Mad Dog (3 page)

Five

When Rex and I get back, there’s a black truck parked by the barn. I recognize the truck from Tri-County Animal Clinic. The Nice vets get called out here all the time.

“Come on, Rex.” We head for the barn. I’m trying to figure out which animal could be sick. Hank’s got Starlight out in the pasture. That leaves the two young horses he’s been training.

Or Blackfire.

Before Dakota showed up at the Rescue, the black gelding was called Black Devil, and he lived up to the name. Old Mrs. Coolidge got him at an auction because she knew that if she didn’t, the buyer would turn the horse into horse meat or dog food. Hank worked with the horse, but it wasn’t going so good. For once, Hank’s horse magic wasn’t doing the job.

Then Dakota showed up. She and Blackfire took to each other, and they’ve been together ever since.

Rex and I squeeze through the side door of the barn. Right away it’s obvious the vet’s here for Blackfire. Dakota has the horse tied to a post in the round pen she and Hank use for training. Even this far away, I can see she’s been crying.

“What’s the matter with Blackfire, Doc?” Dakota asks. She’s holding her horse by the halter, positioning herself between Blackfire and the vet, probably so the gelding won’t take a chunk out of the vet’s back while he’s bent over.

Tri-County Animal Clinic is run by three vets—two women and this guy, Doc Jim. He’s small, wiry, and strong as a pit bull. Blackfire keeps trying to jerk his front hoof away, but Doc manages to keep it up.

“I’m almost done, Dakota,” he says.

Dakota Brown is 16, pretty, with black, curly hair and big brown eyes. I don’t think she notices, but guys do double takes when she walks by. She could pass for an Indian, or Native American, whatever you call it.

I’ve known a lot of kids who’ve grown up in foster care. Nobody tells a straight story about “before”—what their lives were really like
before
foster care. Dakota told me that she had a brother who was killed in the war and then her mother died because she couldn’t deal. And then her dad died because he couldn’t live without his wife. It’s a good story, but too made-for-TV. I let her get away with it, but I guarantee things didn’t go down the way she says they did
before
.

I can’t read Dakota the way Rex reads me. But right now it’s pretty clear she’s fighting to keep herself together.

Doc Jim lets go of Blackfire’s hoof, and even I can tell the horse isn’t putting much weight on that leg.

I move up to the pen and lean over the top rail. Dakota doesn’t seem to know that me and Rex are there until Doc nods our way.

“Hey, Wes,” Doc calls. “How’s the dog business?”

“Not bad,” I answer.

Dakota ignores me. “Doc?” she asks, her voice filled with impatience. “What’s the matter with my horse?”

“Well,” Doc says, “I think it’s an abscess, Dakota.”

“An abscess?” Dakota sounds horrified. “On his hoof?”

Doc smiles at her and strokes Blackfire’s shoulder. The horse backs away from him. “That’s not so bad, really. Could have been a lot worse. We need to locate the abscess, though, and dig it out.”

Tears seep from the corners of Dakota’s eyes. I feel for her. But the vet said it’s not so bad. At least the horse still has four legs. Not like the poor Pomeranian.

“How did it happen?” Dakota demands. “Is it my fault? I try to keep the stall clean, but I know I could do a better job. Maybe if I’d—”

Doc stops her. “It’s not your fault. We’re not even sure how horses get abscesses. Blackfire might have stepped on a stone or—”

“Because I rode him on the road?” Dakota’s face looks like someone slapped her. “Why did I have to do that? We have so much land to ride on, and I had to go out on the road.”

“Dakota, it might not have been a stone,” Doc Jim explains. “And even if it was, it wasn’t your fault. I’m thinking the abscess is coming from inside, instead of outside.”

“Are you saying Blackfire has sores
inside
of him? How can that happen? He’s such a good horse.” She hugs his neck, and her shoulders heave.

“Not like that,” Doc explains. “Blackfire doesn’t have sores inside. I meant that a change in feed or grass can get into the blood vessels and result in an infection. Pus forms and tries to push out through the hoof. Does that make sense? We just need to coax out the pus, the infection. Then we can treat it better. First, though, we’ve got to find the point of origin.”

He digs into his doctor’s bag and comes out with a silver instrument that looks like large wire cutters or blunt-end scissors. “Hold him, Dakota. But don’t let him hurt you. If he rears up, get out of the way. I have to find out where the hoof’s the most sensitive. He’s not going to like this.”

Doc’s right about that. He presses the clipper thing into different spots on the horse’s hoof. Blackfire flinches every time. I wonder if his whole hoof is bad.

