When I finally left the infirmary in late July of 1987, Blake had been transferred to a high-security prison and I hadn’t been to the vet clinic for over a month. Her attack on me had resulted in a severe concussion, a broken cheekbone, and four cracked ribs. One of my lungs had collapsed, too, which was the reason I had to stay in the prison medical wing for so long—the doctors needed to make sure all of my ribs had healed so they wouldn’t pierce my other lung when I got back up and around.
The only thing that kept Blake from beating me to death had been Trixie—when the guards found us in the hall, I was bloody and unconscious, but Blake was on her back with Trixie’s snarling muzzle fixed directly over her jugular. She didn’t bite the woman, but the threat she imposed was what saved me.
The morning I rejoined the rest of the inmates for breakfast, O’Brien handed me a special tray filled with French toast and bacon, which she knew was my favorite. “Missed you, girl,” she said.
“Me, too.” Other than Myer and Randy, I hadn’t been allowed visitors in the infirmary. I never thought I’d be so happy to see my fellow prisoners.
“You headed back to the clinic today?” O’Brien asked.
“Nope,” I said. “Meeting with Myer right after I eat.”
“Maybe he’ll put you back in the kitchen, where you belong.” She winked at me, and I smiled, carrying my tray over to an empty table, where I ate slowly, taking small bites. My cheekbone had mostly healed, but chewing hurt if I wasn’t careful. My ribs ached if I twisted too far in one direction or the other, so mostly, I stayed still. I wondered how my injuries would affect my ability to run and move while working with the dogs. I wondered if Trixie had been adopted while I couldn’t take care of her. Randy told me several families had met with her, but as of a couple of weeks ago, she was still in the shelter. She hadn’t been allowed to visit me in the prison’s medical wing.
Several other inmates joined me at the table, and many issued their condolences, which I appreciated. I knew I’d been luckier than most during my internment; conflicts ending in a beating were common occurrences, and this had been my first. It was probably stupid of me to have pushed her, but seeing her kick Trixie had sparked a fury inside me I couldn’t hold back. I was happy she’d been transferred. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d had to see her again.
I finished my meal as quickly as I could, then made my way to Myer’s office. The door was open, so I stuck my head inside, surprised to see Randy already sitting opposite Myer, who was at his desk.
“Sorry,” I said. “Am I interrupting?”
“No, no,” Randy said. “Come on in.” He gestured for me to sit in the chair next to him, which I did, after closing the door.
“You’re looking better,” Myer said. “How do you feel?”
“Good,” I said. “Not perfect, but yes. Definitely better.”
“Glad to hear it,” Myer said, and I gave Randy a questioning look.
“So, you wanted to see me?” I said, glancing back to Myer. Was he going to tell me I couldn’t work with Randy anymore? Would he say that Trixie was too dangerous to have on the premises? My heart fluttered at the thought of losing the one thing in my life that made me feel proud. The one thing that had helped me survive.
“I did,” Myer said. “We did, actually.” He nodded toward Randy, who sat there with a close-lipped, smug smile on his face.
“Okay . . .” I said, drawing out the word. “Is everything all right? Am I losing my work-release privileges?”
“Not exactly,” Randy said, and again, I looked at him, confused.
“We brought your case in front of the parole board last week,” Myer said. “And Randy testified on your behalf. As did a few of his employees.”
“What?” I said. “But . . . my hearing isn’t supposed to be until the end of August. Right?”
“Yes,” Myer said, “but with what happened, and how well you’ve been doing overall since you started working with Randy, I decided to move it up.”
“They approved your release,” Randy said with a huge grin. He reached over and squeezed the top of my leg. “You’re getting out today.”
“What?” I said again. I dropped back against my chair, feeling like all the air had been pushed from my body. My mind immediately flashed back to the last time I’d been released, the bus ride into Seattle, my mother slamming the door in my face, blood running down that little girl’s face. I felt my face flame red, the room began to spin, and I had to close my eyes. “No,” I said, unsure if I’d spoken the word out loud or only in my head, until Randy replied.