4.
The noises from above are enough to make me scream, but my voice stays hidden in my throat, stuck there for several heartbeats before I can find it.
At first it's just a rattle or two of boxes.
At first it's just a rattle or two of boxes.
Great, I think to myself, I have a rodent. Then the rattles turn into thumps. Okay, maybe it's a family of rodents. Then the thumps multiply themselves. I hear a moan and then more movements, like there's a fight of some sort going on. But that doesn't make any sense. Then I hear the sound of glass breaking.
"What the fuck?" I try to sound loud and brave. I turn the garage lights on and grab for one of the garden shovels on the wall. So, maybe it's raccoons. Another burst of sounds from above. A family of them.
That's when I see it, something sharp sticks out from one of the attic's floorboards. What is that? What the hell is it? And why is the attic door open? I haven't been up there since I moved into the house.
"Who's up there?" I call out and after a moment's thought I add, "I have a gun!"
I should really fucking buy a gun and learn how to use it. Add that to my list of to do's for the weekend. Do dishes. Dump Brian. Buy gigantic fuck-off gun.
I don't know why I think it will help, but I decide to make as much noise as possible. I open the door that leads from my detached garage to the stone path and stairs to my house. For a moment I think about running for it, but hesitate when I hear a crack that sounds like lightening hitting the earth, followed by an awful howl and a high-pitched screech.
"Hello? Are you okay? I know someone's up there. I'm, I'm calling the cops, damnit."
"Great," I mumble, "tell the bad guy you're calling the cops. Good move."
Standing there debating my next move, I startle when the attic door releases and pops open, just enough for me to see the ladder.
Then I see it. Blue eyes stared at me. Four white paws and two white ears twitch back. It lowers its head and looks at me before cocking its head to the right and panting a bit. A dog is in my attic? Then it blinks twice at me and I swear that it smiles before it noses something into sight until something dark falls to the ground at my feet that causes me to jump back.
Black and matted fur. My body reacts immediately in two different ways. I scream like a little girl and raise the shovel above my head then slam it down as hard as I can on the object that I decide is my enemy. It flops up in the air and falls quickly back down with a wet plopping sound.
A dead rat. A soft chortling sound from above. I look quickly back up at the animal in the attic. It appears to be smiling at me and, was that a chuckle?
"Are you laughing at me?" The animal chortles again in reply.
"Hey," I say, "I'm the one with the weapon here, buddy," and wave the shovel around above my head again, careful to avoid getting any bits of rat on me.
"So, you're a dog," I said, channeling my best adult voice, "in my attic."
The blue eyes blink and the dog cocks its head to one side.
"How the hell did you get up there?" I ask the furry face. As if in reply, the dog pushes at the ladder with its nose until it starts to unfold a bit. The dog follows soon after, tumbling to the ground in a leap that is both impressive and clumsy.
The animal unfolds itself from the ground and stands up slowly. I realize that I'm in a pickle. This isn't a dog. This is a wolf. A long-legged, large white wolf that comes up to my hips and is barrel chested. With fangs. Not teeth.
"Okay," I say, as I tighten my grip on the shovel. "No problem. I'm going to back out of here and then you just leave, okay?" I try to sound calm. I try to back out slowly. I realize that I really need to pee.
The wolf lowers its head and cocks it to one side again, while it watches me. Then it lays down on the ground and rolls over onto its stomach. Everything is white except for a patch of red blood on the beast's front leg and I realize the blood is his, discovering the wolf to be male. The creature let its tongue loll out to the side and pants while he looks at me. I think he's trying to smile at me.
"Shit," I say softly, mostly to myself. The wolf pants again and then it whimpers.
"Shit," I repeat to the wolf, and decide to test things out. I lower the shovel a bit. The wolf makes no move.
"Alright, look, I can help you, but only if you're not going to eat me for dinner."
No reply. Of course no reply, I scold myself.
