Shane was going to be a vet. He'd never wanted anything else and he never would. His marks were good enough, even for a scholarship at Western.
Which Tony was actively praying for.
For now he was working at the animal shelter where he'd volunteered as a kid and he was learning a lot. He was younger than he should officially be for some jobs, but everybody knew him and knew that if he didn't think he could handle something, he'd say so.
The shelter staff was just the director, the vet and himself. Everything else was done by volunteers, especially on the weekend.
His favourites were Artie and Eloise. Hippies now for like 50 years or something, they had matching long grey braids, and matching heart tattoos on their left hands.
They looked after adoptions on the weekend. Busy days, but they were kind and warm and absolutely impossible with paperwork. One time, Artie had actually filled in a form upside down. Shane thought it must have been on purpose.
But they put people at ease and they could tell at 30 paces a cat person from a dog person. They had some instinct for introducing the right people to the right animals.
There was one other unofficial staff member. Haffa. She'd been one of a litter of abandoned pups 6 years ago. The others had been adopted, but the sad truth was that Haffa was ugly. She'd never, ever been cute.
Not even ugly cute. Just ugly.
They couldn't tell whether she was a cross of Poodle and Mastiff or Mastiff and Newfie. Somebody'd said Radioactive Newfie and Doberman. She had a squashed face, and jowls. She was mostly black with patches of brown and her hair was thick and kinky. Her hind legs were longer than her front and she snored.
And she was huge. Her shoulder was waist high on Shane. Half a horse. Half a something and half a something else.
But she was sweet and helpful. Shane loved taking her with him to walk the other dogs because he'd hand her the leash, and she'd take the other dog around the track and back again. Of course then the handle was all slobbery, but it was worth it.
Haffa would drag the big food bags down the kennel hallway when they fed the dogs, or carry a pail of cat food around the cat room while they did that. She'd trot around after the kittens when they were out to play, bat the ball for them to chase or lie down so they could crawl all over her and through her thick curly mat.
She drew the line at litter boxes.
Any animal who came in hurt was her baby. They had a good clinic and a full time vet. Sometimes people would bring in an animal hit by a car, or starved or attacked by a coyote. They might only be able to give the little critter a peaceful goodbye, but always did what they could.
Like Pico. She'd been brought in late on Thursday by a cop, wrapped in a blanket. Starved, dehydrated, bruised, a broken leg, one eye swollen shut. When the vet unwrapped her on the table, Shane was surprised at how angry it made him. His hands shook and his breath came fast and he just wanted to punch something. How could you do this to an animal? Just because you're bigger and stronger, you think you can beat up someone smaller? What a.... What kind of …..
Dr. Lozano looked at him and said, "You okay?"
He said, "Yeah. It's just..."
She said, "I know. Just focus on making her better. Right?"
"Right."
They'd worked together on the little dog, with Haffa hovering. Set the broken leg, rehydrate the little body, patch the eye, gently, patiently. They tucked her carefully into a cubby and latched the door. Haffa laid down in front of it like a lion protecting her cub. Shane washed up and went to the lobby. Meg was waiting and he apologized for being late. She just gave him a hug. Eloise had explained.
He didn't work Friday, but he was in all day Saturday. The first thing he did was check on Pico in the recovery room. Haffa was there - still, or again. Pico was still weak, but she looked at him when opened the cubby door. Watched him while he checked her cast and her eyepatch and stroked her head until she went to sleep.
He told Haffa, "Come on, you. Stretch your legs and help me feed the others."
She snuffled and stood up a bit stiff, looked at Pico, and followed him down the hall to the kennel.
The rest of the day was the usual flow of jobs to do, dogs to walk, visitors to look after, though that was mostly Artie and Eloise.
An hour before closing, things quieted down, Artie and Eloise were in the break room and Shane and Haffa were tidying up in the kennels.
The beeper sounded. Someone had come in. Shane told Haffa, "Be right back." She sat down to wait.
Passing the breakroom he said, "I got it." Artie was giving Eloise a foot massage and she said, "Thanks, starshine."
The man in the lobby was angry. He looked at Shane and snapped "You're not in charge here. I want to talk to someone in charge!"
Shane said, "The director's not here right now. Maybe I can help you."
The man sneered, stalked up to Shane, poked his finger in his chest and said, "You want to help me, fine. You've got my property and I want it back."
Shane took a step back and said, "I don't think so, sir, but if you come back on Monday..."
"I'm not waiting 'til Monday. I want it now. You've got my dog and I'm taking it. Now!"
Artie came in behind Shane and said, "Hey, man, be cool. Dogs aren't property, man."
"I paid for it, it's mine! The cops brought it here, I'm taking it back."
Shane stepped to the inner doorway and stood there. He kept his voice from shaking long enough to say, "Sir, if you don't leave now, we'll call the police."
Artie went to the desk and picked up the phone.
The man grabbed Shane by the front of his shirt, yanked and tripped him. He fell away from the door. The man went through toward the kennel.
Shane looked at Artie who had already dialed. "Don't be a hero, starshine. Wait for the cops."
Shane hesitated for a second and then ran through.
He found the man in the kennel storming down the hall, looking in every cage, banging on the doors.
He reached the end of the row and turned. He saw Shane in the doorway and stormed back at him, shoving him out of the way again. Shane grabbed his sleeve and the man swung at him.
Shane ducked and just caught the edge of it on the back of his head. And the man was off again.
"The police are coming. Stop this!"
The man ignored him and kept looking until he found the recovery room.
He stepped in and looked at the cubbies, all empty except one. The one Haffa was lying in front of.
"What the hell is that thing?" He laughed. "Move, mutt. Or I'll move you."
Haffa looked up at him and snuffled. He picked up a chair and moved closer. "I said move!"
She kept her eyes on his while she thought about it for a second. Then she slowly stood up. Lowered her head. Bared her teeth. And for the first time in her gentle life, growled. A growl that sounded like it came from somewhere underground. Deep, resonant, solid. A primeval sound born in the origins of love itself that said simply, "No."
The man froze. Took half a step forward. Haffa matched him, still growling.
He froze again. "Nice dog. Good dog." He took half a step back. So did Haffa.
They stayed frozen like that until finally Haffa's ears twitched.
The growling stopped.
They heard sirens.
Shane whispered, "Thank you, God."
++++
Much later, after he'd had time to think about it, Shane sat in Walt's kitchen and told him the whole story. How scary it was to see Haffa like that.
He said, "I've never been afraid of her before but I was for a minute. She's always been so gentle."
Walt nodded and said, "It's easy to mistake gentle for harmless. But Haffa knows the difference. Anybody who doesn't know her and sees her toddling around behind you with a bucket of cat kibble might think she's soft. But they'd be fools. She knows what she's capable of and she uses her strength for others, not against them. That's what meekness is. That's what Jesus meant by "Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the earth." People who know when to be gentle and when to be ferocious. I'd vote for someone like that. Wouldn't we, girl?"
He reached down beside him and petted Pico, who was curled up in her new favourite place, at his feet.
Shane smiled and asked, "How's she doing?"
Walt smiled back and said, "We are doing quite nicely, thanks."
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