“Can you leave a message for me?”
“She might not get it for a while. She took a snowmobile out to the crash scene last night.”
“What?”
It was sixty-some miles from Ashland to Clayton Lake along the infamous American Realty Road, a gravel thoroughfare maintained by loggers and nicknamed the “Reality Road” by locals because it leads through the wildest stretch of Maine.
“We tried to talk her out of it, but you know Stacey.”
“She’s going to catch pneumonia!”
“All I can tell you is that she radioed in when she arrived at Clayton Lake. So you don’t need to worry about that at least. If she radios us again, I’ll let her know you called.”
I thanked the unnamed woman and restrained myself from punching the nearest wall. Did Stacey honestly believe the recovery team and crash investigators needed her help? She could be so selfish in her recklessness.
As I put my cereal bowl in the sink, I caught sight of myself in the kitchen window again.
“Don’t even say it,” I told my glowering reflection.
28
As I thought about the day ahead, I realized there was something productive I could do that wouldn’t violate my agreement with DeFord to refrain from rule-bending activities. I would make it my personal mission to find someone willing to adopt Shadow.
I started researching what Maine state law had to say on the subject of wolf hybrids. Like most legal language, it resisted clear interpretation. Title 7, Section 3911 gave game wardens six days to dispose of a wolf hybrid at large before ownership of the animal was transferred to a shelter for it to be put down. Did that mean I was still the legal custodian of Shadow as the warden who had confiscated him? After five minutes of scratching my head, I pulled up Kathy’s number and hit the call button.
My former sergeant picked up on the second ring.
“Mike! I heard about that crash up in the Allagash. Did you know Stacey was not on board?”
“Not until she called. I thought I was talking to her ghost.”
“Jesus! Is she all right?”
“Not remotely. I just called the field office in Ashland and a woman there told me Stacey took a sled out to Clayton Lake because she wanted to ‘help.’ She practically has walking pneumonia as it is.”
“And what’s this I heard about you being on the sharp end of a knife?”
“That’s another long story, but the short version is that I am fine. I’ll tell you all the gory details later, but right now I have a question. Do you know anyone who would adopt a wolf dog?”
“So that animal you called me about really was a hybrid?”
“Afraid so. I’ve been looking at the law book, and I think I have six days to find a home for him before he’s euthanized. Am I reading that right?”
“I never had to deal with that situation, but I’m guessing the language is vague enough that, unless the department formally transferred ownership to the shelter, you can take him around to people who might consider adopting him. It won’t be easy. Most of the wolf dogs I’ve met have been holy terrors, especially those with the higher wolf content. What’s your guess about this one?”
“I don’t have to guess. He came from Montana, and the state had him listed in its registry. He’s ninety percent wolf.”
“Ninety percent!” Kathy said. “That’s a wild animal, Mike. That’s not a pet.”
“I was hoping you might consider taking him.”
“No.”
“Please, Kathy. You have a permit, and you’re so good with dogs. Pluto has been gone nearly two years and—”
“Mike, you need to stop right there.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
It had been rude of me to try to foist Shadow onto my friend. When Kathy was ready to adopt another dog, she would no doubt want an animal bred for search-and-rescue operations, one she could train. Wolf hybrids were probably the worst-possible animals for the work she did.
“What about some sort of sanctuary?” I asked.
She gave the question some thought. “Well, there’s nothing in Maine.”
“There used to be one in New Hampshire, but I heard it closed.”
“Fenris Unchained didn’t close,” she said. “That was just a rumor because the guy who runs the place had a heart attack, and they thought he was going to die. Somehow, he recovered and is back to taking wolf dogs. I don’t know if he’s accepting new animals, though. More and more states are banning wolf hybrids.”
“Where’s it located?”
“Just across the border in the White Mountains. I’ve never been there, but I heard it’s a funky place. Do you want me to make a call for you?”
“Yes! Thank you, Kathy.”
“What is it about this particular animal that’s gotten to you?”
“I feel responsible for him.”
“There’s got to be more to it than that.”
“I can’t explain it. If you saw him, you would understand, I think.”