About Another Hamilton

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 Hamilton came to me via the free local advertiser. Scanning it idly one day I saw an ad which said, “Please Help! I have 31 cats, and need to find good homes.” I called the number, got directions and drove south through various moribund towns and up a dirt road to a run-down farmhouse. As soon as I stopped, I saw them: cats everywhere, cohabiting with a flock of bedraggled chickens in a grassy yard.

 The Cat Lady—I’ll call her “Nancy”--came out and we talked. She’d been working at the Humane Society, but she'd quit because she couldn’t bear the euthanasia of hundreds of animals that was, in those days, part of the weekly routine. She was as thin and tired-looking as her animals. I could see runny noses indicative of the highly contagious Calci virus in almost every cat. My heart sank.

 Even more sadly, most of the cats were wild. They depended upon her for food and sheltered in the tumbledown barn, but they were untouchable.  As she could afford it on a waitressing job, she'd neuter them and get them shots. She’d found a charitable vet who cut prices for her, but her burden appeared insurmountable.

 She and I sat down on the ground and waited. Eventually three scrawny half-grown orange boys drew close. You could actually count their ribs.

 “I call them the Orange Brothers,” Nancy said. “They were almost starved to death when I rescued them.” A veritable herd came in their wake as she opened the 10 lb. bag of kitty food I’d brought as an offering and dumped some on the ground.

 The cats backed off as soon as I tried to touch, so I sat and waited.  One of the Orange Brothers took a few bites of kibble, then came to me. As soon as I began to pet him, gently and carefully, he gave a roaring purr and threw himself into my lap. All was well for about two minutes, and then he bit my arm hard, twisting the skin almost to the breaking point. I didn’t resist. He let go and jumped away, clearly expecting a slap or a shout of protest.

 “He didn’t mean it,” Nancy said. “He wants to be loved, but he gets too excited.”

 I nodded and continued watching.

 A moment later, the bony little tom climbed into my lap again, purring his roaring purr. His fur was dry as straw as a result of malnutrition; his eyes were golden. Long story short, I brought him home, to a house that already had several cats. It took time to get him over the habit of reacting to petting with a bite, but with a lot of affection and enough food, he toned these love bites down to a recognizable level.

 As he was lean and bright orange and I was working on a Revolutionary War novel, I named him Hamilton. That heroic founding father had red hair and a poverty-stricken childhood.

 

Rivington’s (Tory) Gazette printed this snide comment in 1775, when Hamilton was a favorite aide de camp to General Washington:

“Mrs. Washington has a mottled orange tomcat of whom she is so particularly fond, she has named him ‘Hamilton.’ By the flaunting of his tail with the 13 rings around it the Rebels have taken the idea for their flag.”

 The name proved to fit this cat to a "T". Kitty Hamilton was a sensitive soul, and did that tomcat peeing thing whenever he felt anxious or threatened. He was also allergic to that kitty drug of choice, catnip. Until he fattened up, a process which took more than a year, he could not hold his 'nip. If he managed to find some, I soon knew, because he lost control of his limbs, fell down and peed all over himself like an old drunk. I’d have to cradle him and soothe him until he came down, because he cried in fear the whole time. 

 I never did manage to get him to stop marking. Any cat or person passing the house--even an argument with my husband--was liable to set him off. I hadn’t wanted to let him outside, but he made that motherly attempt to protect him impossible. He’d been a free kitty boy for far too long. Like his glorious namesake, he came with a severe case of PTSD which never went away—as well as a determination to be seen as a tomcat’s tomcat, even after neutering.

 

My Hamilton did not die in a duel, like our First Secretary of the Treasury, but he did fight with all challengers at every opportunity, even if he was completely out-matched. He was sometimes beaten up, but he usually attacked outsiders with such berserker rage that they avoided our house like the plague.

 He wanted to seem fearless, but his anxieties continually undermined him. He expressed this by peeing on the refrigerator door, in out-of-the-way corners, and on the backs of upholstered furniture, which I swiftly learned to keep covered with washable throws. Climactically, he slew my original CPU by peeing into the A Drive. A friend of mine said, “If that wasn’t such a nice orange cat--and if his name wasn’t Hamilton--he’d be dead.” My husband heartily agreed, but Hamilton's lover-boy self and willingness to lap sit, his smiling affability and charm aided his survival.

Hamilton always came when his name was called. He greeted my husband when he returned from work, with a raised head for a kiss, a motoring purr, waving that proud, banner-like tail. He slept in our bed, curled around my head in winter, a living, purring hat. He helped me write any number of books, lying beside--and, when he was fed up with "that damned typing" by standing in front of--my monitor.  He lived to be fourteen, and is buried with other cats of blessed memory in the feline necropolis beneath our Chinkopin tree.   

                           

                         

~~Juliet Waldron

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A little Sneak Peak by Nancy M Bell

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I've been working on the next book in The Alberta Adventures series. It's working title is Dead Dogs Talk. Where Wild Horse Rescue centres around the wild horses in Alberta, Dead Dogs Talk will centre on the horrendous practice of dog fighting and puppy mills. Often the two go hand in hand. I thought I would whet your whistle so to speak and share the first bit of Dead Dogs Talk with you.

