CHAPTER FOURTEEN

REJECT BEFORE REJECTED

Holly and I, with our grim postfight faces, stood in the visitor center in the middle of Angel Canyon, possibly the most beneficent spot in the world. As if to highlight our petty energy, a staff member escorted a white short-haired dog missing a front leg through the gift shop. Visitors stopped to pet the scruffy animal like he was a celebrity.

Best Friends was a well-oiled machine. As soon as we explained who we were and what our mission was, we were welcomed, informed, and transported. Peanut, we were told, was in the veterinarian clinic at the top of the canyon. We were ushered into a van for a tour of the premises that would drop us off at the clinic. All I wanted to do was get a look at Peanut. FaceTime Katie. Examine the color of her skin, judge for myself how she was doing.

If we needed a reminder of the trivial nature of our disagreements, here we had it. In the center of the majesty of the Utah hills and valleys, we learned that the founders of the sanctuary had started with a handful of people, cash, and a mission. They had wanted to save animals.

“Michael Vick’s scandalous fight-dogs came to find peace and rehabilitation,” said the tour guide, and I wondered how I’d never heard of this place before now. The sweeping vistas of canyon and sky were stunning for this Wisconsinite used to flat green farmland and red barns. I breathed in the dry air and felt the world get bigger with every tire rotation.

I was determined to enjoy the victory of finding Peanut, and, as far as I was concerned, I vowed not to let Holly, who was in full check-her-watch fidget mode, get under my skin at least for the next hour. As we bumped over the unpaved road to the top of the canyon, I decided I was going to practice a technique my grief social worker had taught me to use when dealing with well-meaning parents at Maddie’s school who wanted to fix me up. “Try repeating a phrase that doesn’t explain, defend, or justify,” she’d said. “If someone presses your buttons with judgment or aggression, try saying thanks .”

“Just plain thanks ?” I’d said doubtfully.

“Try it—it works.” My social worker had short hair with a small swipe of gray in the bangs. She wore wire-rimmed glasses and a knowledgeable expression. Her name was Louise, and she spoke carefully. “There are a few phrases or words that can be helpful in several ways. Here.” She handed me a notepad with a dangerously sharp pencil and said, “Write them down, and then we’ll test them. Ready? As I said, thanks is one. Also try, We’re different; Good to know; Hmmmm, I’ll think about that; and if they say something offensive, just say, Go Badgers and don’t follow up with anything.”

“Go Badgers?”

“Look, an inappropriately aggressive or intentionally wacky question or statement deserves an equally wacky response.”

I wrote each phrase on the pad, feeling the scratch of the pencil on the white paper, always a favorite tactile feeling for me.

“Okay, ready?”

I nodded.

“So, Sam. You should try running. It’s great for losing weight.”

I sat up straight and pulled in my stomach. “Thanks,” I said uncertainly. I tried to stop myself, but I continued. “I used to run, but after a few miles my hip hurts. I went to the doctor, and he told me to rest it. I never got back into the habit, and my hip—”

Louise wagged her finger at me, and I stopped speaking.

“You are justifying.”

I nodded. “Okay, hit me with another one. I can do this.”

Louise dropped into character and said, “You don’t go out much, do you? I try to go someplace at least once a week.”

I looked at my list. “Well, we’re different.” I bit the side of my tongue to keep from elaborating.

Louise smiled. “You know, you would look better without bangs.”

I touched my forehead and blushed.

Louise gave her head a tiny shake and pointed to the pad of paper.

“Oh! Thanks,” I said. I wanted to explain why I had bangs, to cover up a scar from my childhood, but that would be a justification. I sealed my lips.

“You should sleep with more people before you die.”

“Go Badgers,” I blurted, and Louise leaned forward and high-fived me.

Then she said, “But you should. We all should.”

And I, sticking with the program, said, “Hmmmm.”

These were my thoughts as we wound our way up the canyon. From now on, when Holly said, You drive me crazy, Sam . I’d say, Well, we’re different . When she said, Get with the program, Sammie, I’d counter with Hmmmm . When Holly said, You were a shitty friend, I’d say, Whatever I did, I’m so, so sorry. I miss you. Or, Go Badgers, whichever didn’t make me feel like crawling into a hole.

When you were a child and you were taught to avoid fighting at all costs, you never got to see the rewards of having the hard conversation. If this continued as you aged, you got the message that the spoils must be so terrible, so ungodly horrible, that nothing was worth an argument. When you were an adult, you could reason yourself out of that, see evidence everywhere that wasn’t true, but your child hid and whispered, But what if the result is worse than the fight?

One night my mother sent me to bed. I’d heard my father turn on her. His ferocious anger evident in his tone of voice, a bark filled with hatred. “Shut up!”

If she hadn’t said, “Okay. You’re right,” in that small voice, what would have come next?