I want to get a better look, but I don’t want to go inside the pen. I don’t trust that black horse. As a rule, I stick with dogs and have as little to do with the horses as possible.

Doc Jim presses the silver thing on one side of the hoof. Blackfire lets loose a squeal and jerks back. Doc drops the hoof. “Guess we found the problem,” he announces.

“Easy, boy.” Dakota mumbles other things to her horse until he calms down. She strokes the sore leg all the way to the hoof. Then she lifts the hoof and nods for Doc to take over.

Doc slips in and takes the hoof from her, giving Dakota a weak smile.

“Go ahead, Doc,” she says. “Do what you have to do. We’re ready, aren’t we, boy?” She stays close to Blackfire’s head and leans her cheek against his.

Doc pulls a curved knife out of his pocket and goes to work. Strips of hoof fly to the ground. “I have to get as deep as I can,” he tells Dakota.

He keeps digging.

Dakota winces with every slice of the knife, like she’s the one getting cut.

Suddenly, Blackfire squeals and rears. Rex and I jump back. Even the vet backs away, pushing Dakota aside.

“I have to stop,” Doc says. “I can’t go any deeper.”

“Did you get it?” Dakota asks. “The abscess?”

He shakes his head. “It’s really in there deep. I could feel pus under the membrane. It’s soft and squishy. But I don’t want to go deeper.”

Dakota swallows so hard that her neck quivers. “So how do we get it out?”

“You’re going to have to soak the hoof in Epsom salts a couple times a day to draw the infection out of there.” Doc studies Dakota. “You think you can do that?”

She nods and scratches Blackfire under his mane.

I, personally, can’t even picture this. Soak that horse’s hoof? I wouldn’t touch that hoof with a 10-foot leash.

Doc gives her more instructions. “Soak the hoof for as long as you can each time. Shoot for 20 minutes. Twice a day.”

Right on cue, in walks Hank, leading Starlight. “I didn’t know you were here, Doc,” he calls from the doorway. “I thought you weren’t coming by until later.”

“I juggled a few things and got here early,” Doc says. “Dakota sounded pretty desperate.” Doc grins at Dakota, but she doesn’t give it back.

Hank leads his horse toward her stall. “Just a minute—I’ll be right back.” When he returns a minute later, he’s carrying his saddle. He chucks it into the tack room and jogs over to us. “So, what’s the verdict?”

Hank makes the vet go through the whole diagnosis and treatment again. What’s he think? That Dakota and I are idiots? That he’s the only one who can do anything around here?

Rex nudges me. I know he’ll start barking any minute if I let big-brother Hank get to me. I reach over and scratch my dog’s chest and behind his ears until both of us calm down again.

“I’ll go ahead and give Blackfire a shot of penicillin now,” Doc says, digging the syringe out of his bag. “Can you give him another shot tomorrow, Hank? Saturday too, just to be on the safe side.”

“No problem.”

Hank helps Doc steady Blackfire for the first shot. Doc Jim keeps the syringe behind his back, pats the horse’s neck, flicks a spot with his finger, then slips in the syringe.

Blackfire whinnies and jerks his head up, but he’s better than I thought he’d be.

I wait around while Hank walks Doc to his truck. Then I clear my throat and ask, “You okay, Dakota?”

“No. How would you be if your dog had an abscess?”

I don’t take the bait. Dakota and I got off to a bad start, and we haven’t exactly
bonded
since. People expect fosters to act like brothers and sisters, but we’re not.

I knew from day one that Dakota Brown was planning on running away from here. I could see it in her eyes. I could hear it in what she wasn’t saying. Didn’t matter to me. In fact, I would have been glad to see her go.

She planned her getaway perfectly, and she almost pulled it off. She would have too, if I hadn’t given her away and told everybody what she was up to. I’m still not sure why I stopped her. But since then, she’s fit in better than me around this place.

Dakota leans her head against her horse’s shoulder. “Maybe I did something wrong. I’m no horse whisperer. Not like Hank. Or Winnie.”

Winnie again. Winnie the Horse Gentler is famous around here, even though I’ve never seen her. She lives in Ohio and hangs with Hank’s cousin, a guy they call Catman. They don’t have an animal rescue, but they’re into animals like we are. Hank and Dakota e-mail Winnie for horse advice, like she’s this big horse genius.

“I heard Doc say it wasn’t your fault. Besides, nobody else could ride that horse.” Two months ago Dakota hadn’t even ridden a horse. Now she rides Blackfire bareback at an all-out gallop.

She hugs Blackfire’s neck. “Guess I won’t be riding for a long time, will I, Blackfire?”

“You won’t be riding?”

“Not hardly.”

