My teeth grind. “And by ‘go,’ you don’t mean adopting her out to a good home.”
Tyler shakes his head. “Wouldn’t even consider it.”
Fucking Zed Snyder. He’s clearly of that ilk, the type of musher who thinks it’s reasonable—humane, even—to put a dog down when they’re no longer “working” for him. They draw a solid line between a sled dog and a family pet and are adamant the two can never wear the same label. My parents have three retired sled dogs who prove that isn’t true. In Nymeria’s case, at eight, she could still have another six years of a happy life in someone’s loving home.
Fortunately, this type of musher is few and far between nowadays. Unfortunately, they do still exist. And worse, there’s no way to stop guys like Zed from “retiring” their dogs when they’re no longer of use, no state law to protect dogs like Nymeria.
This is at the very root of the issue I have with the sport in our state.
“So you, what, followed Zed home from the bar?”
Tyler’s bare hands work smoothly over the rope, as if the cold doesn’t bother him. “I didn’t need to. It’s easy enough to find information around here.”
“Oh right, your police chief buddy. He’s willing to bend rules for you?” Or outright break them.
“Speaking of friends who bend rules, how’s your animal control officer doing?”
Touché. “He’s great. Thanks for asking.”
Tyler smirks, but his amusement slips quickly. “I was still thinking about the guy and the dog a few days later. Couldn’t shake it for some reason. I started thinking that I should take a trip over and see if she was still alive. And then I wondered what I’d do if she was. I knew he wouldn’t give her up. That kind of guy is set in his ways.” He collects another piece of poly rope from his box. “I saw Zed’s hearing aids. I knew he’d likely take them out at night to sleep and probably wouldn’t hear anything if someone were to go in there. So I decided to risk it. And when I saw her, when I saw how she’d been kept …” The muscle in his jaw ticks. “I wanted him to hear the dogs barking, I wanted him to come out and explain himself to me. I would have …” His voice drifts, the words left hanging.
“So you took her.” A risk, given he wouldn’t know if she had been microchipped.
“Yeah,” he admits. “Brought her home, tried to make her comfortable. Called Frank to tell him I’d found an injured dog wandering in the woods who needed care. It was Saturday night, though. Couldn’t get hold of him.”
“Yeah, Frank doesn’t give out his home number, even for emergencies.”
“And you do?”
“For my patients? Of course.” Sometimes I regret it, especially at two in the morning when I get a call because a cat is hacking on a hairball.
“The rest happened like I said it did.” He tosses the rope into a crate. “But now she’s doing well. Her leg is on the mend. She’s putting on pounds, getting used to our dogs and her new home. Her new life.”
Surely, she would have been dead by now. If not by the end of Zed’s gun barrel—because he’d be too cheap to pay for a needle—then from festering wounds. “What about the other dogs in the kennel? How were they?”
“I did a quick once-over because I needed to get out of there, but they seemed fine from what I could see. Someone should pay a visit, though.”
And someone named Howie will. I’ll make sure of that. “You basically trespassed and stole a dog that was on death row.”
“Not basically. Exactly. And if I had to do it again, I would, a hundred times over.” His smile is soft. “There is no line.”
A shiver runs down my spine as he echoes my words from earlier. How can I fault him for doing what he did? What I would do, if I had the nerve. I can’t. I can only like him more for it. If I have a weakness for anything besides an injured or scared animal, it’s for the man who’s willing to swoop in to save it.
Really, there’s nothing I find more attractive.
But worry gnaws at me. “The Hatchetts know about the dog. If they hear Jody’s story, they’re going to put two and two together and Harry is, well, feeling threatened by you.” That’s becoming clearer with all his pathetic accusations and conjecture. “He won’t be quiet about what he knows.”
“The only people who know the truth are you, me, and Reed. As far as anyone else knows, I found a neglected dog wandering in the woods and brought her home.” He shrugs. “And if Zed or Harry wants to stir up shit, let them try. I have all Frank’s reports on her condition when I found her, and I’ll make sure those newspaper people write about how an Iditarod champion abused one of his dogs. A dog whose pups a few of these mushers around here are racing now. My guess is Zed was afraid of how it’d look if people tied her to him, and he didn’t want to risk stirring up attention. Probably been tiptoeing on eggshells.”