What if?

If you were me? You listened and kept your piehole closed.

The van stopped at a low, sleek building, and the tour guide hopped out. The thought that we were about to see Peanut and lay our hands on him made my palms sweaty with anticipation. I had to acknowledge that some of my anxiety about this trip came from not believing we would succeed. That Tom would stop us or we wouldn’t find Peanut and return him to Katie. That she would only have fragmented Holly and Samantha to comfort her. An unhealed duo, a broken Band-Aid.

Inside the state-of-the-art vet clinic at the very top of the canyon, I realized what this place was. It was a safe house for vulnerable animals. A woman escorted us into the center of the clinic and said, “The veterinarian will be with you shortly. Peanut is in quarantine, so you can’t pet him yet. But you can see that he is safe and well cared for.” She directed us to an area where a Plexiglas window surrounded a private space, and in the center of that space, on quilted blankets, lay a sleeping Peanut.

Relief and warmth washed over me. My eyes filled with tears, and I placed my open palm on the cool Plexiglas like I’d seen in movies when wives visited their husbands in prison. There was no phone to pick up, so I couldn’t tell Peanut we’d made it, we were here, we would bring him home.

“That’s him?” Holly said from behind me. “Are you sure? He looks terrible.”

I had to admit he didn’t look like the luxurious Peanut I remembered. His fur had been clipped, and there were patches all over his body where pink skin showed through. His nose had the mottled heart-shaped birthmark that was Peanut’s most distinguishing characteristic visible only to Peanut enthusiasts.

I nodded. “He doesn’t look that great. I could kill Tom. What an asshole.” I wiped my eyes just as a man strolled into the room.

“So, I hear you’re Peanut’s family. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Griff. I’m one of the veterinarians on staff.”

Holly shook his hand first and said, “Not really his family. We are taking him to his owner.”

“Oh, you’re the transport, then?”

I stepped forward, irritated at Holly and her precise ways, making sure everyone knew everyone’s roles in the world. “I’m Samantha.” I offered my hand. “The owner is our best friend, but she’s too ill to come herself.” Griff was, I guessed, my age and had the warmest way about him. He wasn’t a heartthrob like Drew, but if Summer were here, she’d accuse my aura of brightening. I couldn’t help it. When I meet people who exude warmth, I perk up. I’m like a daisy in need: when the sun shines, I bloom.

“Why is he in this room?” Holly said. “And when can we take him?”

Griff smiled at the sleeping Peanut and said, “Peanut came to us in some distress. We put him in a private room to minimize stimulation and figure out what was happening with his skin. We are very careful and don’t socialize dogs until we know they don’t have anything communicable.”

Alarmed, I said, “Contagious? What was happening with his skin?”

“He came in with mange, but I don’t think that was entirely the issue. We’re still figuring it out. Animals deal with stress in lots of ways. Hair loss is one of them.”

“The Mange? Isn’t that like a plague or something?” Holly said, taking a step back from the window.

I gave Holly a look. “It’s not the Mange. It’s mange. And it’s not the plague. It’s mites that burrow in a dog’s skin.” I’d had dogs my whole life until Maddie came along. I wasn’t sure if I was equipped to keep myself and a child alive, let alone a dog. I always thought, after Maddie left for college, I’d get another.

“Burrow?” Holly shivered.

“It’s not that big a deal when you figure it out. Right?” I looked at the veterinarian like a star student hoping my answer was on target.

“You’re right. It takes a skin scraping, and you can treat it with a scabicide.”

“Scabicide?” Holly echoed, and Griff smiled.

Peanut’s tail moved and out from under it emerged a sleek black ball of a dog. The dog looked like a living, breathing toy.

“Oh, he’s not alone!” Holly shouted. Her reaction was so over the top, as if a zombie had reared up and darted at the window.

“For God’s sake, Holly, get ahold of yourself.”

“I’m not quite the animal lover Samantha is.” Holly meant it as a slight. Like my love for animals was a weakness. I couldn’t believe that Holly was implying that she didn’t love animals at a place whose sole purpose on this earth was to care for animals.

“I bet a few days here will change your mind,” said Griff generously.

“Doubtful. We are leaving today.”

Clearly Holly didn’t need Louise’s list of phrases to assert herself. I’d always wondered where all her confidence came from. All that I don’t give a damn what you think; I’m here, I’m crabby, get used to it.

The veterinarian slid his glance between us. “I’m sorry. There’s been some confusion. Peanut can’t leave today.”

“No! What? We have to go,” I said.

“His medical issues haven’t been fully sorted out.”

“That’s fine. I’m sure Katie has her own vet at home. We’ll get him there and have all his needs met closer to home,” said Holly.

I nodded rapidly, agreeing.

