Storm's Present.
I stared at the mess, my wipers outmatched by the storm. It was another late night at the clinic. And then the drive home in weather out of a horror movie. Just my luck.
That's when I saw him.
A dark figure by the side of the road, almost lost in the rain. At first I thought it was a dead branch or maybe a trash bag. But something made me slow. The rain was beating against my windshield.
Perhaps it was the way it moved against the wind.
I just pulled over.
As soon as I left the car, I was drenched in rain. Cold water ran down my neck, which made me shiver. But I didn't notice. What I thought was debris was actually a dog.
A massive dog.
He lay on his side in a tangle of dark fur, which was that of rain and something else—blood. His chest rose and fell in weak breaths, which ached at my core. Even thus and unconscious, there was to him a magnificence. A quality that made me think of wild lands and ancient woods.
"Hey there," I said quietly as I got down on my knees by him.
His eyes flew open. Golden, and it seemed as though they were glowing in the dark. For a second all I could do was look at him. What I saw in that look of his took my breath away. Intensity. Recognition. As though he was looking right into me.
Then his eyes drifted closed again.
I did not hesitate. Could not hesitate. What I did was that I saved animals. That is who I was.
Getting out that door with him was a feat. At least 90 pounds he weighed, all of it muscle under that thick coat of his. By the time I got him into the back seat, I was drenched and out of breath.
As I looked at him in the mirror of my car, I said, "We are going to fix you up.
The trip home seemed to go on forever. I looked in the mirror at the other car as we passed to make sure he was still with us. His breath was a thing, a minimal movement, but it was there. That was something.
My small home felt like a haven after the storm that was going on outside. I turned my guest room into a treatment area years ago with too many strays and not enough time to take them to the clinic. At the time I didn't know the impact it would have, but I am grateful now for my tender heart.
Getting in was even more of a task than getting him into the car. Dead weight is the kind of weight you have to put up with. But I did manage to get him onto my exam table.
Beneath the stage lights he was at his best. Thick, dark fur, which was probably a wolf and dog mix. That kind of animal out of which fairy tales and legends were born. His face was noble, almost aristocratic. As if he should be in a castle instead of at the side of a country road.
What happened to you? I said as I began my examination.
The gash on his side was large but neat. Too neat, in fact. It looked almost as though it were made by another large animal's claws. His right front paw was inflamed but not broken. For the most part he appeared spent. As if he had been on the go for days.
I worked fast to clean the wound and get my sutures in. He didn't move; he didn't whine. At this point most dogs would be fighting the pain or crying out, but he just lay there. Trusting me.
"You are that which is very brave or very tired," I told him as I began to stitch. Maybe both.
When I was out doing my task, I took a step back to see what I had done. Clean bandages and perfect, neat stitches. He will heal well should infection not present itself. I did what I could.
Here comes the tough part. What to do with him.
I put a bed together in the corner—my softest blankets and a few pillows. He moved when I picked him up, his golden eyes opening again. That time when he looked at me, I thought I saw thankfulness in them.
Here is the soft response, "You're safe now; I have you."
I put out two bowls of food in a place where he had easy access to them. He checked out the food, but what he gave me was that he wasn't impressed.
"It is great," I said, which was silly of me to stand up for my choice of dog food to a dog. High protein, all natural. Dogs love it.
He just sat there and looked at me.
Sure. When you're ready to eat, you'll take it.
As I headed off to bed, I had that feeling, which I could not ignore, that things had changed.
In my doorway I saw the large dog in the other room, and it hit me that I had passed some invisible threshold.
That I had taken in something on that trip that was going to turn my quiet life upside down.
I was right about that.
I didn't know that at all.