“I wonder…”
The blue eyes follow me as I shuffle over to be closer to the crate. I put the plate on the floor and pick out a piece of chicken.
“I know you’re sore, and you’re probably high as a kite with the medicine I gave you, and I was only going to try to feed you tomorrow, but seeing as you’re awake, maybe you’d like a piece of chicken.”
Thud-thud-thud.
“Alright, then. Gently, now, okay? Don’t bite me. I trust you.”
His nose wriggles the moment I stretch my hand, chicken between my fingers, towards his mouth. For once, his eyes don’t look at me. They focus on my hand.
My heart beats faster, and I move my hand closer. The wolfhound can’t lift his head, can’t move at all, so I have to bring it all the way to him. I hold the piece of chicken right to his lips.
The nose wriggles again, and I can feel his breath on my fingers. He now looks up at me, and his gaze is so intense, it sends the flutters in my stomach into a flurry.
What is wrong with me?
I almost flinch when I feel the dog’s mouth reach for the chicken. He takes it gently, brushing my fingers lightly. The chicken disappears into his mouth, and he chews slowly.
It must hurt him, maybe because of the way he’s lying, but he persists. When he’s finished, he wags his tail.
“Do you want another?”
We repeat the process with the rest of the chicken pieces in my sauce. I’m surprised he’s got such an appetite. Most dogs don’t want to eat straight after surgery.
It’s a good sign, though, and it buoys my hopes that he will pull through.
“There’s a good boy,” I say between mouthfuls. After all, I have to eat my dinner, too.
When we’re done, I can see he is exhausted. He may have enjoyed the chicken, but it took what little energy he had to eat it.
“I think it’s time now for you to get some rest.” I reach in and gently rub two fingers across his muzzle. I know, now, it’s a place I can touch.
The tail doesn’t wag, but the way he looks at me, I know he likes it when I stroke him. I hope he feels better in the morning, but he still has a long road of recovery ahead of him.
I get up and walk towards the kitchen to put my plate away. Soft whines follow me, and my heart can’t take it. I set the plate down on the counter in the nursery and hurry back to the crate.
“No, don’t cry. I’m here. Shh.”
The blue eyes search mine. They look from my left eye to my right eye, something I have only ever seen humans do. It’s the weirdest feeling.
“You are a strange one, aren’t you? Where do you come from? Who is missing you right now?”
He whines, and there is infinite sadness in his eyes. It touches something within my heart, and I swallow the lump in my throat. This is silly. How is he doing this?
“You know, you have the most expressive eyes I have ever seen.” I reach out and stroke his muzzle again. “It’s almost as if you’re talking to me. You seem so sad, and I am sad for you.”
Thud-thud.
Is he trying to make me happy now? I smile a sad little smile. I can’t even begin to imagine what this dog has been through. His eyes tell a tale of infinite hardship, wisdom, and knowledge beyond a canine’s ability, and, yet, total surrender into my care.
“You know, what? I think I’m going to take the mattress off the bed and lie beside you for the night. How would you like that?”
Thud-thud-thud.
“I thought so. Give me a minute.”
The bed in the nursery is a simple single bed with a cheap mattress. We don’t sleep in here often; it’s only for emergencies.
It’s light enough for me to drag it off the bed and slide it across the rubber matting of the floor to the crate. I’m already in my PJ’s, so I slip under the duvet and make myself comfortable.
“Let’s get some rest, boy. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”
I stick my arm into the crate and rest my hand by the dog’s muzzle. I hear him sigh.
I’m about to doze off when I feel soft wetness on my fingers. The wolfhound is licking my hand, and it sends electric tingling along my arm that takes my breath away.
Chapter 9
It’s pain that wakes me, but when I open my eyes, there’s an angel in front of me. She has a halo of fuzzy white around her head, and she speaks to me in a soft voice as I can’t help but stare at her.
Painful memories float to the surface, and I recognize her voice, only that time, she spoke in a confident, business-like tone. I remember bright lights, agonizing pain, her face close to mine, and then slipping away.
As my angel talks to me, I know it’s her that saved me. Even through the haze of whatever medicine she’s given me, my heart rate picks up, and I want to get up and thank her.
All I manage is to wag my tail - feebly. It’s all I can do right now. My body is a wreck. I can’t even begin to imagine what that bear did to me. Never mind the injuries I sustained from jumping off that ship.
I’m damn lucky to be alive. How did I get here? Who is my angel? She’s so beautiful. The fuzzy white halo slipped, and she took it off. Now, her blond hair hangs down over her shoulders.
Everything is still a bit fuzzy, I realize. What she had on her head was probably a towel. My sense of smell still works, though, and I can tell she just had a shower.
The fact that she wants to give me a sponge bath in the morning excites me more than it should. Yes, I’d love to get the blood and dirt off my body. I’m sure it’ll make me feel better.
But, the thought of those gentle hands washing my fur is what made my tail wag in the first place. Who wouldn’t want to be washed by an angel?
I can’t stop looking at her. Even when her mother comes into the room to talk to my angel, my eyes don’t leave her. There is a throbbing, burning pain inside me, and she is the only reason it’s not driving me mad.
The mother is not as gentle as my angle. She has concerns, and when she speaks, her body stiffens, and her eyes narrow when she looks at me.
“Has he been looking at you like this the whole time?” the mother asks.
My angel clears her throat. Her heart is suddenly beating rapidly. “Yes,” she says.
The mother takes a step away from my crate. “We’ll have to watch him. He might not be friendly.”
My angel comes towards me and rests her hand on top of my crate. “No, no, he’s friendly,” she defends me, her heart now in overdrive. “When I talk to him, his tail wags.”
“Mhm, just be careful, Kimberly.”
“I will, Mom.”
Kimberly. My angel with the gray eyes has a name. They exchange a few more words before the mother leaves, but, again, I only have eyes for Kimberly. She seems to notice because she turns to me and talks directly to me.
The looks I give her, and the wagging of my tail, make her giggle, and respond to me. I think she’s noticed that I can understand her, even if she doesn’t believe it yet.
Kimberly lets in some fresh air into this place she keeps me in. It’s only when the fresh Alaskan evening air drives some of the stench from the room that I realize how bad it was. She must have hated it, yet endured it for me.
It’s not long before her mother brings Kimberly some food. I feel guilty that I have taken up all her time, and she hasn’t even eaten yet. But, instead of taking her dinner to the table, she comes straight back to me and sits in front of the crate.