Hearing this, the veterinarian became a stone-cold animal-advocate professional. “He has to stay in quarantine, and we need him on solid ground with his diabetes. Stress is a problem for blood sugar, and he’s been maximally stressed lately. It wouldn’t be responsible for us to release him.”

“He’s not in quarantine. He’s got that other dog in there.” Classic. The only authority was Holly.

“That’s Moose. They came in together.” Moose was a tiny black dog with a pointy nose and eyes that bugged out like two shiny marbles. He had ears that bent at odd angles and made him look like a bat. “They bonded in the LA facility and don’t go anywhere without each other. They both had mange, so there was no cross-contamination. We tried separating them, and Peanut passed out every time.” Griff shrugged. “That’s the nice thing about working with animals. You don’t need a social worker to keep friends and siblings together. You can make your own rules.”

I loved it when someone else put Holly in her place. When someone else delivered bad news, even if this news made me nauseous. I checked the time on my phone, a useless move. “We’ve got to get going.”

“When will he be released to us?” Holly paced in a tight circle as if this information had been designed to torture her and not for the good of Katie’s dog.

“Peanut has several challenges.”

Holly stopped and said, “Okay, let me have it. I’ll take notes. What challenges does the dog have, and how long are we talking?” She tapped into a file on her phone.

“He’s been treated for mange, and we usually see good results in a few days.”

“How few?” Holly said, guarded.

“He’s through week one. So maybe three days?” said Griffin.

“Okay, okay,” I said, processing this. Three days here, two days on the road. “That’s five days before we get back to Katie.” This seemed like forever.

“What else?” Holly was a beat cop, a reporter for the Trib , a parent giving out curfews. “Give me the highlights.”

“We gave him a corticosteroid to reduce his itching. He scratched himself raw in a few areas, and we treated him with antibiotics for infection.” Griff glanced at me, and I nodded.

I’d wait until I could pet Peanut before texting Katie, aware that his challenges would become hers. Instead, I texted Drew.

ME: Peanut is not quite fit to travel.

BDREW: I’ll wait to tell Katie. I’m with her now. She’s sleeping.

He was doing what I asked. Why did that give me pause, make me sad? I shook my head, Good for Katie, knowing how silly it was of me to hope.

“He came in with some ulcers on his paws,” Griff went on. “Common with uncontrolled diabetes, and we are keeping those clean while still getting him some exercise.”

That’s when I noticed Peanut had two paws covered with white gauze. Moose actively licked one of them. I pointed to the pair. “Is it okay if Moose licks Peanut’s bandages?”

Griffin smiled in a fatherly way at the two dogs. “Yeah, just try to stop him. He’s like Peanut’s own personal nurse. He keeps the big dog clean and cuddled. It’s inspiring.”

Holly said, “Look, Doctor—I can see how important these dogs are to you, but this one here is my best friend’s, and she has cancer. We’re trying to get back home and reunite them. The sooner the better, you know?”

I was shocked to hear a hitch in Holly’s voice, and I examined her face. She had that flush she got when her emotions ran high, and I moved closer but didn’t touch her. Her eyes were like a crossing guard moving kids along: keep going, keep moving. But, I’d known Holly once. Her eyes were dry, but she was feeling the stress of this trip.

Griff looked evenly at us. “I understand. As soon as I’m sure he is safe to travel, and you won’t have to do anything but deliver him to your friend, I will personally sign the release papers.”

Holly nodded. I could see she couldn’t speak for fear of losing her steely control.

“I don’t know how much you know about diabetes, but insulin levels depend on simple things that nondiabetics never have to think about. Exercise, stress, food, and his insulin needs might change. You two will have to learn how to check his blood sugars and give him the insulin he needs. How are you with needles?” He held out a tiny syringe, and Holly blanched and looked away.

“I’m the one who will take care of Peanut as we drive him home. I’ve given shots before,” I said.

“Good,” he said. “Our education sessions won’t be long ones, but we want to make sure you know what you’re doing. How to read Peanut’s symptoms, what to feed him, and what to do if he looks in trouble.”

I nodded. “I think I can handle all that.”

“Now for Moose. He had mange too.”

“Why do we care about Moose? He’s not coming with us,” said Holly.

Griff looked at me and put his hands in the pockets of his khaki pants. “This is going to be a much longer stay while we separate the two and deal with their grief.”

“Grief. You’ve got to be kidding me.” Holly rolled her eyes the way Maddie did when she wanted to broadcast her disgust in a way that there would be no misunderstanding. Hers was the eye roll of eye rolls.

“We’re taking Moose,” I said. “No discussion.” More surprising declarations from Samantha Arias. WTF, Samantha? I thought.

Griffin looked closer at me and smiled.

I tried a confident hair flip, but my ring got caught in my hair, and I tried to discreetly free it. My hand hovered near my ear as if to say, You’re just not there yet, honey.