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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
