The first sick animal showed up three days later.
I shouldn’t have been surprised.
I’d been in town less than a week and already had three people ask if I could “swing by and look at something” like I carried my exam table in my back pocket.
Doc Hargrove had cornered me outside the grocery store and tried to hand me a stethoscope. “I’m retiring in two years,” he’d said. “Less, if I have my way. Might as well start bribing you early.”
I’d laughed it off.
Then Patty called.
It was early evening. The cabin was soaked in golden light, the valley below shadowed. I’d spent the day wrestling with boxes and guilt, alternating between reading snippets of Margaret’s journal and storming away from it.
My phone buzzed on the counter.
UNKNOWN LOCAL NUMBER flashed on the screen.
“Hello?” I said, tucking it between my shoulder and ear as I wrestled with the world’s most tangled extension cord.
“Aurora? It’s Patty.”
“Oh. Hi.” I dropped the cord, relieved for the distraction. “Everything okay at the diner? Did I leave my credit card or my dignity or—”
“Funny,” she said dryly. “No, this is…personal. I, uh…” She cleared her throat. “You’re a vet, right? Like, a real one. Not just…on paper.”
“I have the student loans to prove it,” I said. “Why?”
A beat of silence.
“I wouldn’t bother you,” Patty said, “but Daisy’s…not right.”
“Daisy?” I repeated, brain flipping through the names I’d heard tossed around this week. “Your…dog?”
“She’s my girl,” Patty said. Her voice wobbled. “She’s…twelve. Lab mix. Tough as nails. But she’s been off her food for a couple of days and now she won’t get up. We were going to take her down to Dr. Meyers in the valley, but Thom’s truck is in the shop and the tow guys say they can’t come till tomorrow and Daisy just…looks at me like she’s done and I can’t… I can’t just watch her…”
My chest squeezed.
“Okay,” I said immediately. “Okay. Breathe. Is she in pain? Whining? Panting? Any vomiting? Diarrhea?”
“Panting,” Patty said, swallowing. “No puking. She just…lays there. Looks at me. Her gums looked a little…pale? Thom said I was imagining things, but—”
“Do you know her heart rate?” I asked automatically.
“What do I look like, a doctor?” she snapped, then sucked in a breath. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m just…scared.”
“It’s okay,” I said gently. “I’m coming to you. What’s your address?”
She rattled it off.
It was only a five-minute drive down the mountain, closer even than the diner.
“I’ll be there in ten,” I said. “Do you have any blankets? Towels? Anything to keep her warm?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah. We have…lots.”
“Okay. Make sure she’s on something soft. Keep talking to her. I’ll be there soon.”
I hung up and grabbed my go-bag.
I’d brought it out of reflex, stuffing my basic kit into a backpack before I’d even finished packing my kitchen. Old habit. You never knew when a neighbor would show up at your door with a limping cat.
Now, my fingers found the familiar weight of my stethoscope, the cool plastic of syringe cases.
“House call,” I told Rufus, clipping his leash. “You’re coming, but you’re staying in the car, understand? No licking dying patients.”
He whined, tail wagging.
He loved car rides. He also loved licking things that did not want to be licked.
“Boundaries,” I reminded him on the way down the drive.
The road to Patty’s wound through a stand of aspens, their white trunks flashing. Her place was a low, wide house with a deep porch and a riot of flowerbeds out front. The smell of baking and sugar and bacon clung to the siding like perfume.
Thom met me at the steps.
He was a tall, barrel-chested man in his sixties with a bald head and a perpetually furrowed brow. We’d nodded at each other a few times in town, but hadn’t exchanged more than a hello.
“You the animal doc?” he rumbled.
“Yeah,” I said, hoisting the bag. “Aurora.”
“Thom,” he said. “Thanks for coming.”
His voice cracked a little on the last word.
“It’s what I do,” I said softly.
He led me through the cozy chaos of their living room—crocheted blankets, framed photos, a half-finished jigsaw puzzle on the coffee table—to a corner where a large dog bed sat.
Daisy lay on it, curled slightly.
Her eyes lifted as we approached.
Old lab eyes. Cloudy, soft. Tired.
“Hey, girl,” I murmured, dropping to my knees beside her.
She wagged her tail once, a faint thump against the cushion.
Patty hovered, twisting a dishtowel in her hands.
“She won’t eat,” she said. “I even tried bacon. You know how she is about bacon. She just…sniffed it and turned away.”
“That’s serious,” I said. “Refusing bacon is a cry for help.”
Patty’s laugh came out wet. “Yeah.”
I put my hands on Daisy’s side, feeling for the rise and fall of her chest. Rapid. Shallow.