Dead Dogs Talk
©Nancy M Bell 2020

Laurel surveyed the buckskin prairie rolling away from her toward the purple hued Rockies in the distance. She inhaled the familiar scent of dry grain stubble and dust with underlying notes of cool brought on the wind from the west.
“I know it sounds lame, but have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” Laurel turned and spoke to Carly, her best friend.
“I love this time of year. The sky is just so…so…blue and the aspens are all turning gold.” Carly nudged her mare up beside Laurel’s Sam, the saddle leather creaking as she shifted her weight.
Laurel grinned at her. “Let ride down by the river under the trees, the sun’s just about the right angle to turn those leaves all gold and sunstruck.”
The girls turned the horses away from the harvested barley field and followed the worn path along a fence line toward the coulee. The track snaked around and followed the gravel range road before detouring around a stand of aspen crowding the fence near the road. Laurel turned Sam toward the path that dipped down the slope of the coulee.
“Hey, Laurel, wait up!”
Laurel pulled up and twisted in the saddle to see what was holding Carly up. “What’s wrong?” She pivoted Sam on the narrow trail and moved back to where Carly was sitting motionless. “What? You okay?” Laurel drew even with her friend and let Sam halt beside the mare.
“Look…” Carly motioned toward the aspens and low bushes. “Is that what I think it is?” her voice choked off.
“I don’t see…” Laurel nudged Sam a few steps closer and leaned down trying to see what was upsetting Carly. “Oh my God!” She piled off her horse, dropping the reins to ground-tie the gelding. Shoving her way through the tangled bushes, she halted by a bent aspen tree. Tied by its neck to the lowest branch was a brindle dog. Blinking back tears, Laurel reached in her jacket pocket and pulled out her jack knife. Muttering words her father would frown at, she started to saw at the thick rope.
“Who would do something like this?” Carly’s voice trembled as she pushed through the long grass and brush. “The poor thing, I hope it didn’t suffer.” She stuffed a hand against her mouth.
The dog’s head flopped to the side when the rope finally parted, and the limp body collapsed onto the trodden grass. Laurel dropped to her knees and began working at loosening the noose around the thick neck.
“It’s dead, Laurel. What are you doing? Let’s go, we should tell someone. What if whoever did this comes back?” Carly started edging back toward the horses.
“I don’t care! The least we can do is take this damned rope off her.” She pulled the noose free and sat back on her heels. “Poor baby. Look at the scars on her face, and the wounds all over her. Makes me so mad I could just spit.”
“Shit!” The limp body gave a shuddering convulsion and the unfocussed eyes fluttered. Laurel scrambled backward. “Carly, she’s alive! The dog is still alive. Come help me.”
“We should go and get help, Laurel. What if the thing is vicious? Or has rabies?” Carly hesitated at the edge of the trees.
“We can’t leave her like this. She might run off before we can get back once she’s recovered a bit. She needs a vet. And we need to take pictures of everything. Damn, I should have thought of that before I touched anything.” Laurel pulled her phone out of her pocket and took pictures of the rope and the dog and the area while keeping an eye on the dog who panted in rasping breaths. “Keep breathing, girl. Keep breathing.” She edged closed to the dog, reached out cautiously and straightened out a front leg that was twisted under a broken tree limb. The dog lifted her head and Laurel froze with her hand still on the leg.
“Get back!” Carly’s voice was shrill.
“It’s fine, she’s not even growling. I think she’s too weak to do much more than lie there.”
“Now what do we do? It’s getting late, you know. Look at the sun.” Carly waved an arm toward the western horizon where the sun hovered a hand’s width above the shorn barley.
“Call Chance. He can bring the truck.” Laurel released the dog’s leg and stood up.
“I don’t know if he’ll even come,” Carly was doubtful. “You know how he gets.”
“Call him, will you? I’m going to call Dr. Sam and let him know we’re bringing in an injured dog.” Laurel scrolled through her phone to the vet’s number. She glanced at Carly and scowled. “Call your damn brother, Carly. If he says no, we’ll figure something else out. He can’t bite you over the phone.”
“Hi Marg,” she responded when the vet’s receptionist picked up the phone. “It’s Laurel Rowan. I’ve got an injured dog that’s in pretty bad shape here.” She paused to listen. “No, no, not one of mine. Carly and I found this dog while we were out riding. It’s in pretty bad shape, she was tied to a tree, half strangled and looks like she’s been in a fight. What? No, there’s no one around that we saw. As soon as we can get a ride, I’ll bring her in. Thanks.” Laurel ended the call and shoved the phone back in her pocket.
“Chance is coming.” Carly joined her under the aspens.
“Good. Hey, did you bring any water? I bet she’s dehydrated.” Laurel squatted beside the dog again and reached out a hand. When the big dog did nothing more than roll an eye toward her, she stroked the dog’s shoulder. Running her hand gently over the ribs and down her spine, Laurel’s gut clenched. Her exploring fingers found bumps and contusions, along with matted blood and open wounds. “Hey baby girl, it’s okay now. We got you,” she murmured.
“Here.” Carly shoved a half full bottle of water at Laurel. “It’s all I’ve got on me.” She hesitated before kneeling beside Laurel. “How bad is it?”
“Bad enough. Looks like someone beat the crap out of her before they dumped her here.”
The growl of tires on the gravel heralded an approaching vehicle. Laurel glanced through the trees toward the road. “Is it Chance? Stay down, Carly, until we’re sure it’s him.”
“Oh God! You don’t think whoever did this would come back, do you? What about the horses? Anybody could see them from the road…” Carly turned pale.
“Don’t freak out on me, now. Just stay in the trees until we’re sure it’s Chance. I don’t think whoever did this cares enough to show up again.”
The crunch of tires on gravel slowed and a beat up brown pickup slowed to a halt where the horses stood ground-tied on the opposite side of the fence.
“Carly? Laurie? Where the hell are you?” Chance stepped out of the truck, sounding annoyed.
“Here!” Carly pushed through the trees toward her brother. “The dog’s in the bushes here. It’s too heavy for us to move. Laurel’s with her.”
Chance reached inside the truck and killed the engine before he stalked down the ditch and swung a long leg over the top strand of barb wire. He followed his sister through the low brush and halted beside Laurel.
“What a shittin’ mess. You sure it’s alive?” He nudged the dog with is boot.


