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Authors: Nicholas Edwards

BOOK: Dog Whisperer
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“I'll be right back,” she said. “I promise.”
Would it be okay to leave him for a few minutes? What if more big waves came in, and the current pulled him off the rocks? But there was no way she could rescue him by herself. He was just too big for her to lift.
She pulled off her hoodie, and carefully covered him with it. It might not help much, but maybe it would keep him a
little
warmer while she ran back to the house.
“
Stay
,” she said. “Good dog. Stay.”
She scrambled over the rocks, through the bushes, across the lawn, and up onto the deck. Then, she yanked the back door open and ran upstairs to her parents' bedroom.
Since her mother had stayed up so late and was probably really tired, she decided to try and wake up her father, instead. Besides, her mother was really small—Emily was already almost as tall
as she was—so her father would have an easier time picking the dog up.
“Dad?” she whispered.
It took three tries, but finally, he opened his eyes, looking confused.
“What?” he asked, and blinked a few times. “What is it?” He rubbed one hand across his eyes. “Did you have another dream?”
“There's a
dog
,” Emily said.
Her father looked puzzled, and hoisted himself up onto one elbow. “You dreamed about a dog?”
Emily shook her head. “No, it's a
real
dog. Out on the rocks. He needs a vet.”
Her father glanced over his shoulder to make sure her mother was still asleep. “What do you mean?” he asked quietly. “I don't understand.”
“I found a dog,” Emily said. “But it's a really
big
dog, and I can't get him inside by myself.”
Her father must still have been half-asleep, because his expression was entirely befuddled. “Why are you all wet?”
“It's raining,” she said. “Please, Dad? I need your help.”
That must have been the magic word, because now her mother woke up, too.
“What's wrong?” she asked sleepily.
By the time Emily had explained the whole thing again, her father had pulled on a pair of hiking boots and put on a Bowdoin sweatshirt over his pajamas.
“You want me to come out with you?” Emily's mother asked, already lacing up a pair of running shoes.
Her father shook his head. “No, don't worry, Joanne, I'll take care of it. It'll only take a couple of minutes.”
Once they were outside, Emily hurried across the lawn, towards the Peabodys' house.
“It's
pouring
out here,” her father said. “Go in and get your jacket.”
She shook her head. “It's okay, Dad, I'm already wet.”
Her father's sigh was either long-suffering—or kind of annoyed.
“I promise I'll get one after,” she said.
Her father clearly didn't see the logic of that, but he nodded, in a
distinctly
long-suffering way.
She veered around a familiar long object on the ground, and then remembered how clumsy her father was even when—unlike now—he was wide awake. Emily turned to head him off. “Dad, don't fall over the—”
Her father tripped, and went sprawling.
Too late. “Um, kayak,” she said. Her mother kept her good racing kayak in the garage, but often left her everyday one outside, carefully protected by a thick, waterproof cover.
“Did I break the rudder again?” he asked, from the muddy ground.
Boy, she sure hoped not, because her mother had been pretty mad the other two times it happened. “I think it's okay,” she said uncertainly.
“Let's
hope
it's okay,” he said.
When they got to the Peabodys' bushes, her father frowned, stumbling slightly on the rough ground. “This is pretty far from the house, Emily.”
She had kind of been hoping that he wouldn't notice that part, since she might get in trouble for running around by herself in the middle of a storm this early in the morning. “I could
hear
him,” Emily said. Sort of. “Josephine was acting all weird, and, like, banging at the window with her paws.”
“Hmmm,” her father said. “That
is
weird.”
The rain was coming down harder than ever, but at least, the thunderstorm seemed to be moving out to sea, because the lightning flashes were less frequent, and the thunder sounded farther away.
Emily started to climb underneath the bushes, but her father pulled her back.
“Why don't we just go up this way, Em?” he suggested, pointing towards the Peabodys' driveway.
Well—yeah, that made kind of a lot of sense. Emily nodded, and followed him across the yard, up to the road, and then down the driveway.
“Why are you limping?” her father asked.
Because her knee hurt. “I'm fine,” Emily said, and made a point of
not
limping.
They hurried past the bushes—her father tripping again, and snapping off a few small branches—and towards the rocks.
When she saw the big white shape still lying there, she let out a sigh of relief.
“See?” She pointed, and started making her way across the rocks. “Right over there.”
Her father followed her, slipping several times. “You didn't climb out here by yourself, did you?” he asked.
Emily had never been good at lying—and it wasn't something she liked to do, anyway. “The dog was
crying
, Dad.”
And now that they were closer, she could hear that the dog
was
whimpering a little. He was on his side in the exact same spot where she had left him, his breathing labored. But, when he saw her, his tail made a feeble wag.