Her gums were pale, as Patty had said. Her heartbeat, when I pressed the stethoscope to her ribs, was fast and thready.
“What happened?” I asked. “Any recent injuries? Falls? Has she been drinking more water than usual? Peeing more? Any…odd behavior?”
Patty and Thom exchanged a glance.
“She went off after a rabbit three days ago,” Thom said. “Chased it into the ravine. Came back limping. We checked her over—no obvious wounds. She slept hard that night. Next day…she was just…off. Slow. Didn’t want to get up. We figured she’d pulled something.”
“Did you check for ticks?” I asked, parting the golden fur.
“Of course we did,” Patty said. “We’re not idiots.”
I smiled despite myself. “Had to ask.”
I palpated Daisy’s abdomen gently. She tensed, a low whine escaping.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” I murmured. “I know. Almost done.”
Her belly felt…wrong. Too firm in places. Something shifted under my fingers that shouldn’t be there.
Internal bleeding? Tumor? Bloat?
I frowned, listening again.
Heart too fast. Lungs…clear. No crackling.
Her temperature, when I checked it, was elevated but not catastrophic.
“Okay,” I said slowly. “Here’s the deal. Something’s going on in her abdomen. Could be a bleed. Could be a mass. Could be a nasty infection. Without imaging…we’re guessing.”
Patty’s hands wrung harder. “Guessing doesn’t sound…good.”
“It isn’t,” I said gently. “She’s…old. Whatever this is, she doesn’t have a ton of reserve to bounce back. If she were in my clinic, I’d have her on IVs and monitors while we figured out what’s going on. We don’t have that here.”
“So what do we do?” Thom asked hoarsely.
“First,” I said, “we make her comfortable. I can give her something for pain. Fluids under the skin to keep her from crashing. That might buy us enough time to get her down to Dr. Meyers in the morning for further workup, if that’s what you want.”
“And if she…doesn’t…” Patty swallowed. “If she doesn’t make it through the night?”
I met her eyes.
“Then we make sure she’s not scared or suffering,” I said quietly. “I can…help with that, too. If it comes to it. But that’s…a decision. One you shouldn’t have to rush.”
Tears spilled over in Patty’s eyes.
“She’s my girl,” she whispered. “She’s…been with us since the kids were small. I don’t know how to…let her go.”
“You don’t have to right this second,” I said. “Let’s get her comfy. See how she does. You’ll…know. She’ll tell you. She already is, in some ways.”
“How?” Thom asked, rough.
“Dogs live in the moment,” I said. “When the moments stop being bearable, they show us. That’s all euthanasia is, really. Helping them out of a life that’s become more pain than pleasure.”
Patty sobbed once, covering her mouth.
Thom put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his side.
“Do what you can,” he said thickly. “Please.”
“I will,” I said.
Old muscle memory took over.
I set up an IV line as best I could without a pole, hanging the bag from a lamp. I slid a needle under the loose skin between Daisy’s shoulders, started the slow drip. I drew up a dose of pain medication, injected it into the muscle of her thigh.
Her breathing eased within minutes. Her eyes softened, tension leaving her body in increments.
“Good girl,” I whispered, stroking her head. “So brave. So good.”
Patty knelt opposite me, fingers buried in Daisy’s fur.
Thom hovered, helpless.
We sat like that for a long time.
Evening edged into night. Shadows lengthened in the corners of the room.
At some point, Patty shoved a mug of coffee into my free hand. At another, Thom silently pressed a plate of pie at my elbow.
I ate mechanically, my focus on the slow rhythm of Daisy’s breathing.
She perked up a little around nine, lifted her head, licked Patty’s fingers.
“She wants water,” I said. “Small sips.”
Patty brought a bowl. Daisy lapped a few times, then rested her chin back down.
“She’s saying goodbye,” Patty whispered, voice breaking.
I didn’t correct her.
Around eleven, Daisy’s breathing changed.
It became…lighter. Almost…absent.
“She’s…going,” Thom said, voice numb.
I checked her pulse.
Faint. Thready.
Her eyes met mine.
Old vet instinct whispered: *You could push. Fluids, drugs, maybe buy a day. Two. A week.*
But what would I be buying?
More pain. For her. For them.
“She’s tired,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “She’s…ready.”
Patty’s shoulders shook.
“Okay,” she said, broken. “Okay. Help her. Please.”
I drew up the pink liquid with hands that had done this too many times to count.
My fingers still trembled.
“Take your time,” I said. “Tell her whatever you need to tell her. I’ll…be right here.”
They did.
