Page 4 of Wicked Healing

Wicked sniffed around before lifting his leg on a popular bush. Wavering a little on his feet, Erin had to admire his tenacity as he went from pee-spot to pee-spot, marking his own circuit. Wicked was an intact male, while the rest of her group were all fixed. Hopefully he wouldn’t be too aggressive in his marking, she thought, sighing.

When he seemed to be done, she tugged on the lead, pulling him across the concrete driveway toward a gate in the side fence. Years ago, when she’d moved onto the five-acre property, she’d known that she was going to be an animal handler. It had been right after her dad died from cancer, and it was the first thing she’d allowed herself to dream about. It was what she’d always wanted to do, and animals had always reacted positively to her. Maybe they knew, instinctively that she would never hurt them, she wasn’t sure, but whatever it was it was magical. It seemed like within minutes of owning the property she was being asked to take in foster animals. So, she did, escaping the loss of losing her father by helping other animals in pain. Over the years she’d had several hundred animals wander through her life; dogs, cats, goats, a few rabbits, and a few horses, as well as several forms of native wildlife. She couldn’t even count the litters of puppies she’d raised. Being outside of Phoenix, she was right in the middle of several air bases. Luke Air Force Base was just a few miles away, and Barry M Goldwater Air Force Range wasn’t far away either. She didn’t limit her boarders to Arizona, though. If people wanted to bring her their animals and pay for their care, she would take them in. She usually had a full kennel as the soldiers and airmen were deployed.

It was a fact of life that when military were deployed, very often they had to give up their canine companions. When Erin realized that she was receiving pets from the animal shelter to foster that had been turned in by deployed servicemen, it made her heart ache. Men and women were fighting for her country, being shipped out to foreign lands and being separated from their fur babies. Traumatic for everyone involved. So, she’d created a foundation to care for animals while their humans were fighting for the country and called it Paws at Home.

On a regular day she could board twenty dogs a day, but that was a lot. The foster group stayed in the house with her, along with her own dog Greta. There was also a barn with eight stalls, a covered exercise barn and paddock area where she could keep farm animals both outside and under cover when needed. She tried to keep costs minimal so that the feeding and care of the animal weren’t burdens on the owners, so occasionally she ran donation contests to contribute to their care and upkeep. There were several local sponsors that loved helping out the military, so she sometimes had extra, just in case of emergencies. Hay was usually her biggest expenditure for the farm animals because there was no grass on her desert property, other than the back yard that she maintained with water for the fosters.

Right now she was boarding nine dogs, a rabbit, two goats and three horses for deployed servicemen. After she took care of her own three horses and the foster group, she was worn out, but satisfied. Erin felt very blessed that she could take care of these animals. She hadn’t joined the military like she’d dreamed of herself, but she could definitely help out those who had.

Leading Wicked to the reinforced side kennel, she placed him inside. While the weather was warm and nice he could stay out here, but he would come inside every night so that she could keep an eye on him and change his bandages as needed.

Turning, she left him standing on the square patch of astroturf on one end of the enclosure, looking around. She would introduce him to the other dogs after he’d had a chance to chill for a bit.

When she looked out ten minutes later from her kitchen window, Wicked had lowered himself to the turf, legs folded beneath him, but his ears were pricked and he was watching her through the glass.

“I haven’t seen him relax at all, have you?”

Erin glanced at her mother, sitting at the kitchen table. “Nope. But he’s had a lot to deal with in the past couple weeks. It’s only been a few days since he lost his leg. He’s lost his handler and he keeps getting moved. It’s probably difficult for him to settle.”

“Yes, poor guy. What do you know about the handler? He survived, right?”

Erin nodded and sat down across from her mother, glass of iced tea in hand. “Yes. I’m going to call Carolina in a bit to get the story. She was a little vague when she sent me to Texas.”

* * *

Three hourslater she still wasn’t real clear.

“All I know is that the family refused to take the dog,” Carolina Jones told her when she returned Erin’s call. “They don’t have the training. The soldier is in the poly-trauma center in San Diego, now. He just got in from Germany. Extensive injuries. They’re not sure if he’s going to survive or not.”

“Damn,” she breathed. “Poor guy.”

“According to what I’ve been told, the two of them are heroes, the dog and the man. They saved their entire squad.”

Erin was quiet for a moment. “Can I have his name? I’d like to send him some pictures and updates about his dog. Will Wicked go back to him?”

Carolina sighed. “His name is Luca Carmichael. And I assume so, yes. Normally in this kind of situation the dog will be retired and the soldier will be given first option to take him once he’s able. I’ll be honest, though, Erin. It sounds pretty rough for the soldier. This is going to be a long-term foster while he recovers. If he recovers. The family didn’t even blink at the price I quoted them for a three-month board with you, plus traveling and vet care and your time. If it goes longer than that I’ll have to amend the contract.”

Erin walked to the kitchen window, the phone clutched to her ear. Wicked had finally relaxed a little, soaking up the afternoon sun, and her heart softened as she considered keeping him longer. “That’s fine. I’m not in any rush.”

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