Page 35 of The Ampersand Effect
“Hot coffee on the way. See you soon.” Tobin disconnected the call and texted Harrow, letting her know that she might not be home for dinner tonight.
Tobin found Anchor in the Fetch a Friend kennels, kneeling in front of dog beds she was zip-tying on top of each other to form makeshift bunk beds. Anchor looked disheveled—her dishwater blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail, though much of it had escaped to her shoulders. Frizz stood on end around her scalp, as if she’d been struck by lightning. Her face wasn’t much better—speckled with dust and dried mud, streaked where sweat had trickled down her brow. Tobin could see the strain in her shoulders as she fought with the zip ties.
“Did someone order coffee?” Tobin offered her the mug as she walked into the kennel.
“Tobin! Oh, thank goodness. Any chance you brought an IV kit? I could use that coffee mainlined right about now.” Anchor tried to make light of her obvious distress as she sat back on her calves, brushing loose strands of hair behind her ears before accepting the mug.
“You look like you could lie down on one of these beds yourself.
Bunk beds?” Tobin asked, nodding toward the setup.
“No rest for the weary, right? It’s the best we have under the circumstances. I hate double bunking the resident pups, but it’s better than the alternative.” She shrugged, then gulped the scalding coffee without flinching.
“Okay, well—put me to work, Boss. Where do you want me?”
“You can help me. Jodi’s gassing up the van, and Eli’s in the laundry room with the linens. I sent an SOS text to some of the volunteers after I talked to you, and a couple said they can get here this afternoon.” Anchor set her coffee down and tossed Tobin the bag
of zip-ties.
“The beds were designed for stacking—it’s pretty straightforward. If you can hit the next kennel, we should have this done in about an hour. Then we’ll be ready to pick them up. They’ll all need baths, and some of them will need light grooming. It’s going to be a full day.”
“Sure thing. Do you need me to go with to retrieve them, or do you and Jodi have that covered? I can stay here and finish prepping while you handle the transfer.”
“That would be great. All the kennels need to be scooped and hosed out. When that’s done, you can take a few of the resident dogs out to the yard—let them burn off some energy and hopefully reduce the anxious barking when the new ones arrive. If you see any that get along, go ahead and double them up when you bring them back in. I think it’ll work better to keep the two groups separate if we can avoid it.”
“That makes sense,” Tobin said, positioning a bed into the bunk formation she’d watched Anchor assemble.
They worked in focused silence for the next forty minutes before Anchor and Jodi left for the transfer. Tobin stayed behind, moving through the kennels with methodical precision. When she finished, she stopped by the laundry room to check on Eli, who seemed to have things under control. Satisfied, shereturned to the kennels and let six of the dogs into the enclosed yard to play.
Tobin loved dogs. They’d always had one or two at a time when she was a kid, filling the house with fur and steadfast loyalty. She longed for one now, but it didn’t feel fair when work had her away for two or three nights at a time. Someday, she promised herself. Maybe after the baby was a few years old, and her career had finally bent to the rhythm of motherhood.
In the meantime, volunteering at Fetch a Friend filled that ache. The work was difficult—often dirty—but deeply fulfilling. She got to spend time with dogs that needed her love as much as she needed their slobbery gratitude.
She’d started about four years ago, after stopping to pet a pup at a festival booth Anchor had set up for the rescue. Anchor sensed her love of the animals, and when she learned she wasn’t in a position to adopt, she countered with a request to volunteer. Tobin started volunteering the following week.
Now, she tossed a tennis ball for the larger dogs, then played a strange game of tag with the terriers. As she closed the door to the final kennel—having successfully bunked twelve of the dogs together—she heard the crunch of tires on gravel. The rescue van was back.
She stepped out into the parking lot just as Anchor began dictating their plan. Tobin admired the younger woman’s mettle, and the way in which she commanded the chaos without raising her voice. Anchor might have been reserved, but she wasn’t timid. When it came to her rescues, she was a force of nature.
“Divide and conquer. Let’s get to work.” Anchor called, already unloading the first dog from the van.
Over the next several hours, dogs were shuttled from the van to the baths, to the infirmary for inspection, and finally to their new temporary homes. Tobin was coated in fur from head to toe.She smelled like wet dog—and some other scents she didn’t want to investigate.
She was exhausted, starving, and more than ready for a shower. It was just after five, and her body was low on fuel and emotion. But she’d managed to keep her mind blessedly clear of Grier—her thoughts replaced by the immediate, persistent needs of the dogs around her.
“One dog left,” Anchor said, bumping her shoulder against Tobin’s as she joined her by the van. “There’s a light at the end of this tunnel.”
“It’s been a day, hasn’t it?” Tobin said, taking a moment to catch her breath before helping Anchor lift the final kennel from the vehicle.
“I can’t remember the last time I smelled this bad after a rescue,” Anchor laughed. “When we got to Barking Lot’s kennels, I was shocked. They must’ve been struggling way longer than anyone realized. The whole place was chaos—and reeked of dog waste.” She shuddered. “I’m surprised more of the dogs didn’t have mange… I don’t want to imagine what another week would’ve looked like over there.”
“Why didn’t they reach out sooner? We could’ve taken some of the dogs.” Tobin’s tone carried more disbelief than anger, though the fatigue in her shoulders made it difficult to discern the difference.
“Pride, if I had to guess. The dog rescue business is, unfortunately, still a business. No one wants to fail—especially when it means failing these defenseless furballs all over again. And there’s little profit. I’m not exactly walking around in Louboutins or driving off in a Bugatti. Fetch a Friend typically runs with a month or less of future funding, and I’m living paycheck to paycheck right along with it. I couldn’t dream of closing my doors as long as I have a single dollar to my name—but I’d be lying if I said I slept well at night.”
Tobin looked at her, disbelieving what she was hearing. “Damn, Anchor. I knew it was bad, but I didn’t realize it wasdire. Don’t the fundraisers and adoption festivals help? Dog sponsorships too?”
“Everything helps. But nothing is permanent. We adopt one dog out, and the next day we rescue two more. It’s a never-ending cycle.”