Well, that's as much as I'm going to share for now. You can find me at www.nancymbell.ca AuthorNancyMBell on Facebook and on the BWL Publishing Inc webpage.
Until next month, stay well, stay happy

Time to Lighten Up (And Tell a Cat story)

Transport to Fort Providence residential school is only the beginning of their ordeal, for the teachers believe it is their sworn duty to “kill the Indian inside.” All attempts at escape are severely punished, but Yaotl and Sascho, along with two others, will try, undertaking a journey of 900 kilometers across the Northwest Territory. Like wild geese, brave hearts together, they are homeward bound.

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Okay, this is a cat and cat "owner" story. I'm in  need of some relief from increasingly Dystopian reality. Maybe you are too.

We recently acquired a new cat. "Willeford" (who came up with that?!) is a used cat, so, as they say about cars, he's only new to us.  He arrived from a kill shelter in a nearby county, a nondescript gray tiger, eight years old and all busted up and weak on the back end.

Yes, not only is he an elder cat, but he's also a "busted" cat. When we first got him, he couldn't even uncurl his tail. He could take zero pressure from a hand gently stroking his hips without sinking to the ground. He's gaining strength after these months of happy release from the rescue cage in which we found him. Someone may have stepped on him, as he's one of those cats who imagines his people can see in the dark. I've narrowly avoided falling over or stepping on him quite a few times in the last months.

At our house, he's been able to run up and down stairs for therapy, to leap onto beds and chairs and cat furniture for cuddling and combing. His injuries no longer preclude his jumping onto the kitchen counter to demand a faucet water drink, or, his personal favorite, a glass filled to the brim with water set beside us on a desk or table for our convenience--at least that was the original plan.

Willeford has turned mostly into William, or Willy. When he's a real sweetie, it's WILL-YUM-YUM, or just YUM, for short. Cat names often start out grandly, but, I've found, quickly morph. We once had an elegant feisty black female named "Bast-Ra" but that eventually became what our youngest child could pronounce at the time, which was "Bap."  "Bap" it remained, even after he could say Mom's fancy original.

Willy came with more than a few unusual feline behaviors we've never coped with before. For one thing, at first he was super needy. I spent the first few hours he was home, lying in bed with him where he hugged and kissed and rolled all over me, all while purring and drooling like a mad kitty. He non-stop kneaded any body part he could reach. I stayed because I didn't want to leave him in such a state, so I was just a quiet cat mom for him until his anxiety wound down.

He spent the night with me and for most nights following, though I can't say either of us got much sleep, as he spent the time crawling all over me and purring. His favorite resting place, because I am a back sleeper, was on top of my face, chest down and with his cat "elbows" digging into my neck, so that eventually my throat would close. Then I'd  choke and have to push him away. I've tried all sorts of strategies to get him to accept other more acceptable (to me) sleeping positions, but it's literally taken months to get him sufficiently relaxed in order to do so. Now, we share a pillow, though I have to be firm in order to keep enough to accommodate my skull. Even now, sometimes, he'll wrap his kitty arms around my head and then drag the rest of his body close into a wrap-around. It's like a fur "face-hugger" and the mental image is not pleasant.

Big Feet

 Almost a year in and his behavior is slowly changing. Some time in the summer, he made a decision to decamp to some spot more distant, perhaps onto the foot of the bed, or into bed with my husband whose larger frame accommodates his weight and sharp elbows better. It gives us both a breather, although I have to admit to liking the creature comfort of a cat pressed against the torso on cold nights.

We have no idea what went on with his last human, but, as Willy'd arrived at the shelter starved and "from the streets,"we came to believe that his person had died and that he'd been summarily cast out to fend for himself. No wonder all the anxiety, poor guy!

Willy remains an early to bed type of cat. That is, initially, at 7:30, he started calling and then leading us toward the stairs, clear as anything saying "Time for bed."  My husband jokingly remarked that was the time when Jeopardy(c) ended, a classic bedtime for the senior senior. (Yes, I meant to say "senior" twice.)

He likes to play, but he's rough and isn't always careful with his claws or his teeth. At first my legs and arms were covered with scratches and puncture marks too from Sorry! OOPS! I-lost-my-head-for-a-minute bites. Our other (also crazy) cat really doesn't get him at all, and she gets scared and won't play chase as he would like, so now and then he bullies her because it's the single fun feline interaction he can get.

Sometimes I wonder if we should get another younger cat which could possibly break up their negative game by the addition of a third player. Another cat might provide  a playmate for the energetic Yum. Should we do it? But as every cat mom knows, #1 there's a husband problem to be solved even before the inter-cat relationships can be solved. 

Our family has managed as many as five kitties at a time and done a decent job, but we're not getting any younger or any richer, and taking proper care of animal companions requires funds as well as love/time. We're approaching the end of the trail here, and the last thing any elder pet "owner" wants to imagine is that their beloved friends will be cast onto the street as Willeford was.




 ~~Juliet Waldron

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The Esteemed Right Worshipful Prioress S.R.D. meets Willeford.

