I put the trap down and ran to check my gas stove, terror swamping me. I always made sure to remove the knobs so none of the cats could turn it on while I was gone, but had I forgotten in my haste to get out the door? No, the knobs lay on the counter beside the stovetop. And, after that panicked moment, I remembered that my carbon monoxide detector wasn't screaming at me.
Then what was it? I moved through the house, looking for anyone who had come to greet me. Eventually, I found the giant brindle-and-white boxer mix trembling in the mudroom. He had his head pressed into the corner, his back to the door. I went to him.
"Boc-boc," I said, crouching down beside him. "What's the matter? Did someone do something scary while I was gone?"
The dog wouldn't so much as look at me. That, more than anything else, worried me. Bosco loved his nickname, snorfling and rolling all over the ground when I used it. As it was, the dog acted like I'd kicked his puppies. Thoughtlessly, I reached toward him and tried to comfort him.
Bosco snarled at me, drawing his lips back in a show of force I hadn't thought the dog had in him. Internally slapping myself for daring to spread potential disease, I got up and scrubbed up to the elbow with the soap nearby. The sink was a deep, thin plastic box but it was perfect for getting those bad stains out of dog beds and cat tower parts.
Those messes came with the job. When you had animals around, there were going to be gross things to deal with. The average person wrinkled their nose over picking up their pet's poop from a sidewalk. I had a dumpster taken away every two weeks to help keep everything neat and tidy.
As it was, Bosco perked his ears up and looked at me as I cleaned myself up. He came over and hesitantly sniffed my pantleg, then worked his way up the rest of my body. Smiling, I lowered myself back to my crouch and offered my hands out to him. The soap bottle said I smelled like raspberry lemonade, but Bosco must have smelled something else. He buried his big, blocky head against me and slurped my arms until I was thoroughly saturated.
Carrie Ann and Matilda appeared in the doorway as one, not unlike the twins from Psycho. They were both Great Danes, simply massive in size but goofy in stature. The pair were harlequins, the black and white motley types that seemed to be a favorite for commercials. Though, I had to admit, neither of these two would be shown on television any time soon. They were a little too skittish for that.
"Come here, girls," I called, my voice low and sweet.
After a moment's pause, the duo crept over to me. Carrie Ann was the stronger of the two, her mind more set in her ways. Matilda, on the other hand, belly-crawled across the floor and buried her face against me. I ran my hands over her enormous skull, careful of the freshly-healed scars from her past life. Not all dogs got good homes, but the ones who didn't usually ended up with me.
Whatever it was bothering Bosco, Carrie caught a whiff of it from my clothes. Her ears flopped backwards and she moved away from me, whining at the top of her lungs. I tried to follow her, but ended up with Bosco's arm- foreleg wrapped around my own leg. The girls ran away as I got up to pry Bosco from me and, once I got him off, he trotted away, too.
It was so strange to not be welcomed home by boisterous, loud dogs. While Matilda was likely to sneak and creep when she wasn't feeling her best or brightest, I'd never seen Carrie Ann or Bosco react to anything as they were now.
I headed back to fetch the trap, deciding it was best if I got the pup to the quarantine room while I tried to sort out what was going on in my personal life. Maybe there was mold in the ceiling. I'd heard from more than one vet that it could make your pet behave strangely; but it certainly hadn't been there that morning.
No, the only change was the animal in the trap.
"Are you some kind of wolf-dog?" I asked him.
The pup let out a tiny, squeaky howl in return. I kept myself from laughing. The sound often put off wild animals because it was rather aggressive from their perspective. After all, how often do you find yourself reading that someone "barked" out a laugh? We personify it as an aggressive gesture without realizing how we're doing it.
You learned a lot about human communication when you started dealing with wildlife.
I picked up the trap and took him downstairs. When I had inherited the house, the basement had been nothing more than a mold-filled nightmare ready to suck the rest of the building down with it. I'd spent months fixing it up, building sun lamps and bringing the wiring up to code to support them.
As it was, the basement looked as though it were a moderately sunny day outside. Fodder trays stood open and ready to deal with a puppy's particular applications and there were hideaways throughout it. The bleach stomp bucket stood ready for use. I kicked it out the door so I'd be able to disinfect upon leaving for the rest of the house.
I knelt on one of the larger fodder trays, putting the trap down in front of me. A few feet to my left was an old cat tree piece that
