Page 49 of Geeky Pucking Orc

“Oh.” Bwat tore at the gyro foil. “We can make other plans. I can tell Dylan we would like to go elsewhere.”

“No! I like children, even though I haven’t spent a lot of time with them. And I’m sure Dylan and his wife are amazing parents. We’ll have fun together even if we need to cut our evenings short. I want to go to Spain. And I would like it if we went with them.”

Bwat grinned. “I’m excited to plan this trip. And go on this trip. We will have such a good time, Abby. We’ll eat amazing foods and see beautiful buildings and art, and talk to humans about their lives and their history and their cities.”

I knew I’d have a wonderful time with Bwat. I always did.

“Tomorrow you will go to see your mother?” he asked. “To have dinner and show your love even though you are scared for her health?”

I nodded, happy that he’d remembered. “Yes. She’s planning dinner and I want to get there late afternoon, but I need to go pick up a pie to bring and I really need to get groceries and clean my apartment too. I’ve done nothing but work this week…well, except for last night.”

“You will need dinner tonight,” he said. “I am happy to bring some to your house, or take you out if you like.”

I was so tempted, but the last few weeks had been a lot. “Thanks, but I think I’ll pick up food on the way home and just watch a movie or something. How about you? What are you plans for the rest of today?” I asked.

“I need to go to the animal shelter. There were quite a lot of dogs brought in two weeks ago from a home where they were not being taken care of. Some were very ill and I’m hoping they are better since I saw them last.”

I perked up at that. “Ooo. I should go with you and take some pictures for Instagram. Maybe even a video for a reel.”

“Today?” If I couldn’t take her to lunch, then spending time with her at the animal shelter would be just as good.

Abby looked down at her laptop and wrinkled her nose. “I really shouldn’t. I’ve got so much to do today. How often do you go? Can I join you Monday instead?”

“I would love that, Abby. Monday we will go to the animal shelter, and perhaps you will let me buy you food afterwards? Lunch, or dinner? Even if it is just from a food truck, I want to make sure you eat.”

“That’s a plan.”

It was really sweet of him. I remembered Jordan telling me that Ozar had left steaks outside her front door, and that he’d been obsessed with providing her with food. Was this Bwat’s way of showing friendship, or something more?

Part of me hoped it was something more.

22

BWAT

The team workout and Ozar’s on-ice practice had drained a lot of my energy, but BARCS was counting on me to be there, so I dragged my exhausted body over to the animal shelter, and was met by chaos.

“Forget cleaning cages today, we need you at intake,” Cathy informed me. “Hoarding situation. Animal Control is bringing in the survivors. They need triaged, vet care, grooming, and processed for quarantine.”

I’d watched a whole lot of Gray’s Anatomy, so I knew an emergency when I saw it. “Code Red,” I shouted, nearly toppling over a couple of humans looking at the cats as I ran past. When I made it to the intake area at the rear of the shelter, I skidded to a stop. The Animal Control officers were unloading cages from a truck. Everyone was wearing masks and gloves. The smell was incredible. But it was the silence that frightened me the most.

I’d been volunteering at the shelter long enough to realize that the decibel level in this building usually approached the level of permanent hearing loss. The cats were generally quiet, scared and huddled in the back of their cages. The ones who’d been at the shelter for a while, or who were used to a chaotic household would purr, or meow, or scratch at the pads on the side of their cages, but the cat rooms were fairly chill.

The dog rooms were not. Those spots were always a cacophony of sound. The dogs barked at each other, at the humans, at the walls, at their food and rugs. The humans at the shelter assured me that they eventually settled down and slept but I didn’t believe them. Those dogs probably barked day and night without stop, never sleeping, never pausing except to eat.

“What…what happened?” I whispered to Brock who was directing where the cages should go.

“Hoarding situation,” he told me. “This couple were breeding dogs and they were stacked four tall and three deep all over the house. Place smelled like a battlefield. Five of the dogs were dead. We’ve gotten puppies that they were initially reluctant to sign over, and fifteen adult dogs, some of them in a serious state of neglect.”

I gasped, horrified that someone could do that to a helpless animal.

“We need you over there with Erica, cataloging each dog and making notes about their condition and medical needs,” Brock added.

Leaving him, I walked over to where the veterinarian stood. “I’m here to help you, Dr. Erica.”

She shot me a tired smile. “Please, just call me Erica, Bwat.”

That was a difficult request. Healers back home were revered and treated with the utmost respect. Even Dr. Erica was informal back home. I should be calling her Honorable Healer. But I nodded and asked her again what I should do.