"Right," I say, hoping that I sound authoritarian enough to pull this off, "I'm going to come closer now, and you are not going to hurt me," pointing my finger at him for emphasis.
Because this is a smart idea, I tell myself in a manner that's more question than fact.
I inch forward slowly and try to avoid the dead rodent on my path to the wolf. His blue eyes look at me and he whimpers again. I watch his tail move. At first it's just a swish against the floor. Long, thick and bushy. The closer I get to him the more it turns into a wag. His tongue laps the air and I hope it's not because he's hungry for human. He repeats himself and he looks more like a dog to me.
"Please don't wreck this moment by chomping me to pieces," I tell him, and finally stand next to him. The wolf stays still, his eyes continue to follow me. Then he shifts his head sideways and waits. I carefully poke my foot against his neck, gently sliding my foot back and forth against it. The wolf does nothing, as though patiently waiting for me to do more.
"Right," I say with marginally more confidence, "I'm going to sit down now on the floor with you. Do not try to eat me, okay buddy?"
I move slowly to sit down and lean back on my knees. Slowly, I reach out with one hand and stroke the wolf's neck. He whimpers again and moves his neck to inch closer to my hand.
"Okay, big guy, let's see how bad it is. Will you let me take a look?"
The wolf raises its head up and down once, and I take this for an answer.
Gingerly, I make my way to the front leg and discover that it's still bleeding. I find the opening of the wound. It looks like a long slash, jagged and thin, but deep.
"You poor guy," I murmur, and run my fingers gently behind his ear to scratch it for him. He rolls his head back to face me and gently licks my hand in reply.
"Your eyes are so blue," I say, a little in awe. They're like sapphires. They look like they're asking me for help.
That's decided then.
"I think you might be a wolf-dog. Or maybe you're a giant husky. Which means you might be someone's pet. So, let's see if I can get you in the car and take you to the vet."
Slowly I stand, unsure about how he'll react to my moving quickly around him, and move to the other side of the garage, to find some sheets in one of the storage boxes that I keep for fix-it projects.
I pull three of them out and set one of them on the back seat of the car, after shoving shoes and clothes onto the floor. I make my way back to the animal and sit down next to him again. Working slowly, I fold a second sheet in half once and then again.
"Roll over," I instruct, and the animal obeys, shifting onto his back again, so that all four legs are in the air.
"Good start," I tell him, "maybe you are someone's pet."
I do my best to bind the animal's leg so that the bleeding will stop, or at least be contained. He watches me and waits until I secure the sheet tightly around his leg.
"Okay, that'll have to do for now," I tell him. "Let's go."
I stand up and head to the back of the car, opening the door for him.
"Come," I command and point at my foot. He gets up and walks slowly to me. I notice that he doesn't put his paw on the ground. My voice softens as I watch him make his way to the car.
"Okay, big guy, let me help you up," I say, and carefully lift him up without touching his wounded leg, until I can shift and nudge him up and onto the seat. He whimpers a bit. It takes some effort, but once I got him up there, he flops down onto his good side and stays still, panting quietly, while I close the door and sit down in the driver's seat.
The drive to the vet's office is slow. I don't want him to feel any bumps in the road, and I'm not sure that I can trust him yet, so I keep glancing at him in the mirror. I can feel him watching me the entire ride to the vet.
When we reach the office, I realize I don't have a leash. "Stay here," I tell him, "I'll go get help." I leave the window open just a crack for fresh air while I go inside.
The vet tech who listens to my story comes out with me, armed with a small tranquilizing needle and is accompanied by another tech who is a giant of a man. He carries a catching pole and has a collar and a leash tucked into his back pocket. I tell him the pole won't be necessary.
The first tech looks at the animal and assesses him through the window.
"Wolf-dog," she claims. The man with the pole nods.
"I don't think you'll need to sedate him," I tell them, "he was very gentle with me and let me pick him up to get him in the car."
