Page 5 of Wicked Healing

Chapter 2

Erin rememberedthose words four days later as she stared at a growling Wicked. Today he even curled his lip at her. She’d never had this much issue connecting to an animal.

It had been days since she’d brought him home to Arizona, and he was just as contrary as the first day. She’d begun to wean him off the pain medication, and she could only assume his hips were aching. With other dogs that had had the same procedure done, she knew there was an adjustment period. Sometimes their good leg would start hurting because it was doing twice the work, basically. She’d taken him to her local vet, but there was no sign of inflammation or stress in the good leg.

“Why do I put up with your sass? Hmm? Yes, you’re a gorgeous dog, but man you have attitude. Why don’t you chill out?”

Carrying the food scoop filled with his kibble, she crossed to the stainless steel bowl sitting on the brick paver. So far, she hadn’t been able to integrate him with the rest of the pack. His attitude didn’t inspire confidence that he would be safe with the rest of her more docile animals, so he’d had to stay in this kennel during the day. At night she gave him one of the bedrooms in the house, after she’d carefully secluded the pack in the back for the transfer.

The pack avoided him for the most part, as if they sensed his anger, but little Sophie seemed intrigued. As Erin completed her chores around the house and kennel, Sophie would follow along behind, just to be near her new protector. Erin didn’t mind the tiny little dog, but she worried that she would accidentally step on her. Or that one of the other dogs would accidentally hurt her in play, or something. Sophie only weighed four and a half pounds, and it would be easy to crush her. It didn’t help that her fuzzy multi-colored brown coat blended into the wood floors like they were camouflage.

In spite of Wicked’s nasty disposition, though, Sophie was fascinated with him. Erin didn’t dare let them be together in the same cage. One careless, disgruntled snap of Wicked’s jaws would kill the little mixed-breed, she had no doubt. But Sophie didn’t appear to be concerned. While Erin restocked Wicked’s food and water, the little dog curled up just outside the cage fence, waiting patiently.

The schedule had been changed today, though. Erin wanted to get some pictures to send to Wicked’s handler so she’d left his amputation bare this morning when she’d walked him out to the cage. The multiple cuts seemed to be healing. It was certainly better than when the injury had first happened. The first night she’d changed the bandage it had been pretty gruesome, but it needed to be documented. Erin planned on writing a letter to Wicked’s handler and keeping him updated on the dog’s progress. She had no idea how cognizant or aware the man was, but hopefully he would appreciate the updates, even if he read them later.

She waited for Wicked to relax a little. Or at least quit snarling. That probably wouldn’t be what his handler needed to see. She got several decent pictures and uploaded them to her email so that she could get them printed at Wal-Mart, then sent to her house in a few days. That would give her a chance to write a note to go with the pics.

Wicked watched her for several minutes, then lowered himself to the ground. Erin took it as a good sign that he didn’t move away from her. After a few more pictures, she stood and exited the enclosure.

Holding the door open for Sophie to enter the coolness of the house, Erin crossed to her computer to order the pictures.

It wasn’t until a little while later that she noticed that Sophie was missing. Making the familiar clicking noise that called the dogs, she looked through the group. George was there, with his long brown hound ears that were longer than his legs, black and white Greta with her alert topaz eyes, waiting for a task or a wild tennis ball to fall from the sky. Bait and Switch were there, the matching mixed breed Mastiff brothers that had outgrown their owner’s home, their big fawn bodies wiggling. But no Sophie.

“Where’s Sophie?”

Greta, the most intelligent of the group, immediately turned and started looking for Sophie, her play buddy. George did as well, nose to the ground. Bait and Switch wandered over to check to see if she was hiding in their dogfood bowls.

Erin searched the house, looking in all of the normal places Sophie liked to hide. But there was no little brown coated terrier mix. She crawled on her hands and knees looking beneath the couch, then checked the bedroom to see if she’d gotten trapped when the door closed. No Sophie. Then something made Erin look out the kitchen window.

The blood chilled in her veins and she caught her breath, the bottom dropping out of her stomach. Tiny Sophie was in the cage with Wicked. And he was snarling at her.

Erin waited, breath held. She was too far away to call out, and if she ran outside she worried that she would startle Wicked into behaving rashly. For several long seconds she watched the drama, her heart aching. Indecision fought within her. She knew she should go rescue Sophie, but her interference might cost the little dog her life.

Then Wicked did something interesting. He leaned his head down to sniff. Sophie turned obligingly, tail in the air. When Wicked got his fill, Sophie walked herself all the way around him, sniffing like he had, though it was hard for her to reach anything. She lingered at the scar on his foot, as if she could scent the blood from the incision, then moved on. Eventually she wandered away, with no care in the world that she’d almost died.

Tiny Sophie had called Wicked’s bluff, and survived!

Erin went out then and called Sophie from Wicked’s pen. She jogged out, butt wagging and curled against Erin’s leg. Lifting the dog into her arms she looked into her dark, sweet eyes. “That was not a very smart thing to do,” she grumbled.

As Erin looked at the fence around Wicked’s enclosure, she realized the terrier had probably just squeezed through one of the wire chain link diamonds. Jeez, something else to worry about now.

For the next two days, Sophie went with Erin to feed the injured Malinois. Jogging into the cage like she owned the place, she sniffed the injured dog, then usually curled up beside him as Erin did what she needed to in his cage.

Then, on the third day, Wicked was waiting at the door of the cage for the little dog to come in. Sophie wiggled her tiny butt with excitement and Wicked’s long tail swayed back and forth. It was also the first time he didn’t growl at Erin, so she took that as a good sign. When it was time to exit the cage, Sophie seemed torn. She looked at Erin pleadingly.

“What, dog? I have no idea what you want.”

She did, actually, but she wasn’t sure it was a good idea. Wicked was such an unknown and she didn’t want to risk the safety of her other dogs.

“Let’s take it slow,” she told the terrier. “We’ll bring the others out one by one and see how they do.”

The thought sent a shiver of anxiety up her spine.

Leaving Sophie with Wicked, Erin went inside to bring out Greta. As soon as Erin grabbed the leash, Greta was at heel and humming with energy as they walked down the porch steps. Wicked watched everything carefully, but made no aggressive moves. Erin wasn’t daring enough to open up the cage yet, but she took it as a good sign that he wasn’t snarling. He hadn’t even gotten to his feet yet, so maybe just having Sophie in there was enough to calm him.

She let Greta roam the yard. Then she retrieved George. He sniffed at the cage where Wicked and Sophie sat, but again there wasn’t a lot of interest. Something else caught his attention and he trotted away.

Erin brought Bait and Switch out, but they didn’t even look at Wicked. The two big dogs sauntered away to pee.

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