Page 31 of Light My Fire

I reach out to pet her as well, but Henley whines and skitters away. “What’s wrong? Don’t like strangers?”

“She loves everyone,” Brooke says, squatting down to cup Henley’s snout with both hands. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

I shut the door. Suddenly, Brooke is running her hands down Henley’s flank and over her belly, her expression one of concentration. The look alarms me. “What’s wrong?”

The dog is shivering, panting, and moving anxiously in Brooke’s arms. She’s whining again. I can’t imagine she’s cold because Labs generally love being outside in all weather.

“Um…Henley is pregnant. And I’m pretty sure she’s in labor.”

“Right now?” I ask, astonished. “Oh, shit! What do we do? Can you call her owner?”

“I’m not dragging her back across the yard. We don’t even have a leash and I don’t want her running off in a panic. She’s only two, so this is probably her first litter. She’s nervous.”

Suddenly, I’m nervous too. “So, how do we help her?” I bend down and run my hand over Henley’s coat. “Hey, sweetie, it’s okay. You’ve got this, girl. Brooke is here to help you.” I trust she’s in very capable hands.

Brooke is examining Henley carefully from head to tail. “We need a whelping box for her. A safe place for the delivery.”

Wyatt comes down the stairs, his hair damp from his shower. “What’s going on?”

“We’re having puppies,” I tell him.

“What? Oh, my God. That’s…amazing.” Wyatt grins. “Whose dog is this?”

“The neighbor’s,” I tell him.

Luke has stood up and joined us. “What kind of box do you need?” he asks.

“Something big enough for her and the puppies that we can line with towels,” Brooke says, her eyes still on the dog. “I wish we had a dog bed or a kennel but we’re going to have to improvise.”

“How about my suitcase?” I ask. “It’s pretty big.”

“It’sabsurdlybig,” Luke tells me.

“Or the boxes we carried the food in,” Wyatt says. “I could cut off the side and tape a few together.”

“We don’t want to ruin anyone’s luggage. The boxes would work,” she says. “Jackson, can you get some towels while Wyatt does that?”

“Of course.”

Luke has gotten on the floor beside Brooke and Henley with a blanket from the basket by the fireplace and is gently drying her snow dampened fur off.

I jog up the stairs to the bathroom in my bedroom while Wyatt goes into the kitchen to retrieve the boxes. When I come back downstairs with half a dozen towels, Wyatt is already using a pocket knife to splice the sides off of four boxes. Brooke has Henley leaning against her. There’s fluid on the floor.

“Did she have an accident?”

“That’s vaginal discharge from the contractions. She’s in really advanced labor.”

I’m not sure I’m ready for this, but I guess I’d better be. “How advanced?”

“A puppy should be here any minute. No more than an hour.”

I feel a little queasy as I take in the scene, but I still ask, “Shouldn’t she lay down?” I don’t even know why I ask that. It’s not like I’ve seen any animal or human give birth other than in movies and on TV. They usually make it seem very dramatic butBrooke looks completely calm and even Henley seems to have settled down.

“She’s fine until the box is ready.”

I head to the kitchen to grab some paper towels to clean the floor, digging under the sink for some wood cleaner. I find what I need and get to cleaning up the mess.

“Thanks,” Brooke says, giving me a smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”

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