"Hmph," the woman grunts, "well let's see if we can get the pole on him."
"Can I try with the leash first?" I ask. The two of them exchange looks that don't mask their doubts, but the man shrugs and hands the leash to me along with the collar. He stands behind me with the pole, looking like he's at the ready, knees bent and elbows cocked.
I open the door just a crack and the dog looks up at me first and then behind me as if to assess the situation.
"Okay, big guy, let's get you looked at by the vet, so you can feel better."
I show him the collar and he makes a grumbling sound that causes me to laugh.
"I know, but it's better than the pole or the needle, isn't it?"
No reply.
"I'm going to put this around your neck," I say, as I clip the leash to the collar and reach slowly for his neck.
His eyes shift up and down but then he raises his head up a bit. I slide the collar over his head and look at him.
"Good boy," I tell him. He grumbles. It isn't really a growl, more of a quiet complaint.
"Okay," I say, and turning to the man, let him take over.
The man reaches down and slides a soft muzzle around the dog quickly and quietly. I think it took the dog by surprise, but he doesn't have time to react to it before the man gently scoops him up and into his arms and carried him inside, careful not to touch his wounds.
I lock the car and follow them into the clinic where a chirpy woman named Rita asks me to fill out some paperwork while the staff takes a look at him.
"What's his name?" Rita asks me. I shake my head in return.
"I don't know," I reply. "I found him in my garage when I came home from work. There was a dead rat in the garage. I think maybe the dog bit it, and I'm pretty sure the rat scratched the dog."
Rita looks up at me and calls out for one of the techs to come up. The woman who helped me earlier pokes her head out of a door.
"Jamie, this is . . ." Rita glances at the ID that I've handed to her, "Rory Layne."
Jamie nods at me in response.
"She found the dog in her garage with a dead rat. She thinks it killed the rat and maybe the rat scratched or bit the dog."
Jamie looks back at me and asks me to join them once I finish filling out the paperwork.
"You're going to treat him, right?" I ask her, feeling like the dog's advocate. "I think he might be someone's pet."
"We're looking at him right now," Jamie answers quickly and then turns back to Rita to tell her to send me in when I'm done.
Rita hands me a clipboard and I sit down to fill out the paperwork before I'm shuffled into a small white room with the dog, Jamie and the other tech, who introduces himself to me as Fred.
That's when I see it, something sharp sticks out from one of the attic's floorboards. What is that? What the hell is it? And why is the attic door open? I haven't been up there since I moved into the house.
"Who's up there?" I call out and after a moment's thought I add, "I have a gun!"
I should really fucking buy a gun and learn how to use it. Add that to my list of to do's for the weekend. Do dishes. Dump Brian. Buy gigantic fuck-off gun.
I don't know why I think it will help, but I decide to make as much noise as possible. I open the door that leads from my detached garage to the stone path and stairs to my house. For a moment I think about running for it, but hesitate when I hear a crack that sounds like lightening hitting the earth, followed by an awful howl and a high-pitched screech.
"Hello? Are you okay? I know someone's up there. I'm, I'm calling the cops, damnit."
Standing there debating my next move, I startle when the attic door releases and pops open, just enough for me to see the ladder.
Then I see it. Blue eyes stared at me. Four white paws and two white ears twitch back. It lowers its head and looks at me before cocking its head to the right and panting a bit. A dog is in my attic? Then it blinks twice at me and I swear that it smiles before it noses something into sight until something dark falls to the ground at my feet that causes me to jump back.
Black and matted fur. My body reacts immediately in two different ways. I scream like a little girl and raise the shovel above my head then slam it down as hard as I can on the object that I decide is my enemy. It flops up in the air and falls quickly back down with a wet plopping sound.
A dead rat. A soft chortling sound from above. I look quickly back up at the animal in the attic. It appears to be smiling at me and, was that a chuckle?
"Are you laughing at me?" The animal chortles again in reply.