“You stay here, okay?” her father said. “And stand
way
back, in case he bites.”
Emily shook her head. “He's not going to bite, Dad. He's a really good dog.”
“Just stand back, please,” her father said, hesitated for a second—he wasn't really comfortable around animals, even Josephine—and then bent down to look at the dog.
To her horror, Emily saw that the dog's fur wasn't just soaked from the ocean—there was
blood
, too, on his side, and his head and paws.
“Okay,” her father said, sounding as though he was talking to himself. “Let me just figure out how to—okay.” He moved, cautiously, to lift the dog up, but the dog immediately yelped from pain.
Emily swallowed, because she knew it wouldn't help if she started crying, too. “Can we call an ambulance, maybe?”
Her father thought about that, and then shook his head. “No, let me try again. I'll be more careful.”
This time, the dog whimpered, but he also let out a low growl.
“Hey!” her father said, and jumped back out of the way. “Don't come anywhere near him, okay, Em?”
“I think his chest hurts a lot,” Emily said, and
climbed down to pat the dog's head. “Good boy. It's okay, boy.”
Her father glared at her. “What did I just tell you?”
Not to do exactly what she had immediately done. “Dad's just trying to help you,” she said to the dog.
The dog's tail waved once, only lifting a couple of inches off the rocks.
“Don't touch him,” her father said, his voice stern. “I don't want you to get bitten.”
Emily looked at the dog, who looked back at her with distinct, expressive dark eyes. “He won't,” she said. “He was just scared.”
Her father frowned at her. “Emily, when I tell you to do something this important, you need to listen to me.”
It didn't seem like it would be smart to argue with him, so Emily nodded and moved a few feet away.
“Thank you,” her father said, and then shook his head. “I think we should probably call the police. Maybe they can—”
Emily stared at him. “The
police
?”
Her father sighed. “They know how to do this sort of thing. I'm really not—look out!”
They both ducked as a gigantic wave came
sweeping in over the rocks, washing over all three of them.
“Wow,” her father said, and wiped his hand across his glasses. “That was a pretty big one.”
But not as big as the
next
wave, which was strong enough to knock Emily down, and her father almost toppled over, too.
“Are you all right?” her father asked, as he helped her up. “Go back and wait on the grass, okay?”
Emily nodded, and looked down at the dog, to make sure that he was all right.
But the rocks were now empty, except for her crumpled sweatshirt.
The dog was gone!
Emily and her father stared at each other, and then out at
the rough water. Her father saw him first, pointing when he located a white, bobbing shape.
“Okay, there he is,” he said. “Maybe we can use a stick, or borrow some rope from the Peabodys' dock.”
That made sense, but the dog was too exhausted to swim, and she saw his head go under.
“We don't have time for that, Dad,” she said, and scrambled over to the edge of the rocks.
“Emily,” her father said, “don't even
think
of jumping into—”
Emily jumped into the water. And wow, it was cold!
Freezing
. So cold that it took her breath away, as the shock ran through her whole body. She treaded water for a few seconds, to try and get her bearings, and then swam towards the dog in a fast, determined crawl.
Then, there was another big splash, as her father
took off his glasses, set them down on a rock, and then leaped in after her.
“I am
not
happy with you, Emily,” he said grimly, as he swam ineptly in her direction.
Okay, but she had started taking swimming lessons when she was about five years old, and she was a much better swimmer than he was. Maybe she usually didn't swim during the middle of driving rainstorms, but she knew
how
.
And maybe she should have asked her mother to help with this, instead, because there was a chance she was going to have to rescue her
father
, too.
The dog was nowhere in sight, and she dove under where she had last seen him. It took three tries, as she flailed around with her arms, but finally, one of her hands grazed wet fur. He was in too much trouble for her to worry about hurting him, so she tugged as hard as she could on his legs to pull him up to the surface.
Working together, she and her father hauled him back to the rocks. The dog's body was limp, which made it easier to drag him, but she was terrified that he might be dead.
They hoisted him up onto the rocks, and then her father lifted her out of the water, too.
“Do not,” he said, coughing, “
ever
do that again. I'm very cross with you.”
She was coughing too much herself to be able to answer, but she nodded.
In the meantime, the dog was sprawled across the rocks, still not moving. Her father pulled himself out of the water and then looked around blearily.
His glasses. Emily glanced around until she saw them wedged in between two rocks. “Right there,” she said, and picked them up for him. It looked like the frames were kind of bent, but at least they weren't broken.
Her father nodded, wiped the lenses off on his wet sweatshirt, and put the glasses on, still coughing. He frowned down at the dog, and rested his hand against his chin as he thought for a moment. Then he nodded once, and positioned the dog's head so that it was angled down.
