The Blessings of the Animals: A Novel - By Katrina Kittle Page 0,85

for me, and I had more interesting things to do than wait around for him.”

Gabby leaned on the fence while I untacked Moonshot and brushed him. “Aunt Olive and Mr. Henrici just asked me to write something to read at their wedding.”

“Baby, that’s lovely. What an honor.” I scratched Moonshot’s tail. Ah, I’d missed this.

“What am I supposed to say?” Gabby asked the ground, putting her forehead on the fence. “That I give them less than a year? That I think the whole thing is ridiculous and meaningless?”

I stopped scratching. “You didn’t say that, did you?”

She lifted her head to roll her eyes at me. “I should have. We were at the restaurant. With Dad and Grandma Mimi. And Zayna.” She spat Zayna’s name. “I don’t even want to go to the wedding.”

I stopped scratching again, but Moonshot moved his rump at me so quickly, he almost knocked me down.

“That woman came here while you were gone,” Gabby said. “Moonshot’s owner?”

My heart stopped.

“Ginger something.”

“Ginger Avalon,” I said flatly. The porn star.

“Yeah, that’s it. Is that a cool name or what? She came out here Saturday. I was down in the barn already. She seemed nice enough, but Moonshot wouldn’t let her touch him.”

I breathed again. Good for you, old boy. Good for you. I scratched his tail with new vigor.

“Could she really get him back?” Gabby asked.

I nodded. I couldn’t find my voice to say, She really could.

I RETURNED TO ANIMAL KIND MONDAY MORNING, EVEN though I wasn’t scheduled—I wasn’t supposed to even be in town yet until that evening.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Aurora said. “I need your help with a diagnosis.”

She led me to the kennels and brought out a dog I recognized. “Booker!” I said. His fruit-bat ears stood up, and he wagged his whole rump.

“You know this dog?”

“Absolutely. Australian cattle dog. Belongs to Stuart Duberstein, right?”

Aurora’s face was blank.

“Dubey?”

She shot me a what the hell? look and led the dog to an exam room. She handed me the file. “Verdi,” the chart read.

“Verdi?” I asked the dog. He licked his right foot. His owner’s name was Susan Weiss. Mrs. Weiss had brought this dog here on Saturday. She said the dog had begun to have seizures and behave aggressively. She wanted to have him euthanized.

I lifted my head in disbelief. “Aggressive? This dog?”

Aurora nodded, arms crossed. We both knew this was a crock of shit.

“His name isn’t Verdi.” I made sure to speak in a neutral voice, not specifically addressing the dog. “His name is Booker.”

At his name, he looked up sharply, wagging his hind end.

I crouched down to pet him as I explained the story to Aurora—about the crazy cat lady and the cute man next door.

Aurora thought a moment. “I sensed she didn’t want a diagnosis. She’d already made up her mind. I convinced her to at least let me keep him until today for observation.”

“And what did you observe?”

“I took him home. He’s well mannered, socialized. He played with my two dogs. He likes to chase cats and is pretty damn quick. He presented no illness or aggressive behavior whatsoever. I did blood work, even though she didn’t want me to. All normal.” Aurora moaned. “If we refuse, she’ll find someone else to do it.”

I nodded, thinking.

The vet tech poked her head in the exam room. “Dr. Morales, your first appointment is here.”

“Thanks, Bridget.” Aurora turned to me. “This is her. Help me think of a plan!”

I chewed my lip. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting her euthanize him,” I said. “I’ll come with you.” I shrugged my arms into a white lab coat and followed Aurora into Exam Two without Booker. I wanted to tell this woman I knew what an evil, vindictive monster she was. Instead, I shook her hand and introduced myself. “Frankly, Mrs. Weiss, your dog presents with absolutely no health issues.”

Her spine stiffened. “Look. He has these seizures. They’re very frightening.”

Aurora reported what she’d observed . . . and what she hadn’t.

“He has them,” Susan Weiss said, her voice icy. “And they’re awful. He’s attacked me.”

I wanted to attack her. “We can’t euthanize a healthy dog, Mrs. Weiss.” It was the closest I could professionally come to calling her a liar.

She stood. “Would you please bring me my dog then? I’ll have to get a second opinion.”

“Let me keep him,” I said.

“No. I don’t want to do any tests or more observations. I just—”

“No, no. I mean, let me keep him permanently. Then he’s off your hands.” I