"Hey," I say, "I'm the one with the weapon here, buddy," and wave the shovel around above my head again, careful to avoid getting any bits of rat on me.
"So, you're a dog," I said, channeling my best adult voice, "in my attic."
The blue eyes blink and the dog cocks its head to one side.
"How the hell did you get up there?" I ask the furry face. As if in reply, the dog pushes at the ladder with its nose until it starts to unfold a bit. The dog follows soon after, tumbling to the ground in a leap that is both impressive and clumsy.
The animal unfolds itself from the ground and stands up slowly. I realize that I'm in a pickle. This isn't a dog. This is a wolf. A long-legged, large white wolf that comes up to my hips and is barrel chested. With fangs. Not teeth.
"Okay," I say, as I tighten my grip on the shovel. "No problem. I'm going to back out of here and then you just leave, okay?" I try to sound calm. I try to back out slowly. I realize that I really need to pee.
The wolf lowers its head and cocks it to one side again, while it watches me. Then it lays down on the ground and rolls over onto its stomach. Everything is white except for a patch of red blood on the beast's front leg and I realize the blood is his, discovering the wolf to be male. The creature let its tongue loll out to the side and pants while he looks at me. I think he's trying to smile at me.
"Shit," I say softly, mostly to myself. The wolf pants again and then it whimpers.
"Shit," I repeat to the wolf, and decide to test things out. I lower the shovel a bit. The wolf makes no move.
"Alright, look, I can help you, but only if you're not going to eat me for dinner."
No reply. Of course no reply, I scold myself.
"Right," I say, hoping that I sound authoritarian enough to pull this off, "I'm going to come closer now, and you are not going to hurt me," pointing my finger at him for emphasis.
Because this is a smart idea, I tell myself in a manner that's more question than fact.
I inch forward slowly and try to avoid the dead rodent on my path to the wolf. His blue eyes look at me and he whimpers again. I watch his tail move. At first it's just a swish against the floor. Long, thick and bushy. The closer I get to him the more it turns into a wag. His tongue laps the air and I hope it's not because he's hungry for human. He repeats himself and he looks more like a dog to me.
"Please don't wreck this moment by chomping me to pieces," I tell him, and finally stand next to him. The wolf stays still, his eyes continue to follow me. Then he shifts his head sideways and waits. I carefully poke my foot against his neck, gently sliding my foot back and forth against it. The wolf does nothing, as though patiently waiting for me to do more.
"Right," I say with marginally more confidence, "I'm going to sit down now on the floor with you. Do not try to eat me, okay buddy?"
I move slowly to sit down and lean back on my knees. Slowly, I reach out with one hand and stroke the wolf's neck. He whimpers again and moves his neck to inch closer to my hand.
"Okay, big guy, let's see how bad it is. Will you let me take a look?"
The wolf raises its head up and down once, and I take this for an answer.
Gingerly, I make my way to the front leg and discover that it's still bleeding. I find the opening of the wound. It looks like a long slash, jagged and thin, but deep.
"You poor guy," I murmur, and run my fingers gently behind his ear to scratch it for him. He rolls his head back to face me and gently licks my hand in reply.
"Your eyes are so blue," I say, a little in awe. They're like sapphires. They look like they're asking me for help.
That's decided then.
"I think you might be a wolf-dog. Or maybe you're a giant husky. Which means you might be someone's pet. So, let's see if I can get you in the car and take you to the vet."
Slowly I stand, unsure about how he'll react to my moving quickly around him, and move to the other side of the garage, to find some sheets in one of the storage boxes that I keep for fix-it projects.
I pull three of them out and set one of them on the back seat of the car, after shoving shoes and clothes onto the floor. I make my way back to the animal and sit down next to him again. Working slowly, I fold a second sheet in half once and then again.
"Roll over," I instruct, and the animal obeys, shifting onto his back again, so that all four legs are in the air.
