Page 60 of Maybe in Another Life

“Any idea how old she is?” I ask.

“Well, her teeth aren’t fully in yet, so she’s still a puppy.”

“How young, do you think?”

“No more than four months, maybe five,” he says. “My guess is that she lives with someone who isn’t paying too much attention...”

“Right,” I say.

“Or it’s possible she’s been on the street for a while.”

I find it hard to believe she’s been on the street for a while. Dogs that live out on the street wouldn’t run into the middle of the road. That seems to defy the very concept of survival of the fittest. If you are a dog that runs into the middle of the road, especially in the dark of night, then you are probably not going to last long on the mean streets of... anywhere.

“A lot of times, people don’t spay their dogs,” the vet continues, “and are surprised when they end up pregnant.”

Ha!

“Caring for a nursing dog and a litter of puppies, when you don’t expect to, can be overwhelming.”

I’ll say.

“Sometimes people keep them until they can’t deal with it anymore and put the puppies out on the street.”

Good God.

I look at Ethan, who, not knowing how uncomfortably close this man is hitting the nail on the head, seems disturbed by all of it. Which makes sense. I am, too. I know that people are awful and do terrible things, especially to things that are helpless, especially to animals that are helpless. But when I look at Charlemagne, it’s hard to comprehend. I barely know her, and I’m starting to think I’d do anything for her.

“So we have no real recourse,” Ethan says. “In terms of finding out who she belongs to.”

The vet shrugs. “Well, not through this route, at least. You could put fliers up around where you found her or go door-to-door. But either way, if you are at all considering keeping her, I might recommend you do that instead of tracking down an original owner, if there is one.”

“Oh,” Ethan says, “we weren’t—”

“And if we did,” I say, interrupting him, “would we just schedule an appointment with you guys to get all of that stuff taken care of? Get her spayed and chipped?”

“Yeah,” the vet says. “And she’ll need a series of shots. We can help you with fattening her up, too. Although, assuming she has consistent access to food, she’ll probably take care of that one on her own.”

“All right,” Ethan says. “Thank you very much for your help.” He extends his hand for a handshake. The vet reciprocates. I do the same.

“My pleasure,” he says. “She’s a sweetheart. I hope you guys can help her find a good home. If not, contact the front desk, and we can help you try to get her into a no-kill shelter. It’s not easy. There are already so many other dogs in the city taking up spots, but we try to help.”

By the time we leave the animal hospital, the sun has set, and the air is crisp. I have Charlemagne in my arms, her leash wrapped around my hand. She’s shaking a bit, maybe because of the cold. I can’t help but wonder if it’s because she knows her fate is uncertain.

“What are you thinking?” I ask him.

“I don’t know,” Ethan says. We are standing by our cars. For a moment, I’m stunned that I bought the car just this afternoon. Feels like a lifetime ago. “I can’t really have a dog at my place.”

“I know,” I say.

“I mean, I want to help her, and I don’t want her on the street, but I had no intention of adopting a dog,” he says. “And I don’t know how you can adopt her, you know? Because...”

“Because I don’t have a place just yet.”

“Right.”

He looks at me. I look at Charlemagne. I’m not bringing her to a shelter. I’m not doing it. With everything that has happened today, my fate is uncertain, too. Charlemagne and I are kindred spirits. We are both directionless idiots, the kind of girls who run out into the street without thinking.

I may make a lot of mistakes, and I may act without thinking, and I may be the sort of woman who doesn’t even realize she’s pregnant when it should be blatantly obvious, but I also know that sometimes I get myself into messes and then get myself out of them. Maybe I can get Charlemagne and me out of this mess by throwing us into it.

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