“What are you doing?” Emily asked.
“I'm going to try some CPR,” her father said, and pressed firmly on the dog's rib cage with both hands. He counted aloud to three, then pressed again—and again, and again, with the same rhythm.
Just as he bent down to breathe into the dog's mouth and nose, the dog unexpectedly choked and water gushed out of his mouth. Her father waited
until he was finished, and then resumed the chest compressions.
The dog vomited up some more water—and then, it seemed like magic as his chest started moving up and down.
He was breathing on his own!
Emily was so relieved that she wasn't sure whether to hug her father or the dog—or
both
. “Wow, that was really good, Dad.”
Her father just sat down on the rocks to catch his own breath.
The dog lay stoically on his side, but his breathing was more labored than ever.
“Let's get him into the house,” her father said. “Then, we can decide what to do from there.”
Emily nodded. The swimming had been surprisingly exhausting, and she was shivering from the chilly rain. But she picked up her sweatshirt, wrung out the water as well as she could, and covered the dog with it again.
The dog moved slightly in response, and then lay quietly again.
“Theo? Emily?” her mother called from their deck. “Where are you?”
“Over here!” her father called back.
Once her mother had made her way over to
them, her parents decided—actually, her
mother
decided—that her father would go get a couple of blankets and one of their plastic sleds. The idea was that they would ease the dog onto the sled, and then pull him safely back to the house.
Emily thought that sounded like a good plan. A
smart
plan.
She and her mother stayed on the rocks to wait for him to come back. Emily patted the dog gently the entire time.
“Dad gave him CPR,” she said. “It was cool.”
Her mother looked impressed. “Good for him. I don't think I'd know how to give CPR to a dog.”
Emily nodded, since she wouldn't have had any idea how to do it, either. But her father had a really, really good memory, and it was the kind of thing he must have read about on the Internet once.
“Was the dog wearing that sweatshirt when you got here?” her mother asked wryly.
Emily shook her head. “No, I was trying to keep the rain from getting on him.”
“Joke,” her mother said.
Right. Okay. She maybe should have figured that out on her own, although it would probably have been easier if she was less tired.
She kept saying soothing things to the dog, and
every so often, he would wag his tail a tiny bit. She knew that he probably couldn't understand her, but it seemed important to try and make him feel safe.
“I know it hurts, but you should try not to growl again,” she said. “Dogs make my father a little nervous.”
Her mother laughed. “
A lot
of things make your father a little nervous.”
Which was true. Sometimes, even ordinary stuff like the sound of blenders made him flinch. He always said that it was because he had grown up directly underneath a roller coaster, although that was actually a joke from an old movie. Anyway, he had grown up on the Upper West Side in New York in a very large apartment building, where her grandparents still lived. Her mother, on the other hand, was from Southern California and had spent most of her childhood on the beach—or playing sports with her three big brothers. Two of her brothers had even grown up to be
coaches
—her other brother was a ski instructor—and they all thought it was fairly hilarious that their little sister had gone off and gotten a PhD in history, and spent most of her time sitting behind a desk all day.
When her father returned with the sled and two blankets, he was also carrying a pair of oven mitts.
“Are your hands cold?” Emily asked dubiously.
Her father flushed slightly. “In case he snaps when we move him.”
Oven mitts would probably be more protective than ordinary pot holders, but just barely.
“Hockey gloves might have been better,” her mother said.
“Oh.” Her father gave that some thought. “That's true.”
Except that they didn't even own any hockey gloves, as far as Emily knew. They
watched
hockey sometimes, but none of them played.
Her mother folded one of the blankets in half, and spread it onto the rocks right next to the dog. Before her father could even put the oven mitts on, the dog made a sound like a resigned sigh and painfully dragged himself onto the blanket, even though his legs didn't seem to be working quite right. Then, he collapsed, breathing harder than ever.
“Wow,” Emily said, feeling very proud of him. “He's really
smart
.” And brave, too!
Her parents each lifted one end of the blanket, and slowly transferred the dog onto the sled. The other blanket was already pretty soaked from the rain, but her mother covered him with it, anyway,
to protect him a little during the journey over to their house.
The dog was gasping for breath, but other than that, he never moved or made a sound as her father pulled the sled across the wet grass. Emily held the back door open, and her father guided the sled into the kitchen.
In the bright light of the room, she saw the dog clearly for the first time. He
was
a white retriever of some kind, with big brown eyes, and a black nose. He was so thin that all of his ribs showed, and she gasped when she saw a long bloody gash running across his side.
His left foreleg was also covered with blood and hanging in an unnatural position. When she looked more closely, she felt completely sick to her stomach.
There was a broken
bone
sticking right out of his leg!

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