"Good start," I tell him, "maybe you are someone's pet."
I do my best to bind the animal's leg so that the bleeding will stop, or at least be contained. He watches me and waits until I secure the sheet tightly around his leg.
"Okay, that'll have to do for now," I tell him. "Let's go."
I stand up and head to the back of the car, opening the door for him.
"Come," I command and point at my foot. He gets up and walks slowly to me. I notice that he doesn't put his paw on the ground. My voice softens as I watch him make his way to the car.
"Okay, big guy, let me help you up," I say, and carefully lift him up without touching his wounded leg, until I can shift and nudge him up and onto the seat. He whimpers a bit. It takes some effort, but once I got him up there, he flops down onto his good side and stays still, panting quietly, while I close the door and sit down in the driver's seat.
The drive to the vet's office is slow. I don't want him to feel any bumps in the road, and I'm not sure that I can trust him yet, so I keep glancing at him in the mirror. I can feel him watching me the entire ride to the vet.
When we reach the office, I realize I don't have a leash. "Stay here," I tell him, "I'll go get help." I leave the window open just a crack for fresh air while I go inside.
The vet tech who listens to my story comes out with me, armed with a small tranquilizing needle and is accompanied by another tech who is a giant of a man. He carries a catching pole and has a collar and a leash tucked into his back pocket. I tell him the pole won't be necessary.
The first tech looks at the animal and assesses him through the window.
"Wolf-dog," she claims. The man with the pole nods.
"I don't think you'll need to sedate him," I tell them, "he was very gentle with me and let me pick him up to get him in the car."
"Hmph," the woman grunts, "well let's see if we can get the pole on him."
"Can I try with the leash first?" I ask. The two of them exchange looks that don't mask their doubts, but the man shrugs and hands the leash to me along with the collar. He stands behind me with the pole, looking like he's at the ready, knees bent and elbows cocked.
I open the door just a crack and the dog looks up at me first and then behind me as if to assess the situation.
"Okay, big guy, let's get you looked at by the vet, so you can feel better."
I show him the collar and he makes a grumbling sound that causes me to laugh.
"I know, but it's better than the pole or the needle, isn't it?"
No reply.
"I'm going to put this around your neck," I say, as I clip the leash to the collar and reach slowly for his neck.
His eyes shift up and down but then he raises his head up a bit. I slide the collar over his head and look at him.
"Good boy," I tell him. He grumbles. It isn't really a growl, more of a quiet complaint.
"Okay," I say, and turning to the man, let him take over.
The man reaches down and slides a soft muzzle around the dog quickly and quietly. I think it took the dog by surprise, but he doesn't have time to react to it before the man gently scoops him up and into his arms and carried him inside, careful not to touch his wounds.
I lock the car and follow them into the clinic where a chirpy woman named Rita asks me to fill out some paperwork while the staff takes a look at him.
"What's his name?" Rita asks me. I shake my head in return.
"I don't know," I reply. "I found him in my garage when I came home from work. There was a dead rat in the garage. I think maybe the dog bit it, and I'm pretty sure the rat scratched the dog."
Rita looks up at me and calls out for one of the techs to come up. The woman who helped me earlier pokes her head out of a door.
"Jamie, this is . . ." Rita glances at the ID that I've handed to her, "Rory Layne."
Jamie nods at me in response.
"She found the dog in her garage with a dead rat. She thinks it killed the rat and maybe the rat scratched or bit the dog."
Jamie looks back at me and asks me to join them once I finish filling out the paperwork.
"You're going to treat him, right?" I ask her, feeling like the dog's advocate. "I think he might be someone's pet."
"We're looking at him right now," Jamie answers quickly and then turns back to Rita to tell her to send me in when I'm done.
Rita hands me a clipboard and I sit down to fill out the paperwork before I'm shuffled into a small white room with the dog, Jamie and the other tech, who introduces himself to me as Fred.
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