Happy Holidays and Greetings of the Season by Nancy M Bell

Christmas Storm (also published as Storm's Refuge) Click on the cover to find the buy links.

All Michelle wants for Christmas is peace of mind. The only thing bigger than the storm in her heart is the blizzard raging across the Alberta prairie outside her window. Finding an injured stray dog is the last thing she needs. Add to the mix the handsome new vet who is taking over her beloved Doc’s practice and peace of mind is not in the picture. Cale Benjamin is too nice to be for real. Michelle is still smarting from being jilted by her high school sweetheart fiancé and not in the mood to trust any man, let alone one as drop dead gorgeous as Dr. Cale Benjamin DVM. The injured stray, Storm, keeps putting Michelle in Cale’s path whether she likes it or no. She is distressed to find that the handsome young vet is sliding past her carefully erected defenses and into her heart. A few well placed nudges from Doc’s match maker wife, Mary, help the young doctor’s cause, but will it be enough to make the lady rancher allow him into her life?

As a Christmas treat I'd like to share a short story I wrote quite a while ago that has never found a home. It is a work of fiction but rooted in the experiences I've had working with rescuing animals and working with an accredited animal rescue, It's called Snow Moon and there really was a Snow, although I knew her as Lily. It's a little over 5,000 words.
I hope you enjoy. Wishing you the very best that 2018 has to offer. May your year be Merry and Bright.

This is Lily after she was adopted. She enjoys the good life now. Here she is on her own island near Victoria. She's come a long way, baby.


