nearly, but no. Not completely.”
“Come on, Max, let’s go get checked out.” I pulled the pantyhose. Max stood and lifted the kitten by the scruff of her neck. The kitten went limp and continued to purr. Max trotted into the exam room, then sat and put the kitten down next to him as charmingly as a prince who’d just saved his fair maiden.
“Did I just gain myself two pets in one night?”
“Possibly,” Bailey said, as she got out instruments and other vet odds and ends. “But not yet. Tilley’s only three months old. Not quite old enough to be adopted out, considering. Plus, Max needs some discipline and training before he can have a cat.” Bailey gave me a look.
“What you really mean is that I need some training, and I’m in no way ready for two pets at once.”
“Aye, that too. Let’s see how you do with Max. You can bring him here as often as you like, see how this friendship develops. Between you and Max, as well as Max and Tilley.” Bailey snapped on a pair of exam gloves.
Max ignored her and put his head in my lap. I was mom.
But Bailey was vet, and vet apparently trumped mom. She picked up the kitten, put her in my lap and steered Max over to a scale.
Max looked at the kitten and gave Bailey the stink eye. He grudgingly went with her and weighed in at seventy-six pounds. “Just a tad underweight. He’s going to be a big boy. Might get to ninety pounds or more. Do not let him get fat.”
“Of course not.”
Bailey ran some kind of scanner between his shoulders, felt around, and said, “No microchip.” Then she checked his eyes, teeth, ears, his skin, fur, heart, lungs, feet and every other part she could get her hands on. “I need to draw some labs. He’s got a small sore on his left foreleg that I’ll give you ointment for. The flies got to his ears but the hair will grow back soon enough. I need to give him his shots and take his temperature. He’s going to hate it, so I saved it for last.”
I watched as she lubed up a thermometer. “Uh, you really have to do that, at that end, back there?”
“It’s the only way. Stand behind his head, hold him, and coo. A lot of cooing. Baby squeaky voice.”
I held, I cooed, the thermometer went in and Max tried to sit. I suddenly felt like Brutus to his Caesar. We hadn’t lifted him onto an exam table, so I was kneeling next to him as his head whipped around and the wounded betrayal in his eyes about did me in. “I’m sorry, okay, sorry! It’s a VET thing, not a MOM thing. I’m your mom, M-O-M, Max. Bailey is the V-E-T. Bad-Bailey, mean-Bailey. Vet, bad. Mom, good. Butt check evil, I know. Poor baby.”
Bailey looked at the thermometer. “All normal. Next up, vaccinations.”
“Maybe I should show him Old Yeller first so he won’t hate us.”
Bailey pinched up the scruff of his neck and gave him his shots, bam, bam, bam.
Max glared first at Bailey, then at me. When neither of us said anything, he changed tactics from glare to grave injury and flopped into a puddle on the floor.
“That’s your cue, Mom. Praise him and quit telling him vet is bad. He’s going to see me pretty regularly.”
“Good, boy, Max, what a good boy!” I ruffled his fur, kissed his forehead and got a happy bark in return. He booped me on the nose with his paw.
Bailey gave him a dog cookie and he snarfed it. “I’m going to have Sam do his labs, then feed him. We’re going to go slow with the food, so he doesn’t have a wiener sequel.”
I nodded. Bailey made the call, Sam showed up, and Max shifted his gaze to Tilley. I swear I saw a look of fierce joy cross his face. “Go eat, Max. You can see the kitty later.”
Max gave me an “I Trust You” look and left with Sam. Knowing he was about to get blood drawn and a needle was involved, I felt like the Great Betrayer.
Bailey scribbled in Max’s chart and said, “He’s a sweet boy. I don’t think he has the temperament to be mean, no matter what those people did to him.”
I shuddered. “I’m glad he has us, Bailey. And Sam, too.” Sam was in vet school and working as a tech for Bailey until she graduated. She was in her late twenties, a blonde knockout with sun in her smile and light in her eyes. I adored her like a little sister.
“How old is Max, anyway?” I had no clue how to tell a dog’s age. Was he a toddler, a teenager, a middle-aged barker?
“About a year. He’s young. Since you, uh, liberated him on the 4th, we’ll say that’s his birthday. July 4th. Independence day.”
“We can celebrate with fireworks!”
“Most dogs hate fireworks. They’ll give him the scutters.”
“A sparkler then.”
“They hate sparklers too.”
“A candle in his kibble?”
“How about a new toy.”
I threw up my hands. “Fine.”
#LoveAtFirstSniff
#TeenageMutantNinjaPuppy
#TimeToPawtySendConfetti