In Harm’s Way - Ch. 1

Excerpt from rough draft of In Harm’s Way by Pat Otterness

CHAPTER ONE

There was a smell of death in the air. Or maybe it was just my mood. I was clearing away dead iris stalks, cutting them back and hauling them to the compost heap. The compost heap smelled ghastly, not at all the way I thought rotting plants should smell. In fact, it was more like some animal had burrowed down in the compost pile and died. It was a smelly job. Many of the iris stalks had already begun to rot, even before I cut them down. Slimy, nasty things that coated my hands with their green effluvia and filled my nostrils with a ghastly aroma. 

     I had just finished throwing my stack of disgusting stalks on top of a new compost pile when Hiram arrived. He leaned the rusty piece of garbage he calls a bike against the fence and peered over.

     “Hi Chat,” he said. “What are you doing?”

     “Sweating,” I said, grinning at him. Hiram Jones was a new neighbor, and cute in a plump, balding way. He had lost some of his extra pounds and firmed up muscles, though, since he moved to Virginia from Texas in early May. “I’m getting ready to dig out compost for my new beds,” I said. “Want to help?” Hiram, though short in stature, was worth his weight in gold when it came to garden tasks. Unfortunately for me, his time was in great demand. He had found a succession of varied part-time jobs that kept him away from home much of the time.

     “I can give you a hand getting started, anyway,” said Hiram. “What do you need first?” He gave my cleared section a dubious glance.

     “Maybe you could fetch the wheelbarrows,” I said, “while I loosen up this soil.”

     “It looks good and dark,” said Hiram.

     “Yep! Compost, not red clay. It should be a lot easier to dig.” I sank the tip of my shovel into the dark mass and stepped on its rim to push it deep into the new compost.

      “It’ll be full of weed seed, though,” he said.

     “Every square inch of dirt in my garden is full of weed seed. Why should this be different?” I looked at the rich, composted dirt with skepticism. Composting weeds had a way of turning everything except their seeds into nice rich compost. I began loosening the soil with my shovel while Hiram fetched the two big wheelbarrows.

     “Here, let me do that,” said Hiram, taking the shovel and scooping up dirt, dumping it into a wheelbarrow, and scooping again.

     “Thanks,” I said. “Where are you off to today?”

     “Umm …” said Hiram.

     Uh-oh! I thought. ‘Umm’ was the way Hiram usually started to ask for a favor, or deliver unwelcome news.

     “What?” I said.

     “Umm … Chance has been feeling bad about losing his dog,” said Hiram, not mentioning his own sadness over the recent loss of Chance’s other dog, Baby. Chance was Hiram’s housemate and business partner. “I was thinking I might find him a new one.” 

     Omigosh! I had been more relieved than distressed when Raja, Chance Cassidy’s fierce Rottweiler, went to meet his maker. Not again, I decided. “Where are you going to get the new dog?” I asked.

     “I was thinking of looking at Almost Home,” Hiram said. This was the no-kill pet adoption center owned and operated by the Humane Society/SPCA of Nelson County.

     “That’s the perfect place to look,” I said. “But how can you get a dog home on your bike?”

     “Umm …” said Hiram. “I was wondering if I could bring him home … umm … in your car.”

     So that was it. Just when I’d gotten the smell of Baby, Chance Cassidy’s more ancient Rottweiler, out of my new Toyota Corolla, I was being asked to ferry a new doggy-smelling beast across town in it.

     “Sure, Harm,” I said. “I’ll go with you. Maybe I can help you find the right dog.” Not a Rottweiler. “But let’s fill the wheelbarrows first and dump compost along that first row.” I indicated the only row in my iris garden that I had weeded thus far.

     Hiram’s face lit up. “Thanks, Chat.” He shoveled faster. When the first wheelbarrow was full, I trundled it off and began spreading compost along the row while Hiram filled the second barrow.

     “Just a minute,” I said, when we were done and ready to go. I went inside to fetch my purse and an old rubber sheet to lay across the back seat. Dogs being what they are, it’s best to be prepared.

     The Almost Home Pet Adoption Center was right off Rt. 29, just north of Lovingston. As we pulled into the parking area, we could hear dogs barking. Wire enclosures ran down one side of the property, most with one or more dogs leaping and barking inside. In other pens, older dogs and young puppies napped.

     We left the chaos behind and entered the brick building. Well, I entered the building. Looking around for Hiram, I saw that he’d remained outside to look over the fence at all the dogs running loose in the exercise area. Sigh! Back I went to join him at the fence.

     I looked about, hoping for something small, something gentle. Not a one in sight. Not a cocker spaniel, not a beagle, not even a golden retriever or black lab. On the other hand, I didn’t see any Rottweilers, either. Praise the Lord! But there were large hound and pit bull mixes aplenty. The trick would be to steer Hiram away from the worst of those. I had no intention of popping a pit bull/redbone mix into my car and taking it anywhere.

     Meanwhile, Hiram’s gaze seemed to be fixed on the biggest, strangest-looking dog in the lot. “Chance said he wants a big, fierce-looking dog,” said Hiram.

     Why am I not surprised? I thought, groaning inwardly.

     “Here, boy!” said Hiram.

     “Woof!” said the pooch, trotting over to us, tail wagging.

     Hmm? I thought, reaching a tentative hand towards the shaggy giant. A tongue flicked out and licked my hand.

     “Woof!” he said, cocking his head to one side and looking deep into my eyes.

     Great, I thought. He’s already identified the pack leader. “He’s big all right,” I said. “Maybe we should go inside and look at the other dogs.”

