Stop being a coward.
“Okay.” I swallow. “The woods it is.”
We walk quietly side by side heading for the trees.
“What kind of dog is he?” I ask, trying to occupy my overactive brain.
“A Mastiff—Dozer!” he calls out just as we break through the trees.
Copying him, I cup my hands around my mouth and call out, “Dozer!”
My voice echoes through the trees, chasing Jordan’s echo.
We both listen for a return of sound in the form of a bark, but nothing comes.
We walk on a little farther as Jordan and I continue to take turns calling for Dozer.
After a few minutes of walking and still no sign of the dog, I pick up on the sound of passing traffic.
“Are we close to a road?” I ask.
The look on his face – realization, then complete panic. It makes me panic.
Jordan breaks off in a sprint. I run after him, trying to keep up, but his legs are longer than mine and he’s a hell of a lot faster.
I finally catch up to him close to a clearing. He’s looking around, frantically calling for Dozer.
I’m seriously out of breath and have a stitch. I’m not the fittest of people.
Bending over, I brace my hands on my thighs as I try to catch my breath.
The sound of traffic is a lot louder up here, meaning we’re really close to the road.
Holding my quickened breaths, I stand up straight, and try to focus my hearing on any sound that could be related to a dog.
Nothing.
“How about you go that way,” I suggest, pointing to Jordan’s right. “And I’ll go this way.” I tilt my head to the left.
“Okay.” He takes a step back. “Just yell out if you find him. I’ll hear you.”
“I will … and I’m sure he’s fine, Jordan.”
He nods again, then turns, quickly walking away.
I turn, and start walking. “Dozer!” I call out.
Another car whizzes past.
I walk on a little farther in the silence, looking around for any signs. Then I call out his name again.
That’s when I hear a whimper. It’s quiet, but I definitely hear something.
My heart starts to beat faster. “Dozer!” I call out again.
A whine.
Following the sound, I move closer to the clearing … and that’s when I see him – a huge, fawn Mastiff laid over by a tree.
I run to him, yelling at the top of my lungs for Jordan, hoping to god he hears me.
I drop to my knees beside Dozer. He’s panting, chest heaving up and down, his body trembling.
“Oh my god, your poor boy. You’re gonna be okay, Dozer.” I hover my hands over him, unsure whether to touch him or not. I’m guessing he was hit by a car and crawled his way back here.
“I’m Mia. I’ve been helping Jordan look for you. He’s been really worried.”
Dozer lifts his head a little. Big brown eyes stare blankly up at me.
I should check him for injuries.
“Okay, Dozer, I’m not a vet, but I’m well on my way to becoming a doctor, and my father was a doctor, so I know what I’m doing. I’m gonna check you over, see what’s going on with you. That okay? Not that you can answer me…”
Great, now I’m rambling to a dog.
Dozer lays his head back down and closes his eyes, so I take that as a yes.
I push my sunglasses up onto my head so I can see clear to begin assessing his injuries. I don’t know anything about dogs, but I’m guessing they don’t work much differently than people.
With care, I lay my hand on Dozer’s trembling body, and that’s when Jordan lands on his knees beside me.
“Shit, Dozer! You okay, buddy?”
Dozer grumbles a sound.
“I think a car hit him,” I say.
He stares at me for a long moment. Incredulity, anger and a few other emotions I can’t quite grasp pass over his face.
“Motherfucker!” He shakes his head, roughly. “When I find out who did this … fuck!”
I try not to flinch at his anger.
It’s not directed at you. He’s right to be angry. Someone just hurt his dog.
“We need to get him to a vet,” Jordan says with urgency.
But all I can focus on is the anger in his voice, and the physical tension that’s vibrating off him. It’s taking everything in me not to run.
I need a way to hold my calm.
So I switch into my trained mode, turn every emotion off. It’s the only way I can deal.
“Just let me check him over first. See if it’s safe to move him.” My voice sounds robotic. I hate when I sound this way.
Ignoring Jordan’s questioning stare, I run my hands over Dozer, checking for contusions, possible fractures, and internal bleeding.
Dozer yelps when my hand touches his front right leg.
I lean closer, getting a good look at the leg. There’s a disjoint in the bone. Definite fracture. Possibly more than one. No blood or signs of protrusion, which is good. It means the bone hasn’t broken the skin.
I haven’t come across any indication of internal bleeding, so I’d say this broken leg is the worst of it.
“His leg is broken,” I say, resting back on my haunches. “There’s some swelling around the ribcage, no cracks from what I can tell. I think he’s just going to have one hell of a bruise there. I think the car must have clipped him.” I glance at Jordan. His eyes are wide on my face, scrutinizing me.