Page 24 of Love Out Loud

“So, you just go around looking for people with pets?” he asked.

“If I run into someone living on the streets with a pet, I give them an information sheet and tell them about it. I also put up flyers saying where I’ll be. Animal control and shelters help me get the word out, too. We get permits to set up in a public area.” She paused. “I say it’s only two days every month plus surgeries, but it takes a lot more than that. There are quite a few volunteers, and there are virtual meetings, permit applications, paperwork, and fundraisers to cover cost of supplies. Jane organizes the volunteers and does the fundraising part, thank goodness. That’s way out of my wheelhouse. Caitlin covers the permit applications and paperwork. She’s a CPA, so it fits. I organize the supplies and do the vet part.” Her mouth turned down in a scowl. “One of them should give the speech, but I was doing this before we opened Animal Attraction and they started helping, so Jane pinned it on me.”

She’d just covered the facts from the outline she had given him. All good information, but nothing to grab an audience. Just facts. “Why do you do it?”

She tilted her head and met his eyes, her brow furrowed as if she couldn’t fathom why he’d ask such a thing. “Because it needs to be done.”

He’d never had a client so hard to draw out. “You’re not hearing the heart of my question,” he said. “Why doyoudo it?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Again. Too generic. Why doesn’t every vet in the city do it? Why you?”

When she answered, she did that rapid-fire speaking style again. “Well, I’m not the only one. Programs like this are in place all over the country. In fact, in Denver—”

“Your audience won’t care about other programs. They will care aboutyou. Why doyoudo it?”

An almost startled look crossed her face, and he could practically hear the gears in her brain working to find a way to play down her reasons. Squeaks and squeals from the bag behind her on the table saved her from answering, and the relief was clear on her face. She reached inside and pulled out the puppy, who squirmed and whined.

“Dinner time, big girl?” She pulled a bottle out of the bag while holding the puppy against her chest. After unfolding the blanket and uncapping the bottle, she moved to a plastic chair in the corner and spread the blanket over her lap. The instant she set the puppy in place, it latched onto the bottle. She made soothing small talk to the dog instead of answering Jake’s question. Maybe having the puppy in her arms would make her more comfortable.

“So, why you?” he asked again once she seemed settled. “Why do you do it? You don’t make any money, and it sounds like a hassle. If it takes two days, plus surgical and organizational time, you probably lose paying appointments here in addition.”

“I just…”

He could tell she was struggling for an answer, which could be the result of several factors. Maybe it was part of her shyness—some sort of self-preserving attention-deflection thing tied to downplaying her accomplishments. Maybe talking about herself in any capacity was uncomfortable. Perhaps she had never really analyzed why she did it and simply didn’t have the right words yet. As he watched her, she seemed to concentrate hard, and then, as if having reached a decision, she took in a deep breath.

Never taking her eyes off the puppy, she said, “Someone threw this little girl away like a piece of trash…” Her voice trailed off, and her brow furrowed.

Jake sat very still, not wanting to interrupt her.

“In some cases, that’s what has happened to people on the streets—they’ve been discarded. Some have mental illness, or drug issues, or have lost their jobs or families, or have fallen on terrible times. It’s like Brutus, though, you know?”

He found himself holding his breath.

“She needs food, medical care, and love.” Fiona adjusted the bottle, and the puppy grunted in protest. “Every living creature needs love in order to thrive. I firmly believe that. It’s why keeping the pets of people on the street healthy is so important. These pets are a lifeline for some of these people. Their only friend. Unconditional love.”

Now they were getting somewhere. “Why you?”

For a moment she looked at him, then quickly glanced away. He thought perhaps she wasn’t going to answer.

“Because I can…” She didn’t look up from the puppy, but to his relief, she continued: “I can’t give these people the medical or emotional care they need. I’m not qualified to counsel or treat them. From my position of comfort and privilege, I cannot possibly understand what they’re going through, but I can help the animals they love and rely on for companionship. With proper tags, the animal is less likely to be taken away or considered a stray. It’s less likely to get sick or spread disease to other animals. If neutered, it won’t add to the seventy-million stray dogs and cats living in our country.” She adjusted the little puppy in her arms, who had finally given up its hold on the bottle and drifted off to sleep. “I do it because people and animals should not be discarded like garbage—like Brutus was. Like my dogs Otto and Daisy were.”

She looked over at him and shrugged. “Why do I do it? How could Inot?”

And that, he thought, was a spectacular acceptance speech in the making. He stopped the recording and said, “I’ll start a rough draft of a speech based on tonight’s recorded conversation, and you can help me fill in the rest at our next appointment.” He closed his laptop and slid it back in his bag. When he turned around, she had placed the puppy on a blue-and-white plastic-looking blanket thing on the floor, and it was taking a dump.

“Babies always have to go after you feed them.”

And as if it were no big deal to let an animal crap in her workplace, she folded the pad up and dropped it in a metal bin in the corner of the room. After placing the puppy and back in the huge, open-topped bag, she washed her hands, and Jake realized that she’d acted like it was no big deal because itwasn’ta big deal.

Something in him shifted a little. He’d never put much thought into caring for dogs—it had always been a hard no for him. This one was tiny—not even a dog, really—more like a guinea pig or something. Not all dogs were big and overwhelming like the one he’d seen over and over in his head since he was six years old.

He stared at the framed pictures on the wall above the metal bin. Like him, she had photos of her clients…or rather, patients, on the wall. Many were pictures from competitions, with people and a dog or cat surrounded by ribbons or a gaudy trophy bigger than the animal itself. And just like in his office, some had personalized thank-you notes scrawled across in Sharpie. He recognized the owner of the big bear dog from this morning in one of the photos, standing proudly with a silver trophy, a ridiculously large ribbon, and a ridiculously large grin to match. “To Dr. Nichol, Thanks from Lucilles 1 & 2” it said in tidy script across the bottom.

“Shall we meet here again tomorrow?” he asked.

“Sure. What time?”

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