Snow Moon
Nancy M Bell © 2017

Sap snapped in the thin branches overhead. Frigid Arctic air froze the tiny trickle of life beneath the bark. Black shadows snaked across the moonlit snow at Sydney’s feet. Above the frost-bound prairie the brilliant orb of the full moon shed silvery light, which hid more than it illuminated.
Dry snow squeaked beneath her boots as she pushed further into the thicket. Ice formed on her lashes from her tearing eyes, the sides of her nostrils sticking together when she inhaled the minus thirty degree air. A small shape lay in a blue-shadowed hollow under the bush to her right. Sydney leaned down and scooped up the brown sparrow in her palm. She deposited the bird in the inner pocket of her down jacket and hastily zipped it back up. The poor thing might be dead already, or only fallen out of the tree overcome by the cold. If it was frozen it wouldn’t hurt to carry it, and if it still had a shot at living, the warmth from her body would give it a chance to survive.
She must be crazy to be out here in the middle of the night. The stars wavered starkly in the clear sable sky. There was no cloud cover to act as insulation and hold a tiny bit of warmth near the ground. It was too cold to snow.
The woman backed out of the tangled web of diamond willow and dogwood and turned to scan the undulating prairie to the west. The sound of snow creaking underfoot carried clearly across the frozen expanse. Sydney took a step back into the shadow of the thicket and held her breath. The beating of her heart seemed to echo in silence, the footsteps came nearer and she cursed herself for being a fool. Her trail was sharply etched in the blue silver snow, leading whoever it was straight to where she lurked in the low trees.
Eyes narrowed against the cold, she peered through the screen of interlaced twigs before her. Without warning someone grasped her shoulder from behind. Her hand raised to strike if need be she whirled to face the heavily muffled figure.
“Sydney, for God’s sake what are doing out here?” Sam’s voice was incredulous and angry at the same time. “I thought you were a poacher after the deer.”
White mist frosted the air between them when she released a huge breath of relief. She shivered and moved further into the bushes to avoid the slight breath of wind that touched her face with a searing icy sword.
“Millie called. Said James threw the white dog out of the shed to make room for his snowmobile.” She coughed, her throat protesting the cold air.
“So you’re out here because…? The dog will find somewhere to hole up.” Sam took her elbow and drew her toward the road where her car waited.
Sydney dug her heels in and pulled him to a halt. “Snow is pregnant, due any day. She’ll freeze, and if she doesn’t, the puppies will when she whelps. The front isn’t supposed to move for at least a week.” She gripped his arm and stared into his eyes that glittered black in the moonlight. “You know what’ll happen…”
“Yup.” He grunted. “Where have you looked already?” A resigned smile lifted the corners of his mouth.
“Just this clump of bushes and a bit near Millie’s.”
“I saw your car parked there twenty minutes ago. It’s too cold to stay out here much longer.” Hard fingers gripped her arm and Sam dragged her toward the road.
“But, Snow…” The words trailed off, her fingers wouldn’t work properly and she pawed ineffectually at her scarf.
“We’ll find the damn dog, I’d just rather not freeze to death before we do,” he muttered and continued toward the parked vehicle.
Sydney followed reluctantly, the snow was half way to her knees and her legs wouldn’t co-operate. Sam stopped abruptly and swung her up into his arms. She let out a squeak of surprise although she didn’t struggle. Maybe she had stayed out a tad too long.
He set her on the ground when they reached the car and held out his hand for her keys. She fumbled at the dome on her pocket. With a muttered oath, the man shoved her fingers away and delved into the pocket himself. Tiny fissions of tension raced across her skin when his searching hand rubbed against her hipbone. She drew in a quick breath and ignored Sam’s questioning look. The hand withdrew and he turned his back to open the door.
Sydney crawled awkwardly onto the seat. The earlier pain in her hands and lower body was gone. Idly, the thought crossed her mind she should be worried about that fact. Sam’s presence filled the car and made it seem small. He inserted the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life.
“Thank God, you have the sense to come out here with a full tank of fuel,” he said.
From a distance she heard him curse again and then put the car in gear. He backed out of the gateway and headed toward his house.
“Snow, we didn’t find Snow yet,” Sydney’s words came out all jumbled. “Snow,” she tried again. When he didn’t pause she knocked the steering wheel with her hands.
“Stop, for God’s sake, woman,” Sam growled. “We’ll find the dog, but not before you get warm. The car won’t warm up fast enough and you’re already hypothermic.”
“You promise we’ll go look for her after I thaw out?” Moonlight threw his features into stark relief when she turned her head to gauge if he was telling the truth.
“Promise. You won’t do the dog any good if you’re face down in a drift. Nobody would find you ‘til spring and by then the coyotes will have had a good feed,” his voice was gruff.
“You’d find me,” Sydney muttered. “You did find me.”
“Try asking for help sometimes, woman. Before you go haring off across the prairie in weather like this,” his voice softened. “You know I always have time to help out. I got an injured dog at the house right now.”
“Which dog?” Sydney perked up.
“The big shepherd that was hanging out at the casino. Jason shot him ‘cause they couldn’t catch him and he wouldn’t scat.”
“Harvey? They shot Harvey?” her voice sharpened and sorrow gathered in her chest. “How bad is it?”
“Caught him in the shoulder; hit the bone but I don’t think it broke anything.”
Sam brought her car to a halt by the back door of his house. He threw it into park and got out. Snow squealed under his feet as he came around to Sydney’s door and pulled it open. She attempted to get out, but Sam leaned down and picked her up. Kicking the door shut with his foot he carried her toward the house.
Sydney closed her eyes and buried her face in his shoulder. The insides of her eyelids were cold and her eyes watered. Could eyes freeze, she wondered aimlessly before her thoughts skittered away. The mudroom was blessedly warm when Sam shouldered their way through the entry. Without stopping he continued on into the kitchen, pushing the adjoining door open and then closed with his foot.
Her face burned in the heated air and she raised a hand to rub her cheeks as he set her on a wing chair near the wood stove. Sam caught her hand.
“Don’t touch your face ‘til it warms up some. You got a bit of frostbite but it should be okay if you don’t rub it.” He waited until she nodded before releasing her hand.
“Where’s Harvey?” Sydney managed to remove her mitts and scarf, her face burned and itched and she needed something to distract her from the discomfort of her warming body. A tail thumped on the floor behind her.
“Right here, he’s coming along pretty good.” Sam poured hot water from the kettle over a tea bag in the cup in his hand.
