The Taken Ones by Jess Lourey EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Jess Lourey
- Language: English
- Genre: Small Town & Rural Fiction
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- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Present
Van
“They don’t remember the past, you know.”
I twitched, moving away from the industrial broom I’d been leaning
on as I stared into the dog’s pen. He was a huge, slobbery mutt, part Saint
Bernard, part woolly mammoth. The laminated sign on his cage said his
name was MacGuffin, that he was good with cats, and that he was being
surrendered by a couple who was about to have a baby.
“When animals are adopted, they forget the before,” the volunteer
continued. I put her in her twenties, her grape-colored tracksuit expensive
and immaculate, her face radiant with purpose. She was speaking in that
“helpful” tone a certain kind of woman uses when talking to people she
believes are beneath her. They never tried it on me when I had a gun and
badge clipped to my belt, but given my height and schlubby clothes, my
white-blonde hair twisted into a ponytail, I looked much younger—and
softer—than I was.
She’d mistaken me for someone she could play with.
“I read it online,” she said. “It can take dogs a while to forget, of
course, but once they’re adopted, thoughts of their old family are eventually
erased. They learn to love whoever takes them home.”
“If someone adopts them,” I said, staring at the grizzled pooch.
The Minneapolis Animal Haven was a no-kill shelter, so MacGuffin
would live here for as long as it took. It wouldn’t be easy on him, though.
He’d get food and water plus his pen cleaned once a day, and if there were
enough of us volunteers, he’d get walked, but the cries of scared animals
never ceased. The smell must be bad, too. It was rough on humans, and we
could only detect the urine and feces. For a dog or cat, an animal that could
discern the messages in those scents? It must be torture.
“Oh, he’ll get adopted!” the woman said, pinning on her smile. Her
professionally colored auburn hair was piled so thickly atop her head that it
must have included extensions. Something like that would really mess up a
crime scene. “Won’t you, MacGuffin? Won’t you get adopted?”
The enormous dog’s tail gave a thump, and he blinked his rheumy
eyes.
“It looks like he was just walked,” she continued, tapping a fingernail
on the placard. “Maybe you should pick a different dog.”
“Maybe you should mind your own goddamned business,” I said,
keeping my tone light, as if I were offering her directions in an unfamiliar
neighborhood. I’d reached the end of my short rope. The only thing worse
than a stranger telling me what to do was discovering that I shared a life
philosophy with someone wearing $200 yoga pants.
Forgetting is the best thing.
It was like she’d read my mind.
She sniffed and walked away, looking for someone else to
quarterback. I watched her go. I’d signed up for a four-hour evening shift.
How I spent that time was up to me. Some days I scooped turds in the cat
room before dragging a string across the floor so the kittens could burn off
their hunting energy. Other times
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