I hadn’t thought of that. I wasn’t even going to bother asking Dakota to help me with the dogs. She spends every minute with the horses. But if she isn’t riding Blackfire, then she’ll have more free time.

“Listen,” I begin, “since you’re going to have extra time on your hands, I just picked up four dogs from the pound, and—”

“Extra time? Are you kidding? I’m going to spend every minute of every day with my horse until he’s well.”

“You can’t be here every minute.”

“What would you know about it?” She spits the words at me. “You have no idea what it’s like to have an animal need you and—”

“Are you crazy? I’ve got five dogs depending on me. Five! Not one.”

“I can’t believe you’re trying to dump this on me!” Dakota shouts. “Never mind that my horse can’t even put weight on one leg.”

“Your horse is going to be fine.” I heard the vet say so, and so did she. “At least he
has
four legs. My Pom—”

“Me, me, me! It’s always all about Wes, isn’t it?” Dakota screams.

My heart is slamming in my chest. Why did I even try to talk to her? “Just forget it. I’m sorry I said anything.”

Rex is barking. He springs at my leg, then bounces down.

“Sorry?” Dakota says. “Even Rex knows that’s a lie. You’re not sorry. You’re angry.”

I can’t argue with that. Now I
am
angry. “Dakota Brown, I should have let you run away.”

Six

Dinner is a noisy event at the Coolidge table. Dr. Annie quizzes us during the whole meal. I think she’s afraid that while she was in town doing surgery, she may have missed something really important on the farm.

“Hank,” Annie prods, “how are the two young horses coming along?” She’s sitting so close to Popeye that I don’t know how either of them can eat. But they do. Dr. Annie isn’t skinny. She’s shaped kinda like a bowling pin.

Once Annie and Popeye dragged Kat and me to a carnival. The whole scene was pretty lame, except for this loud dude who guessed people’s weight or what they did for a living. Annie wouldn’t let the guy weigh her, so he tried to guess her line of work. He examined her hands, studied her up and down. Then he took a stab at what Annie Coolidge did for a living. He guessed grocery store clerk, elementary school teacher, and homemaker before Popeye proudly told the little crowd that had gathered that his wife was a surgeon.

The guy busted out laughing. He turned to Popeye and said, “And I’ll bet you’re a rocket scientist.”

Annie was the one who set him straight. “Much more important than that,” she told the guy. “My husband is a fireman.”

When Annie talks, Popeye stares at her, like every word matters. He hands her the butter for her third biscuit the instant she finishes her second.

Hank takes another bite of the tuna casserole Popeye threw together. “I saddled both of the new horses, but I haven’t mounted either of them yet. They’re too skittish. Starlight and I went for a long ride instead. I almost missed Doc Jim.”

All eyes zero in on Dakota, who hasn’t said two words during the meal. Neither have I, although I don’t think anybody noticed. Kat didn’t come down for dinner, so it’s pretty much been a Coolidge conversation so far.

“Dakota,” Popeye says, “tell my Annie about the doc’s visit.”

Dakota twists the napkin in her lap. I don’t think she’s eaten anything. “The vet didn’t really do much. Blackfire’s got an abscess in his hoof, and Doc Jim couldn’t get it out. He couldn’t even get it to drain. He just kept cutting and cutting, but it didn’t do any good.” She stops and swallows, but I’m pretty sure she’s swallowing tears and not casserole.

Hank jumps to the vet’s defense. “Doc Jim did everything he could. He cut into the hoof until he couldn’t go deeper. He thinks soaking Blackfire’s hoof will make the abscess drain. And the penicillin should keep the infection down.”

“That makes sense,” Popeye says. Then, just like he’s talking to one of us, he prays, eyes open, no change in his voice. “Father, we ask You to take care of Blackfire for us. Help Dakota know what to do. Comfort both of them. Thanks for that horse and the way he’s been coming around. Pass the biscuits, please.”

The last part he aims at me. I pass the biscuits.

Annie and Popeye keep the conversation going. But I concentrate on getting dinner down so I can walk the dogs before it gets too dark.

“Wes,” Annie says, scooping up another helping of casserole, “I stopped at Nice Manor today, and George was there. She said the residents can’t wait to see the dogs you’ve got for them.”

I’ve never heard anybody except Annie call Georgette Coolidge “George.”

“I’ve got a lot of training to do with the dogs before they’re ready for the nursing home,” I say, finishing off my last green bean. It’s not going to be easy to teach that bulldog not to jump up on people.

“Assisted living,” Annie corrects. “Better not let the residents hear you calling Nice Manor a nursing home. There’s a big difference. Nobody will be bedridden or needing constant nursing care. Then again, George was saying that if this pet program works for the hardier residents, she thinks it will work at Nice Nursing Home. Those people would love having animals around.”