She had been too focussed on her discomfort to realize what he was doing before. Sydney wrapped her chilled hands around the warm pottery, closing her eyes against the sharp tingling in her fingers. A chair scraped and the table moved slightly as Sam sat across from her. She opened her eyes and wiped the moisture from her cheeks. It annoyed her when cold made her eyes water. She reached inside her jacket and pulled out the little bird. It stirred in her hand and she smiled at Sam.
“Where’d you get that?” he asked.
“Found it under a bush, maybe it’ll be okay. At least it has a chance now,” she replied.
He took the tiny body from her palm, placed it in a small cage and set it near the stove.
Harvey thumped his tail on the floor again and Sam offered the dog a biscuit from the jar on the table. The big shepherd eyed it for a moment, sniffed it suspiciously and then taking it carefully in his mouth, spat it out onto the cushioned bed he lay on to inspect it. Satisfied nothing was amiss, he wolfed it down in one gulp.
“Aye, you should chew, man.” Amusement coloured Sam’s voice.
Sydney slipped from her seat and knelt beside the large tri-coloured animal. The top of his huge wedge-shaped head was bigger than her hand. She ran her fingers behind his ear and scratched before sliding down to inspect the shoulder. There was some swelling around the bandage, but no blood marred the covering. Bending close she sniffed and was relieved at the absence of the sickly sweet smell of pus and infection.
Sam knelt beside her, his presence somehow warm and comforting. Gentle hands loosened the dressing and pulled it away. The bullet hole was clean, a round gaping hole in the patch of shaved hide. The edges of the wound were bright red, seeping a little blood and clear serum.
“Is the bullet out?” Sydney accepted the cloth soaked in antiseptic and wiped the site before handing it back and taking the tube of antibiotic cream. Her fingers touched Sam’s and she was surprised by the surge of electricity it generated. Must be the frostbite. With swift, sure movements she coated the area with the ointment and handed the tube back to him. She wiped her hands on a towel laid nearby for that purpose, and sat back to let Sam put a new dressing on.
“Yeah, it hit the bone and didn’t get into the muscle so it came out easy enough. Bruised the bone some though.”
“Did you talk to the vet over at Eagle Mountain?
Worry creased her forehead. Harvey was a stray, a rez dingo, belonging to no one. When they were injured, they either lived or died without assistance. Vets were expensive and besides, most of the feral dogs were incredibly hard to catch. She’d been trying to convince Harvey for six months that he would be better off if he let her catch him and find him a forever home.
“I called Dr. Carl, he gave me some penicillin and checked the wound after I got the lead out,” Sam reassured her.
“Sure wouldn’t kill them to do some pro bono work, but I guess they gotta make a living too.” Sydney tried to keep the annoyance from her voice.
A gust of wind hit the window with a bang, windblown snow hissed and whispered around the eaves. She stood up and reached for her mitts.
“I’m warm now, we gotta find Snow. If she whelps with this wind the poor things will freeze before they get all the way born.” Sydney wound her scarf around her head while she spoke. Her thoughts involuntarily straying to the litter she found earlier in the week. The momma’s teats were frostbitten, three puppies were barely alive and three more were frozen to the side of the makeshift dog house. Not Snow’s puppies, she vowed.
“Hang on, I’ll call Millie and see if she’s seen her,” the big man offered.
“Let’s hope,” she agreed without much enthusiasm, although she supposed she should be grateful the woman called her at all.
Sam’s voice rumbled as he conversed on the phone in the other room. He entered the kitchen and snapped his cell phone closed. He set a bowl of food in front of Harvey and gave him quick pat on the head.
“Be good and don’t wreck the place while I’m gone,” he joked. “Millie said she didn’t think the dog would go far. James has been trying to run her off for weeks now and she keeps coming back.”
“Maybe she’s holed up around the buildings somewhere. I did look there at first, but James scares the crap out of me at night. When’s he’s drinking he’ll shoot at anything,” Sydney spoke over her shoulder as they left the building.
“Jay ain’t a bad guy, Sydney. He just gets a little trigger happy when he’s drunk,” Sam defended the old man.
“Yeah well, it’s just I prefer my hide without holes in it, if you don’t mind,” she replied tartly.
“And such a pretty hide it is, too,” Sam muttered almost too low for her to make out the words.
She stopped dead by his truck and he bumped into her. She turned abruptly and looked up at him.
“What did you say?”
She cursed silently when her words came out high and thin. Tiny white spheres of the moon’s reflection flared in the ebony depths of his eyes. Mesmerized for a moment by the flickering image, she caught her breath as he leaned toward her. Warmth wafted over her cheek and then he pulled the door open and gave her a tiny shove. The spell effectively broken, Sydney got in and fastened her seatbelt while Sam shut the door.
“I said you had a pretty hide.” His expression was unreadable in the shadow of the vehicle as he slid into the driver seat. He had left her vehicle running so it would be warm when she had to leave. The exhaust rose in a vertical plume toward the star specked sky.
She bit her lip and gazed at the moonlit night. Snow squealed under the tires as Sam put the truck in gear and drove out the lane. Millie and James’ place was a quarter mile down the gravel road. Wild yipping and drawn out high pitched howls echoed in the air. The wind blew fitfully; throwing eddies and snow devils across the fields before dying into silence.
“Sounds like the ‘yotes have got a kill,” Sam observed.
“Let’s hope it isn’t Snow,” Sydney said grimly.
He turned the truck into the narrow rutted lane with diamond willow and caragana brush crowding the sides. Lights were on in the house at the top of the high centred drive. There was no use in asking for help. Millie wouldn’t have let her husband know she talked to Sam about the dog. Sam parked in the shadow of the old barn. The structure tilted drunkenly to the southeast, bent that way by the strong Chinook winds that came out of the west and the brutal north wind of winters past.
Sydney left the truck, careful not to slam the door. No need to have anyone out here wondering why they were scrounging around in the sheds. The truck was running for warmth, but the lights were out. She hoped the whine of the wind would hide the sound of the motor. Rusty hinges squealed shrilly when Sam pulled the door open. Old machinery and junk littered the interior. Moonlight fell in irregular stripes across the mess.
“Snow, there’s a good girl, are you here?” Sam called his breath ghosting around his head in the frigid air.
“Snow, where’s my girl,” Sydney entreated.
They stood in silence, holding their breath in order to hear the slightest shuffle or movement. Only the scurry of tiny mice feet greeted them.
“She’s not here. She always comes to me,” Sydney said.
