From Chapter One:
What is more beautiful than watching a dog, all muscle and mind and heart, run free across a field of green to gather a flock of sheep? My heart swells up every time I see it. Every time. And I see it a lot. Being an applied animal behaviorist is my career, but working sheepdogs is my passion. It’s an addictive sport—imagine playing chess with all the pieces alive and full of their own opinions, moving at twenty miles an hour. It’s like Through the Looking Glass, except for real.
Jess turned in behind the sheep at exactly the right point, her body low to the ground. She crept toward the sheep like a lion on the hunt, easing the sheep forward with controlled determination. She moved the sheep quietly but with authority toward George, pushing them forward as if she’d put them into a shopping cart. But then, the lead ewe turned and put her hoof down. Literally. A big wooly thing with black legs and a speckled face, she turned to face Jess, stomping her hoof and ducking her head, presenting an anvil-like forehead that threatened to send Jess flying. She stomped again. Jess didn’t flinch.
We spectators took a collective breath, riveted by the standoff between a thirty-five pound dog and a hundred-and-thirty-pound ewe. Many a dog, especially a young one, would give in to the pressure by backing away, or by panicking and biting, an automatic disqualification. What happened next would make or break the run and let us know if Jess had the chops to be a top competitor.
It was silent, every spectator caught up in the drama. Jess leaned forward, just an inch. The ewe bent her head down farther and made a mock charge. Jess crept forward another inch, looking directly into the ewe’s eyes. Finally, the sheep lifted her chin and turned her head. She began trotting away, Jess behind her, leading her flock in the right direction.
I exhaled, not realizing until then I had been holding my breath. I looked down at Jack. “See that? That’s how you do it, bud.”
As I did, an audible crack split the air, so loud I felt it in my chest. I startled, not expecting anyone to be hunting this time of year. Gunshots are common in the country, but we rarely hear them in spring. They’re usually the boom of shotguns, not the air-splitting sound of a rifle.
I started to shake it off, but suddenly heard Stephanie, a fierce competitor in her own right, yell, “Oh God. George!”
I looked up to see George sprawled on the grass where he had stood moments ago, a pool of blood expanding in the grass beneath him. He lay on his back, his blue eyes wide open, as if surprised. His left leg was bent at an unnatural angle underneath him. For a moment we were all frozen in place. Even the birds went still.
From Chapter Six:
The dog growled, a soft smudge of a noise, when I said “Hey, bud.” Catherine filled me in as we stood looking into his kennel. “We have no idea about an owner, no tag, no microchip. Once we’d revived him with an IV of fluids, no one has been able to get near him, not with chicken or toys. We can’t get him to eat or drink. We are all afraid he is just going to waste away.” Poor guy.
“Okay,” I said. “How about I just hang out with him for a while? I’ve cleared the afternoon, and we can’t force anything here.”
“You’re a life saver, Maddie, thanks so much.” Catherine turned to go back to her office, and said over her shoulder, “Just let me know if you need anything.”
I sat down in front of Cisco’s kennel and got out a book that had sat on my nightstand for months. Forcing anything with Cisco would just cause harm, and by sitting quietly beside his kennel I hoped that he would at least habituate to my presence.
A few hours later my butt was sore from sitting on the concrete floor, my eyes were tired from reading in bad light, and my ears were exhausted from the buzz of a fluorescent light about to die. Cisco was sound asleep, at least relaxed enough to shut his eyes. Could I count that as a victory? It had been quiet, since this area was reserved for convalescing animals, but suddenly the door down the hall opened and Chris, a volunteer I’d worked with before, entered and said, “Hey, Dr. McGowan! Good to see you!” Chris was six foot two, with tattoos of dogs and cats on his arms. He wasn’t rom-com handsome, but he had tousled, flaxen hair, and a quiet kindness to him that relaxed even the shyest of dogs.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Cisco’s head rise a few inches and his ears twitch as Chris spoke. I motioned for Chris to stop, moving my hand in such a way that Cisco couldn’t see it. I didn’t want anything to set him off, but wanted to see how he would react to someone standing further away. Chris stood still in the dimly lit hallway, the building’s exhaust fans whirring quietly above us.
Cisco stood up slowly, rising without moving his head or his feet, as if his torso had been lifted up by a puppeteer’s strings. He stared at Chris for several seconds, his hindquarters wobbling, while he attempted to stay standing. His head turned so slowly toward me it was riveting. This time his eyes had a spark of light in them. And then, again ever so slowly, he sank his hindquarters into a sit while turning his head back toward Chris. Still sitting, still in slow motion, he turned his head back toward me and looked straight into my eyes.
I knew, I just knew, that he was trying to tell me something.