Page 146 of Breaking Point
“Sure, no problem.”
As he picks up Hunter’s lead, the husky taps his toes in excitement and lets out a little howl. He probably thinks he’s going for a walk. I shake my head before turning back to Natasha. “What happened?”
She straightens and sucks in a deep breath. “It’s Bambi. She’s in full freak-out mode and no one can calm her down.”
My heart pangs. “It’s all the commotion. If I couldn’t hear and I was suddenly transported on a bus to a large field with hundreds of dogs and people walking about, I’d be terrified too.”
Bambi is a sweet three-year-old golden retriever who’s completely deaf. Someone brought her in six months ago after spotting someone pushing her from a van in the middle of themountains. The anger that consumed me when I heard the story and met Bambi was like no other.
“I’ll go calm her down. Can you just check that the dogs are all ready and their coats look good? I want to get as many adopted today as possible.”
She smiles, already walking off toward the dogs waiting to be brushed. “On it!”
It doesn’t take me long to locate Bambi. They’ve moved her to a secluded spot inside the barn, away from the hustle and bustle of chaos that’s happening in preparation for the rescue event. Sheila is trying to coax Bambi out of the tight ball she’s shoved herself into in the corner. As she spots me, she stands. “I’ve tried everything. Treats, toys, water. I even let her sit there for a while, but she just keeps shaking.”
“It’s okay, her anxiety is more extreme than most cases.” I don’t even want to think of why that is; all it will do is make me angry at her previous owners. I hope anyone who treats animals with such malice in their hearts gets hit by a truck. “If you could go over to the front gates to make sure no one lets any dogs out, that would be great.”
Today is going to be a mad house. Each volunteer will be responsible for a dog and they’ll all be on the grounds today. I don’t want a single dog to miss out on the opportunity to find a forever home, but to do that, we had to track down nearly a hundred people willing to volunteer—and ones that were reliable too.
Every volunteer will have a leashed dog and I pray to god that today works. We’ve had success in the past, but I’ve never hosted an event this large. Hopefully the guys on the team are posting about it so we can draw a large crowd.
As Sheila steps out of the barn, Bambi’s eyes move to mine and widen slightly with recognition. I’ve grown a soft spot for Bambi and with every day that passes of people not wanting to own a deaf dog, the more that soft spot grows.
Her entire body is shaking, like she’s weathering through an earthquake. Reaching over slowly, Bambi watches my every move as I gently pull a blanket down from over the railing.
I scoot across the barn floor slowly on my butt to not spook her. When I get close enough, I gently lay the blanket around her, cocooning her in it. Sometimes with dogs—similar to humans—they need something around their bodies to make them feel like they’re getting a gentle cuddle. The pressure should soothe her and make her feel safe and secure.
I sit directly in front of her to block her sight from the people walking in and out, and as I do so, her eyes lock on mine. Lifting my hands, she watches the motion as I sign,Good girl.
That’s the beauty of a golden retriever—they’re smart. So incredibly intelligent that when Bambi came to Safe Haven Trails and I began trying to sign basic commands, she caught on within a couple of weeks.
As her shakes subside,slowly, I reach out my hand and pat her. A small whining sound tumbles from her, making my heart melt even more.
“It’s okay, Bambi. Everyone gets nervous,” I whisper, knowing full well she can’t hear me.
It hurts to know she can’t hear my praises. It only highlights how much you need to show her love through actions and understanding.
Lying on my side, I get comfortable, knowing that I’m going to have to get her to a place of full relaxation before I even attempt to take her out there with nearly a hundred dogs. But I came prepared.
I rifle through her things I asked the organization to bring from the shelter, and when my hand wraps around the white Lamb Chop, something starts thumping. My smile is wide as Bambi wags her tail against the ground as her favorite small teddy bear comes into view. She doesn’t leave anywhere without it.
Wasting no time, Bambi places the toy in her mouth before lying back down and staring at me.
“Does that make you feel better?”
She just blinks at me, but she’s watching me like a hawk, and I like to believe she’s studying my lips to try and understand me. I’ve been teaching myself sign language but I’m not holding out hope I can teach her more than basic commands.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket and, retrieving it, I find that there’s now two anxious beings in the paddock now.
My mom’s contact flashes across my phone, along with a picture of her. She’s probably calling because she saw my posts about today and is gutted I didn’t tell her or Dad. With a deep sigh, I ignore the call, letting it go to voicemail as I slide my phone back in my jeans.
When I lift my head again, Bambi is staring at me a little too closely.
“This is a judgment-free zone,” I mumble.
I’m telling her that, but I can’t stop judging myself. I know my mom doesn’t deserve this. I know I’m breaking her heart. But I’ve only just stopped drinking and the last thing I need is to try and look my mother in the eye and see the unending grief and depression that weighs her down because I took Drew from her.
The grief counseling is…not. Moving. Anywhere.