     Hiram frowned. “I like this one,” he said stubbornly.

     “We could just look, though. See what else they have” I headed for the door of the brick building, and Hiram trailed behind me, looking over his shoulder at the huge, bear-like creature he had fixated on.

     Inside, the foyer was swarming with cats. Cats in cages, cats on the floor, cats on the counter. A few bold ones sniffed the cuffs of my jeans, decoding the scents of my own cats that lingered there. I wended my way through the herd and approached the woman behind the counter.

     “Welcome to Almost Home,” she said, smiling. “How can I help you?” She looked first at me, and then at Hiram, whose nose was pressed against the glass door, still looking back at the big, shaggy dog penned up outside.

     “We’d like to look at your dogs,” I said, adding, sotto voce, “not Pit Bulls or Rottweilers if you can help it.”

     The attractive brown-haired woman smiled with understanding. “I believe all of those are already spoken for,” she said, winking.

     “Come on, Harm,” I said, calling him by the familiar nickname Chance had given him. “Let’s go look at the others.”

     He trudged along behind me, reluctant to drag his eyes away from the outdoor enclosure. His eyes lit up, though, when he saw the Doggie Dorms, rooms with wall murals painted by local artists. Through the glass viewing windows in the doors we could see cots, quilts, and toys for the dogs. Each room housed one or several dogs, all of which seemed to be hound mixes. My dreams of a lovely Belgian Shepherd or collie mix were shattered. Whatever we got, it was going to have its roots in the hound family.

     The young woman, who told us her name was Ava, showed us that each dog’s photo and origin was on a sheet of paper outside the room in which it was lodged. Sure enough, we could identify a dog and read the information about it quickly and easily.

     “Why doesn’t my dog have a nice room like this?” Hiram asked, his voice a study in petulance.

     “What dog do you mean,” said Ava.

     “Huge, shaggy, looks like a St. Bernard mix,” I said. “Harm seems to have his heart set on it. It’s outside in the exercise pen.”

     “Oh, Sebastian!” Ava’s face glowed with pleasure. “We think he’s part collie and part hound. He’s a wonderful dog. Smart, friendly, house trained. He does have a room.” She led us to a room farther down the hall. To my surprise, the dog was already there, as if he was waiting for us. Dog and man made joyous eye contact. He was about as much ‘part collie’ as I was ‘part Nigerian’.

     “How did he get inside so fast?” I said. “He was outside only a minute ago.”

     “The volunteers must have just made the switch. Brought in some dogs, and took out others.” Ava pointed to the sheet with Sebastian’s photo and intake information. “He’ll make a wonderful pet,” she said, “unless you have livestock. He chases livestock. That’s why he was brought in.” She looked a question at me, and I answered truthfully.

     “The nearest livestock are about eight miles away.” I sighed. I could see that this shaggy monster was going to figure in my future. “What about cats?” I said. “Does he chase cats?”

     “Wait here,” said Ava. She left, but returned quickly with a large yellow cat in her arms. “Watch this.” She stepped into Sebastian’s room and set the cat on the floor, then stepped back out and closed the door.

     Dog and cat made eye contact. “Woof!” said the monster, wagging his tail. The yellow cat eyed him suspiciously for a long moment, then walked over to Sebastian’s cot and settled herself comfortably right in the center of it.

     “Do they already know each other?” I asked, thinking of Demon’s likely reaction to a giant pooch.

     “Never seen each other before,” said Ava. “All the cats like him. He got loose once in the foyer, and the cats were rubbing up against him and purring. I thought we’d never pry all the cats away. He must have been raised with cats when he was a puppy.”

     “I want him,” said Hiram. “How do I adopt him?”

     Ava led us back to the counter in the foyer, and gave Hiram papers to fill out. Thank you,” she said when he handed her the completed forms. “And the adoption fee is one hundred dollars.” She waited expectantly, and so did I.

     “Umm …” said Hiram. He turned to look beseechingly at me.

     “What?” I said, pretending I didn’t understand.

     “I’ll pay you back,” he said. After a long moment, during which I said nothing, he pleaded, “Please, Chat.”

     “You will owe me big-time,” I said. “You will pay me in labor. You will weed!”

     “I’ll clean your house, too,” said Hiram. I’ll wash your car. I’ll mow your grass.” He gave me a pleading look.

     “Okay,” I said, resigned. I wrote a check for the hundred dollars and handed it to Hiram, who presented it to Ava.

     She smiled at him, glad that he had won this battle of wills. “Sebastian has had all of his shots, and he’s been neutered. That’s what the adoption fee is for.”

     Hiram looked a little uncomfortable when she said the word ‘neutered’, but he overcame it and smiled sweetly at Ava. “Can I get him now?” he said.

     I interrupted. “I think we should buy some things first, Harm,” I said. “A leash, dog food, maybe a toy or some doggy treats - so he doesn’t have to wait in the car while we do that.”

     But Hiram was already off to find his dog. “I’ll leave him here,” I told Ava. “They can play while I get some stuff for the dog and come right back.”

     “Your husband really seems to like Sebastian,” said Ava.

     I stiffened. “Bite your tongue!” I said. “Hiram is my neighbor, not my husband. I’m just here to help him get the dog home.” I didn’t say damn dog, which is what I wanted to say.

     “Oh, sorry,” said Ava, but she didn’t look sorry. She looked pleased. “You just seemed like a couple.”

     Hmm? Could she be interested in Hiram? “I’ll be right back,” I said, wending my way through the cats and out the door.