They told her she was the best girl. That she’d guarded their kids and licked their tears and stolen their socks. That she’d done enough. That they loved her.
When they nodded, I slid the needle into her vein.
She didn’t flinch.
Within seconds, her breathing slowed. Stopped.
Her heart…stuttered. Faded.
I listened to the silence in her chest.
Then I pressed my ear to her ribs just once, because sometimes stethoscopes lied and ears didn’t.
Nothing.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
Patty wailed, quietly. Thom bowed his head.
I sat with my hand on Daisy’s fur until her body cooled.
When I finally stepped out into the night, the air hit me like a slap.
Everything felt too sharp.
The stars were too bright. The wind too cold. The smell of pine and distant woodsmoke from a neighbor’s chimney too…much.
I leaned against the porch railing and sucked in a shaky breath.
Rufus’s head appeared in the car window, ears pricking when he saw me. He whined.
“It’s okay,” I told him hoarsely. “We did…what we could.”
Footsteps scuffed on gravel behind me.
I tensed, spine snapping straight.
“Rory?”
Theo’s voice.
Of course.
I turned.
He stood at the edge of the walkway, half-shadowed. Jeans. Jacket. Concern carved into the set of his mouth.
“How did you—” I began.
“Patty called,” he said. “After she called you. She was…crying. I figured you’d…have your hands full.”
I exhaled slowly.
“She’s gone,” I said. The words tasted metallic.
He dipped his head. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” I said. My throat burned.
“You did good,” he said softly.
“You weren’t there,” I snapped. “You didn’t hear her heart slow. You didn’t see their faces.”
“No,” he said. “But I smelled you.”
My brows snapped together. “What does that even—”
“You smell like morphine and grief,” he said quietly. “And…acceptance. You didn’t push when it wasn’t right. They’ll thank you for that later, even if they don’t know it now.”
Tears I thought I’d finished with pricked again.
“I hate this part,” I whispered.
“I know,” he said.
We stood there.
In the quiet between us, the mountain hummed.
“You do that often?” he asked. “Put animals down.”
“Often enough,” I said. “It’s…part of the job. Being there at the start and the end. I just…didn’t expect to be doing it in my second week here.”
He huffed. “Welcome to pack life. Things don’t really…schedule themselves politely.”
“Does it bother you?” I asked, glancing at him. “The euthanasia. The…killing.”
His jaw worked.
“We do it ourselves,” he said finally. “With our…animals. Our sick. We don’t…outsource if we can help it. It’s…a Pack thing. Responsibility. Mercy. It’s hard. It’s…necessary.”
“What about with…your own?” I asked quietly. “Your…people.”
He stared at me.
“Sometimes,” he said slowly, “the worst wounds we take aren’t the ones teeth can fix. Sometimes…someone’s too far gone. Blood poisoning. Fire. A fall. Their wolf can’t pull them back. Then…yeah. We help. We make it…clean. We sit with them. We don’t let anyone die alone.”
The raw honesty in his voice hit me like a fist.
My chest ached.
“You sure you’re not just a sadist?” I asked weakly. “You seem weirdly comfortable with all this talk of…dying.”
“I’m not comfortable,” he said. “I’m…familiar. Big difference.”
We were quiet again.
“I could use a drink,” I said finally.
He huffed. “Patty’s got whiskey inside.”
“I meant…later,” I said. “Not tonight. I think if I drink now, I’ll…break.”
“Then you call me when you’re ready to break,” he said. “I’ll bring the bottle.”
My pulse did that stupid little skitter.
“You offering me…emotional support whiskey?” I said.
“Something like that,” he said. “And a shoulder. If you want it.”
I swallowed.
“That’s…dangerous,” I said. “Alcohol. Shoulder. Bond. That’s…a lot.”
“I’ll keep my hands in my pockets,” he said. “Scout’s honor.”
“You were a Scout?” I asked, unable to picture it.
“For a month,” he said. “Mrs. Henson made me quit when I kept tracking the leaders through the woods without a compass.”
“That’s…creepy,” I said.
“You say ‘creepy,’ I say ‘useful.’”
Despite myself, I smiled.
“Go home,” he said gently. “Get some sleep. You did right by Daisy. That matters. To the Ridge, too.”
“The Ridge doesn’t care about one pet dog,” I said.
“It cares about how we treat our own,” he said. “Humans. Wolves. Dogs. It’s all…threads.”
“I’m not a thread,” I muttered.
He didn’t argue.
But when I drove back up the mountain, Rufus snoring in the back, I felt the Ridge under my wheels.
It felt…sadder.
Quieter.
Like it, too, had lost something small and golden.
***