They left the building, shoving the door shut behind them. Two granaries stood behind the barn and some old truck caps were strewn about under the winter-bare aspen trees. Sam moved to check beneath the caps where the feral dogs often took refuge. Sydney checked both granaries, the doors flapping slightly in the wind. The first one held nothing more than the leg bone of a moose, gnawed on and discarded by whichever dog had dragged it there. The second was empty as well. She glanced toward Sam who straightened up from the cap he was peering into and shook his head.
“Damn,” she cursed. Her fingers were freezing again, the tips already dead to the touch. She closed her eyes for a moment and held her breath. Who would have ever guessed that breathing could sound so loud in the silence? She detected nothing beyond the rustle of the few dead leaves still clinging to the bare branches and the sibilant sound of snow slipping across the frozen surface on the wind’s breath.
Sam moved toward her. She opened her eyes at the sound of his footsteps. He nodded at some buildings closer to the house and held his finger to his lips. He took the lead and Sydney followed in his wake. The first was an abandoned outhouse, thankfully empty.
A door banged, the noise echoing sharply in the stillness. Sam grabbed her arm and pulled her into the shadow of the building. The hens in the coop near the house raised an alarm, screeching and flapping their wings loudly. A man’s voice cut through the cacophony, followed by the report of a gun. The hens fell silent and four dark shapes raced across the moonlit snow behind the coop.
“Damn coyotes,” the man cursed and fired another round of buckshot after them. The throaty roar of the shotgun vibrated in the night.
Footsteps crunched across the broken snow by the house and then the door slammed shut.
The shed that housed the snow machine was closer to the house, not far from the chicken coop. The hens settled down in a few minutes, which was a very good thing. Sydney’s feet were rapidly growing dangerously cold again. Moving quietly, she followed Sam toward the shed. He pulled the broken door open slightly and slid through. Sydney moved on, reluctant to take the chance of being caught in the building. She checked the leeward side of the structure instead, searching behind the boards and piles of junk leaning against it.
Desperation drove her out into the light on the side closest the house. As she worked her way to the back end a small noise caught her attention. She dropped to her knees and dug under an old sofa covered with a tarp.
“Snow,” she whispered. “Good girl, are you here, dog?”
An almost inaudible whine came from deeper under the tarp. Sydney wriggled further into the opening. It was a good thing it was winter, the stench of the animal was horrible even in the cold. In the summer the fetid odour was nauseating. It took two baths and ten days of decent food to get the stink off the dogs she rescued.
Screwing her courage, she stretched her hand out toward the sound, hoping it wasn’t a coyote or a dog she didn’t know who was hidden there. Her reaching fingers encountered something solid. Investigating with her hand she identified a leg and a paw.
“Snow, c’mon girl. Come toward me,” she pleaded.
She took hold of the two paws she could reach and pulled gently. The dog grunted but made no move to bite her. The cold body slid toward her and she realized she had the hind feet. Sydney passed her hand over the area under the dog’s tail and inspected her mitt in the dim light. It was dark with fluid of some sort, but it was hard to tell what in the darkness. She pulled again and the dog scrabbled with her front paws, pushing backward toward Sydney.
“Sydney, where are you?” Sam whispered harshly from somewhere nearby.
“Here, under the tarp on this gross sofa,” she whispered back.
“Did you find her, then?”
“I found somebody, I’ve got her back end and it’s too dark to tell who it is,” Sydney replied.
“Can you manage?”
“I think so. I’ve almost got her free. She crawled down into the springs.”
She wriggled further out from under the crackling tarp and heaved the dog toward her. Whatever had been impeding the progress before let go abruptly and Sydney fell on her back, the dog clutched in her arms. The dog was white and still very pregnant. Clumsily she stroked Snow’s head. The dog opened her eyes wearily and then closed them again.
Sam leaned down and lifted the heavy weight from her chest. He cradled the animal, opened his jacket and wrapped it around the cold creature. Sydney scrambled to her feet and ran ahead of him to open the back door of the truck. Welcome heat fanned across her skin as she flung it wide. Sam was only seconds behind her and deposited his burden on the backseat. He paused to examine her and then shut the door.
“She hasn’t whelped yet, so we don’t have to go crawl back in there looking for puppies,” he informed her.
“Thank God for that, it was not high on my list of things I want to do right now.” She sighed in relief.
She climbed into the passenger side and was barely seated before Sam had the truck in gear and rolling down the lane with the lights still out. Once they reached the road, he flicked the headlamps on and pressed the accelerator.
Minutes later he turned into his drive and stopped by the back door. Snow lifted her head from the seat and curled her lip. Apparently, that took far too much effort and she dropped her head back onto her paws.
Sam opened the door and scooped the dog up in one movement. Sydney jumped down and ran ahead to open the door to the house. She hurried back to the truck, killed the ignition and slammed the door. Returning to the house, she closed the outer and inner doors and followed Sam into the kitchen. Harvey scrabbled to his feet, a growl building in his chest. The man placed the white dog on a heap of pillows near the stove.
“Hush now, you,” he admonished the big shepherd. “It’s Snow, you fool. These are probably your puppies in her belly.”
Sydney knelt beside them and ran her hand over the distended abdomen. Muscle rippled under her hand as the dog raised her head. Sam carefully tended to the frostbite on the pads of all four feet. Harvey stuck his head between the humans and inspected Snow. Apparently satisfied she was a pack mate he hobbled back to his bed where he lay down with a grunt.
“The puppies are ready to come,” Sydney spoke in a low voice.
“Cover her with this.” Sam handed her a blanket he had warmed in the oven. “She’s just about frozen stiff, poor beast.”
Sydney covered the dog as shivers shook the emaciated body. She tucked the thick blanket over the frozen ears leaving only Snow’s muzzle sticking out. The tiny sparrow in the cage was awake, although it still had its feathers fluffed out. Sydney rose and fetched a small bowl of warm water and placed it beside the tiny bird. It dipped its bill in a few times and then tucked its head under a wing.
Snow grunted and her body convulsed, the sharp smell of blood and amniotic fluid rose from under the blanket. Sam flipped the material off the dog’s hind end. The first baby slithered into his hands without incident. Sydney slid a thick pad of warmed towels under it. Four more followed in quick order, Snow lay still, her sides heaving. Sydney exchanged a worried look with Sam and moved the puppies to her head. Snow licked them and nudged them toward her teats.
Gusts of wind shook the small house. Sydney placed the sixth puppy with its mates close against Snow’s side, warm and snug under the blanket.
