The Death Date

chapter seventeen

Two weeks of volunteering at the vet was now under my belt. Halloween was today, and the clinic was cluttered with mix-matched pumpkins, black cats, and other festive décor. Pets were brought in for appointments wearing costumes. Only ever having had one dog growing up, but having spent much time walking other people's, I understood the pet subculture well. Dogs were an attachment, much like another limb, one that calmed you after a long day and that we selfishly repaid by dressing up in ridiculous costumes for our holiday amusement.

"Delia, you got Biscuit? He never takes his shots well."

The squirrely Saint Bernard's heart was pounding. Trying my best to calm his nerves and keep him steady, I wrapped my arms around his neck and underbelly, scratching his chest soothingly. Just as Veronica injected the first shot into his backside, I drew his ear close and whispered a series of comforting words. Biscuit jolted but did not break into panic.

Three shots later, I released the panting heap of a dog, offered him an actual biscuit, and patted his rump. Veronica was staring at me.

"What?" I asked.

"Do you believe people were made to do things?" she asked.

"Like what?"

"Like work with domesticated animals in a controlled environment."

I forced a laugh. "I don't think I was made to do anything." Except receive death dates.

Veronica frowned. "That's the saddest thing I think I've ever heard." She turned to the computer. "I don't typically administer shots, you know. Only on high-risk dogs, Biscuit here being one." She began typing. "Technically, I shouldn't have had you helping me with him, but I said screw it. You know why?"

I shrugged and continued rubbing behind Biscuit's ears.

"Because I knew you could do it. I knew you could calm him." She was watching me again, her hands hovering over the keyboard.

"I just held him still."

Veronica chortled. "Well, if that's the case, you're even better suited for this type of work than I thought. Dogs get a sense from people. They know you before you've even had a chance to learn their name. They've got social intelligence, they know a good person from a bad one." She swiveled on her stool. "You can argue that many people are good, which, yes, is true, but not all people have this ability."

"What ability?"

"The one you do. I don't know what it's called, but dogs trust you. They see you."

We held eye contact for a few seconds before Veronica turned to finish typing. The soft clicking seemed to emphasize her words. I had never had an epiphany or whatever it was people got before deciding on their careers. A vision of my future self never came to meet me, and with my lingering death date, the notion seemed even further removed.

I liked dogs, and I could admit I was good with them. The last two weeks had taught me a lot, but what stuck out was the enjoyment I experienced walking through the glass door. I easily fell into a routine, one where I was competent yet challenged. Veronica's words burrowed into my brain.

"You doing anything for Halloween tonight?" she asked, still typing.

I stole a breath. "Yeah, going to a party."

"Fun." More clicking. "Dressing up?"

"Unfortunately." I thumbed back a piece of hair. "What about you?"

She laughed. "Oh, I place a huge bucket of candy on my porch, turn off the lights, get drunk, and scare kids by banging on the front window when they walk up."