Annie takes a bite, chews, and dabs her lips with her napkin. “I do hope someone will like the dog with three legs.” Before dinner Annie gave each dog a checkup, and I knew she took to the Pom. “All four dogs are really quite fit, considering where they come from. They could stand to put on weight, except for that peculiar-looking dog that kept jumping on me.”

“I’ll fatten ’em up in no time,” I promise.

Above us, the Pomeranian’s toenails
click-click
as he walk-hops, pacing my bedroom floor.

“Can I go walk the dogs now?” I ask, getting up from the table.

“I suppose,” Annie says.

“Wait!” Dakota tosses her napkin on her plate, covering her uneaten food. “What about dishes? It’s Wes’s turn to wash.”

“It’s going to be dark if I wait any longer,” I explain.

Beside me, Rex, who’s been lying at my feet, sits up.

“You should have thought of that before dinner,” Dakota says.

“Thought of what?” I snap. “When they gotta go, they gotta go. Nothing to think about. Since nobody’s going to help me walk the dogs, what am I supposed to do?”

“The dishes.” Dakota leans back in her chair and folds her arms in front of her. “I’m sure not doing them.”

“Because you have so much to do?” I shove my chair in, but it slides too hard and slams the table. Rex starts barking.

“I’m e-mailing Winnie to ask her how to soak Blackfire’s hoof, not that it’s any of your business. And I have to check on my horse. So, yeah. I
do
have a lot to do.”

“Yeah. Must be rough taking care of one animal,” I say, pouring on the sarcasm. “
One
. And you don’t even have to walk him.”

“Well, you don’t—”

“That’s enough,” Popeye says.

Dakota stops, but if looks had volume, hers would be earsplitting.

“Say, my love,” Annie says, as she stands up and gathers their plates, “how would you like to cuddle with me over a sink of dirty dishes?”

“There’s no place I’d rather be,” Popeye answers.

“Fine,” Dakota mumbles. “Do Wes’s job for him.” She gets up, drops her dishes into the sink, and heads outside.

I start with the littlest dog first. After 20 minutes with the Pom, I’ve learned two facts about him: (1) He can get around better on three legs than some dogs do on four. And (2) he takes his sweet time doing his business.

The terrier isn’t much better. Every little sound throws her off. Just when I think she’s finally going to do what we’re out here for, she hears Dakota slamming things in the barn or Annie and Popeye laughing from the kitchen or a cricket chirping. And it’s a no go.

By the time I get done with all the dogs, it’s dark. Popeye, Annie, Hank, and Dakota are stretched out on the grass for a moon check. Almost every night, unless it’s raining, we check out the night sky. I thought it was pretty lame at first, but it’s okay. Popeye knows the names of the stars, and he can point out a million constellations.

“Hurry, Wes!” Popeye hollers. “You don’t want to miss the show tonight.”

“Be out in a minute,” I answer.

I kennel the Blab and the bulldog but leave the kennel doors open. Then I dash upstairs to check on the Pom and the terrier. I find them curled up together in the dog bed.

I ease the door shut so I don’t disturb them. Then I head back toward the stairway.

Dakota’s bedroom door is open, and the light’s on. Annie hates it when we leave the lights on. Besides, Dakota’s room faces the front of the house. Even the little bit of light from her window can cut down on our sky view.

I step into her room and start to turn off her light when I see something that gets my attention. My name. There’s a piece of paper on Dakota’s dresser, and my name is on it. From where I’m standing, still in the doorway, it looks like some kind of list.

Dakota is famous for her lists. Sometimes she writes down “to do” lists or “to get” lists. Mostly, she lists things in her journal. But this one’s lying out in plain sight. And that’s
my
name I’m looking at.

It’s not like this is her private journal. I’d never touch one of her real journals. This is definitely different. This list is out in the open for anybody to read. I mean, her door was open. The light was on. Plus,
Wes
is on that list.

In two strides, I’m at Dakota’s dresser. I don’t touch her list, but I read:

Top 10 Tips for Taking Care of Blackfire

1. Use an old feed bucket for the water.

2. Make the water warm, not too cold or too hot.

3. Play music while you soak the hoof.

4. Scratch his withers during the process.

5. Start and finish with a handful of oats.

6. Don’t soak the hoof the same time he gets his shot.

7. Keep the stall clean and dry.

8. Hang out with him after the soaking.

9. Pray.

10. WES—Keep him as far away from my horse, and me, as possible.

Real nice.
I turn off the light and go downstairs.