Animal Nature

Chapter 3

Shy was grateful to escape high school and get to the animal shelter that afternoon. The part-time job at the animal shelter at least gave her some distraction, and she knew she wouldn't get harassed. Fifteen dog pens would keep her mind off things. The sun slid along the walls of the shelter in its slow descent.

"Hey, Shy, we got a live one comin' in."

Martha's voice boomed off the concrete walls and cement floors. Shy heard it clearly even over the din of dogs barking and cats mewling and that rattling noise the animals made pacing around in their cages. She set the scoop down in the wheelbarrow of kibble and walked into the front office.

"Look at that monster." Martha stood in front of the plate glass window, her stocky body silhouetted against the afternoon sun. Her short blond hair made a halo around her head. Shy touched her own dull brown hair wistfully.

"Just look at it!" Martha repeated, in awe.

Through the reversed letters spelling "Middlebury Animal Shelter," Shy could see the animal Martha was talking about. Three grown men struggled to keep it from lunging at each in turn.

The dog was big, bigger than any dog Shy had ever seen. She had known there were dogs this big—she knew a lot about animals—but those kinds of dogs seemed exclusive to professional breeders and dog shows. No one kept those kinds of dogs as pets. And certainly no one who owned a dog like this would let it run away.

Shy pushed her glasses up her nose and stepped up beside Martha, slouching her tall, lanky body so as not to dwarf her boss. "What kind of dog do you think it is?"

"Wolfhound, at least partially," Martha said. They watched the men wrangling the dog. "Wolfhound" sounded about right to Shy. The only other big dogs she could think of were Newfoundlands and mastiffs, but they didn't look like this one. This one looked like a wolf, a giant wooly wolf. "Never seen one that big, though. Size of a pony."

The dog's gray head came up almost to the shortest man's shoulder. The shortest man, a bald middle-aged guy who dealt with the shelter often, was a couple inches taller than Shyanne.

"The thing looks feral," Martha said. "You'd think they'd have tranqued it."

A horse tranquilizer might have worked on this one, but Shy was sure that the Animal Control Unit didn't carry around horse tranquilizer, unless they were specifically going to pick up a wild horse. "Maybe they did."

The animal and handlers performed a complicated dance, with the dog lunging at each man in turn, and each man darting backwards. Shy could see the dog wasn't trying to bite. It only wanted to escape.

Martha strode over to the main door and opened it, leaving the screen door shut.

"And just what do you expect me to do with that thing?" she called out to the bald man, Bob Hartman. As the head animal control officer, Martha knew Bob well.

"Come on, Marty. We'll get it into the pen for you."

"And after that?"

Bob's head shone with sweat and his voice was edged with impatience. "Can we get it into the pen first?"

Martha raised her eyebrows, pausing before she moved to action. She propped open the screen door and stood back as the men wrestled the animal into the office. Shyanne pressed her back against the wall. She could hear the dogs in the kennel barking and pacing in their cages. They always went crazy when a new animal arrived.

Before the men could force the dog through to the kennel area, the wolfhound dug its paws into the tile floor and sniffed the air. Its eyes met hers.