Release the Hounds

The sign on the kennel cage was 11X14 and in thick, black, block letters read one word: CAUTION. It was underlined several times for emphasis.

The black dog sat, scrunched into a corner with her hackles raised and her teeth bared, growling at the helpless young kennel assistant. She was a serious sight, all menace and canines and madness in her eyes. Leash in hand, he took a tentative step toward her and she slammed her muzzle at the cage bars, snarling and intent on blood. He jumped back and gave me an apologetic look. She's a little upset, he said, white faced and weakly. So I see, I told him mildly, I'll handle her. I knelt in front in the cage and spoke her name and she instantly leaped at me, entire body trembling and barking loudy in protest and accusation. She rushed me, all kisses and frantic pawing with hot breath panting in my ears. Madness became joy, her relief at being set free was overwhelming. She gave a throaty farewell growl to the other dogs, made a final but half hearted lunge at the kennel assistant then consented to being leashed and led out, head held high, small body trotting disdainfully and with as much dignity as she could manage under the circumstances. And so, to the relief of everyone involved, ended the dogs' annual spa day.

We drove home quietly, the small brown dog curled between my neck and the headrest, the black dog sleeping on the passenger seat, exhausted from battle and content to chase the rabbits in her dreams. The following night I was to find myself in the Animal Emergency Clinic - while I had been at work, the black dog had jumped or fallen and badly twisted a front leg. She was in a fair amount of pain and although I knew it would self-correct, I couldn't bear to see her hurting so I carried her to the all night clinic - it was early in the evening and we were the only ones there until a young couple brought in their boxer who had smashed a jar of hot sauce and eaten it as well as the glass. This was followed by a miscarrying cat, a terrier mix who had been in a fight with a raccoon, and an Old English Sheepdog who had been caught in a barbed wire fence. The black dog watched this sad little parade from the safety of my lap, she made no sounds or threats until the vet tech approached her, muzzle in hand, and then hiding her face she began to growl a warning. I slipped the muzzle on and handed her over reluctantly. Twenty minutes and a pain injection later we were on our way home again and by the following morning she was her old feisty, fearsome self, terrorizing the cats and wreaking havoc throughout the house. All was once again right in her world.