dog. I scooped him up. It was like holding a stocking full of sand in my arms. You could place your fingers between his ribs. I placed him on the floor of the truck beside me. He looked up at me thankfully. His eyes moved in his sockets independent of the rest of his body.
“Usually when I pick up a dog, I take it straight to the vet. This was different though. I’ve been around death a lot, and this dog smelled of death. I didn’t know if he would survive the drive home. I couldn’t let him die in a vet’s office. I didn’t know a damn thing about this dog, but it had earned the right to go out on a quiet bed without a bunch of dogs barking at him.
“I grabbed some old dog food from the glove compartment. I always have some around. I didn’t expect him to eat, but if he wanted to, it’d be there for him. He kind of nuzzled it a bit, but that was it. I drove home, pulled out an old throw-away pillow, and set up some water and food. When I went back to get him out of the pickup, half the food was gone, but he showed no improvement.
“I set him up in my laundry room where he’d be closed off from me and the rest of the world. Where he could die in peace. I figured in the grand scheme of things, a laundry room was better than a highway as far as places to die. Then I checked on my other dogs and went to bed.”
“The dead dog scared me awake me in the middle of the night to be let out. I had no idea how he got out of my laundry room. His water was gone, and his food bowl was empty. He still had very low energy, barely enough to wag his tail. But he went outside and peed, and then came back inside. I restocked his bowls and went to bed.”
“The next morning, the dead dog was still alive, so I took him to the vet to be checked out. They did some assessments, gave him a drip, and then all we could do was wait. They needed a name to put on his cage. ‘Shadow’ was suggested because of his coloration. Also ‘One-Ear’ because by then his injuries had been assessed. But only one name seemed appropriate.”
“Wow,” Dr. Saracen said. He patted Murder’s head. Murder wagged his tail.
Angie took him by the haunches and turned him around. Murder glanced at her curiously. She pointed to scar tissue that was not so obvious until she pointed it out. “I don’t know where the scars on his muzzle came from, but these are all from the crows. So you see, I didn’t advertise this dog. There was no chip, and I didn’t expect one. He had been someone’s pet at one time. I don’t know what happened to not make him a pet anymore, but he had been out there in the wilderness for a long time.”
“You did everything you could.”
Angie took another swig and changed the subject. “We’ve been working for two, maybe three months. He needs more blind work. And he needs to work in rain and snow.”
“So what you’re saying is−”
“Murder’s a very special, very talented dog. He tracked down two zombies the first time I really took him into the field. But he has food distraction issues and God knows what else. He is a rescued mixed-breed dog, not a breed dog, which comes with certain assurances of personality and performance. If this was cadaver dog work, I wouldn’t certify him yet.”
“Good. Because this isn’t cadaver dog work, and there are no certifications for finding crimson wasps.”
“Where is all this coming from?”
“Where it always comes from. Above. Word got out about what you are doing here. Animal Control wants your help. Everything they have done in the past has been about responding to calls. ‘There’s a zombie in my yard.’ That sort of thing. You and Murder would be on the front lines of preventative care, so to speak.”
“He isn’t ready.”
“He isn’t or you aren’t?”
“Jesus, Henry. First you bring me gifts, then you insult me. What the hell?”
Dr. Saracen leaned forward in his rocking chair.
“Animal Control wants to see a demonstration of Murder at work in
“Usually when I pick up a dog, I take it straight to the vet. This was different though. I’ve been around death a lot, and this dog smelled of death. I didn’t know if he would survive the drive home. I couldn’t let him die in a vet’s office. I didn’t know a damn thing about this dog, but it had earned the right to go out on a quiet bed without a bunch of dogs barking at him.
“I grabbed some old dog food from the glove compartment. I always have some around. I didn’t expect him to eat, but if he wanted to, it’d be there for him. He kind of nuzzled it a bit, but that was it. I drove home, pulled out an old throw-away pillow, and set up some water and food. When I went back to get him out of the pickup, half the food was gone, but he showed no improvement.
“I set him up in my laundry room where he’d be closed off from me and the rest of the world. Where he could die in peace. I figured in the grand scheme of things, a laundry room was better than a highway as far as places to die. Then I checked on my other dogs and went to bed.”
“The dead dog scared me awake me in the middle of the night to be let out. I had no idea how he got out of my laundry room. His water was gone, and his food bowl was empty. He still had very low energy, barely enough to wag his tail. But he went outside and peed, and then came back inside. I restocked his bowls and went to bed.”
“The next morning, the dead dog was still alive, so I took him to the vet to be checked out. They did some assessments, gave him a drip, and then all we could do was wait. They needed a name to put on his cage. ‘Shadow’ was suggested because of his coloration. Also ‘One-Ear’ because by then his injuries had been assessed. But only one name seemed appropriate.”
“Wow,” Dr. Saracen said. He patted Murder’s head. Murder wagged his tail.
Angie took him by the haunches and turned him around. Murder glanced at her curiously. She pointed to scar tissue that was not so obvious until she pointed it out. “I don’t know where the scars on his muzzle came from, but these are all from the crows. So you see, I didn’t advertise this dog. There was no chip, and I didn’t expect one. He had been someone’s pet at one time. I don’t know what happened to not make him a pet anymore, but he had been out there in the wilderness for a long time.”
“You did everything you could.”
Angie took another swig and changed the subject. “We’ve been working for two, maybe three months. He needs more blind work. And he needs to work in rain and snow.”
“So what you’re saying is−”
“Murder’s a very special, very talented dog. He tracked down two zombies the first time I really took him into the field. But he has food distraction issues and God knows what else. He is a rescued mixed-breed dog, not a breed dog, which comes with certain assurances of personality and performance. If this was cadaver dog work, I wouldn’t certify him yet.”
“Good. Because this isn’t cadaver dog work, and there are no certifications for finding crimson wasps.”
“Where is all this coming from?”
“Where it always comes from. Above. Word got out about what you are doing here. Animal Control wants your help. Everything they have done in the past has been about responding to calls. ‘There’s a zombie in my yard.’ That sort of thing. You and Murder would be on the front lines of preventative care, so to speak.”
“He isn’t ready.”
“He isn’t or you aren’t?”
“Jesus, Henry. First you bring me gifts, then you insult me. What the hell?”
Dr. Saracen leaned forward in his rocking chair.
“Animal Control wants to see a demonstration of Murder at work in
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