“This is one litter that won’t freeze to death,” she said grimly. “You can only save one at time, Sydney. Don’t eat your heart out over things you can’t change. Be happy we found this dog in time.” Sam held her gaze with his and squeezed her hand.
“I know you’re right, it’s just hard.” Sydney swallowed hard and managed a small smile.
The white dog continued to pant and pawed at her frozen ears. Sam and Sydney towel-dried the pups and placed them with their mother. The squirming mass of tiny bodies burrowed into the soft underbelly searching instinctively for the milk engorged teats.
“It’s a miracle she has any milk at all considering how skinny she is,” Sydney murmured.
“You know how it is; they give what they have to the babies and survive themselves on the little that’s left.” Sam smoothed Harvey’s head. The big shepherd sat on his haunches beside him overseeing the birth.
She rose to her feet and opened a can of dog food she found on the counter. Emptying it into a bowl, Sydney mixed in some warm water and bits of liver from a container nearby. Harvey lumbered upright, his tail waving like a plume, a doggy smile on his face.
“Not for you, bud.” She moved past him and set the dish by Snow’s head. The dog’s tail thumped the floor under the blanket as she bolted the food without pausing to chew. Harvey sat down with a sigh and whined deep in his throat.
“I know, man, I promised that liver to you didn’t I?” Sam laughed. “You know these women, they just take over…”
His voice trailed off when Sydney clouted him on the shoulder.
“Watch it, you,” she admonished him.
A fresh salvo of blowing snow rattled the window pane and the large spruce trees around the house soughed louder with the increasing intensity of the wind.
“Sounds like the wind is picking up, I should go while the roads are still passable. They’re gonna drift in pretty quick if this keeps up.” She swiped the hair out of her face and got to her feet. Her gaze fell on the tiny fluff of feathers huddled in the bottom of the cage by the stove. “What should we do with the bird, do you want me to take it with me?”
“No, leave it here. Once the weather warms up I’ll take it out to the place you found it and let it go.” Sam stood up too, he raised his arms over his head and stretched. “Man, I am getting too old for sitting on the hard floor in the middle of the night.”
“You’re younger than me so quit your belly aching,” she scolded him.
“Only by two days, woman. Don’t go all motherly on me now.”
She turned toward him, hesitating to speak the words that trembled on her tongue. Shaking her head she smiled instead. “Not much chance of that, Sam. You’re way past needing me to mother you.”
“Want some coffee before you head out?” He moved to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup. Glancing behind him he waved an empty mug in her direction.
“Can you make it to go? I want to get moving while I still can.” She cast a worried look out the frosty window.
“Why don’t you drink this and I’ll go check the road at the top of the drive and see how drifted it is.” Sam set the coffee on the table and pressed her into a chair. He drew on his heavy parka and stamped into his snow boots.
A cold draft swirled around her ankles when he left the kitchen. Sydney wrapped her still cold hands around the warm mug and relished the sweet creamy taste of the hot coffee as it warmed her from the inside. Harvey laid his head on her lap and she fed him a dog cookie from the jar on the table. Moments later the door rattled and Sam swept in along with a rush of frigid wind. He removed his gloves and clapped them against each other to knock off the crusted snow.
“The road is drifted two feet deep from the end of the drive all the way to the corner.” He removed his coat and hung it by the door.
Sydney got to her feet and looked out the window. The long drive appeared fairly clear, with only a skiff of snow covering it as it wound between the swaying spruce trees. “Doesn’t look that bad from here. I think I can make it back home.” She set her cup on the table and started to wind a scarf around her head. The clink of metal hitting the table brought her gaze to Sam’s face.
“I turned your car off. The trees are blocking the snow along the driveway, once you get out past the shelterbelt the drifts are up to your knees and getting worse.”
She picked up the keys and shifted them from one hand to the other with indecision. She really needed to leave, but the thought of fighting the drifts and getting stuck on the road in the freezing night was daunting. As she hesitated, the lights flickered twice and then went out. Somewhere in the dark Sam chuckled. Wavering lamp light followed the scrape of a match and he set the oil lamp on the table.
“You gotta stay and keep me company, now. I’m gonna bring more wood in from the shed. Can you fill Gramma’s old kettle and put it on the stove? We can have instant coffee at least, or there’s some hot chocolate powder in the cupboard.” The door slammed on the last of his words.
Sydney did as he asked and then pulled the sofa closer to the stove. She pulled some wool blankets and a couple of quilts from the blanket box next to the wall and spread them over the sofa to warm. Sinking down beside Snow and the puppies she caressed the dog’s head and examined her ears. The dog whined softly as she touched the tender flesh. It looked like some of the edges might slough off, but most of the ears would be saved. Lifting the blanket, Sydney checked on the sleeping babies. All seemed fine, the little bellies rounded and full. She wrinkled her nose at the ripe odour emanating from under the cover.
“You are getting a bath first thing tomorrow, missy. You reek,” she told the white dog.
Sam came in and deposited a load of wood in the box by the fire. “That should do us for the night,” he said before stripping off his outer clothes. Opening the stove he added another log and then moved to the fireplace on the other side of the room. Soon, he had a fire blazing in the hearth and the temperature in the room rose noticeably. He settled on the sofa and pulled a wool blanket around himself. He reached down and took Sydney’s hand pulling her up on the cushion beside him.
“Just like when we camped out when we were kids,” he said softly.
“It’s been a long time since we were kids, Sam,” she reminded him.
Smiling, he enfolded her in his blanket, pulling her body against his solid warmth. With his other hand he spread more blankets over them.
Harvey heaved himself up next to them, his head resting on her thigh. With a huge sigh he closed his eyes and burrowed into the covers. Sydney’s eyes wouldn’t stay open, no matter how hard she tried. The heat was welcome after being so cold earlier. Even if the roads were open, she was too tired to drive home. Her head tipped sideways and she stopped trying to hold it upright. Her cheek fit snuggly into Sam’s shoulder. His hand stroked her hair before he rested his chin on the top of her head.
“This is nicer than being snowed in alone; that’s for sure,” Sam murmured.
“Better than being stuck in a snow drift somewhere,” she agreed.
“We gotta give that dog a bath when the power comes back on.” Sam chuckled, his suppressed laughter rumbling under her ear.
“Let’s worry about that in the morning,” she said snuggling further into the blankets and closing her eyes. His lips caressing the top of her head was the last thing she knew before sleep took her.