Page 81 of Years in the Making

“That’s my favorite part of the rescue process.”

“What is?”

“When they give in,” I say quietly. “When you watch that light appear in their eyes when they see you. The moment you become their world.”

She smiles. “Follow me.” Betty leads me to the back of the barn where a large black dog is pacing along the fence of its kennel. “That’s Rumi. He wasn’t a working dog. This guy was illegally bred and trained to hate.” Rumi stops pacing and lowers his head, his lip curling defensively, one yellow and one pale blue eye glued to mine.

“Wolf?” I ask, unable to look away.

“Half.”

“What’s the other half?” I’d guess he was a full wolf by the look of him.

“Not sure. Husky is my best guess with that eye color. I’ve thought about doing the DNA thing but.” She shrugs. “Maybe one day when I can get close to him without tranquing him.”

“Why’s he back here alone?”

“The other dogs act differently if he’s around. More skittish, occasionally more aggressive. I’m at a bit of a loss with him, if I’m being honest. None of this feels fair. Not to him, the other dogs, or me quite frankly.”

“What about a wolf sanctuary?” I suggest hopefully.

“There is one in Québec that’s considering it. But he’s beenrejected by two in Ontario and one in Alberta, so I’m trying to manage my expectations.”

“I’ll let Bennett know. Maybe he can put in a call.”

“He has pull with the conservation people?” Betty asks skeptically. “Does he have friends in the government?”

“No, not that I know of,” I say. “But he does have a lot of money.” Bennett isn’t flashy with his money, but I doubt he’d think twice in a case like this to let it do some talking for him.

“Well, I won’t say no. Now, let’s go chat about how you and your Mr. Moneybags can help out these dogs.”

As we approach the house, I see George sitting beside a man who, at first glance, looks a little tired but the closer I get I can see the telltale signs of facial paralysis. The way his eye droops just so, as if weighed down at the corner and his mouth is pulled back in a half grimace. Despite his condition, however, it’s clear the man, I assume is Joshua, is smiling at me, or more specifically, his wife.

Betty walks over to her husband immediately and drops a kiss on his head before introducing me. “My love, this is Teddy. He’s going to help us find Rumi a home.”

“Well, it’s about time,” Joshua says slowly, each word taking more effort than it likely would have before his stroke. I want to tell Betty to bottle each of those words and cherish the sound of them.

I laugh and reach out to shake his hand. I know my mom hated when people avoided doing normal societal shit with her because people assumed she couldn’t. She could and she did. Joshua’s mouth tips up on one side, and the smile shines through in his eyes. “I’ve heard we have you to thank for half the dogs down there.” I gesture behind myself.

“All she had to say was no.” He looks over to his wife, and I watch Betty shrug.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Betty put a call out for people tobring their dogs to Joshua. She once brought home a bear cub, calling it a puppy.” George laughs.

“The look on my mother’s face.” Betty cackles. “I did learn my lesson, though. I didn’t bring home any more animals that could end me with a swipe of their paw.”

“Just every other one,” Joshua teases, joining in the laughter.

“Someone’s gotta,” she defends.

“No one’s gotta. Sometimes you’ve just gotta let nature be nature,” George says sternly. “You’ve got a bleedin’ heart, that’s your problem.”

“Not a problem,” Joshua murmurs, reaching over and taking Betty’s hand. I feel the emotion rising quickly and have to look away, blinking hot, unwanted tears from my eyes.

“Okay, that’s enough. Teddy and I have some business to attend to. You two behave.” She stands and guides me into the house.

There’s a wheelchair set to the side just in the entryway, and the hallway is clear of all obstacles. The patches of darker wood on the floor revealing where furniture may have once sat. A house amended to better serve its occupants. A house that feels far more like a home than any I’ve been in since Mom.

THIRTY-TWO

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