My passion project for the last two years has been SHAPE OF THE WOLF – Book 1 of the Iris Curran series. I have spent most of my life in the woods or out in nature and I wanted to write a book that could bring forth the little things that nature has shown me. SHAPE OF THE WOLF brings you a tale with vivid, descriptive storytelling and the deep truth that we all wish we could vanish into the woods and release our own wild souls. The journey of the wolf is one that has captured my imagination since childhood. Growing up, Balto was my favorite film and Call of the Wild was my favorite book. As a third-generation Irish American, I am also obsessed with Celtic history and Druid folklore, which is where I got the idea for my book about a Druid wolf shapeshifter. At the heart of Iris’ story, you will find the core Druid values of balance and respect for all life. Enjoy the teaser below!
I am currently seeking a publisher and can’t wait to share the whole story with you once I am published.
Chapter 1: Dreams
Hurtling through the trees, I am in a dream. It’s my favorite dream and it’s one that visits me often. My four limbs stretch as my paws pound against the earth. Tongue lolling and ears perked, the ground flies beneath me. My nose and fur are wet from the rain splashing through the pines. All of my senses are heightened in the darkened landscape.
I break through the trees with a great bound and crest the grassy hilltop. Here I stop. Panting. Happy. I take in the smells of mossy earth. Of damp ponderosa pines. Of my own fur heavy with water. The rain begins to ease, softening to a pitter-patter. The clouds peel back to reveal a ghostly moon illuminating the hills. The shimmering lake below reflects the pale moonlight.
The world that is usually so quiet to me is full of the music of the night. Crickets singing, bullfrogs bellowing, and water droplets splashing to the forest floor. Overhead, a feathered silhouette passes silently in front of the swollen, glowing moon. In the distance, I hear a mournful cry that lifts the hairs on the back of my neck. It is a wolf lifting its song to the moon. He seems to ask, ‘Are you there?’
Instinct swells and I am about to call back when I hear something crashing through the woods behind me. Spinning around, I bare my teeth and smell the air for danger. I catch a familiar scent and relax as Oso barrels into the clearing. I should have known he would follow me. When I am awake, he is my ever-present shadow. Why shouldn’t he follow me into my dreams?
Wagging his tail and sniffing my nose, he asks a question.
‘Where are you going?’
His chestnut-colored fur and chocolate-drop eyes are difficult to see in this light.
He gives a sharp bark, asking again – demanding really, ‘Where?’
I turn my head and listen for the long mournful cry of the wolf, but the wind seems to have carried him away. In the distant hills, I see a light shining through the trees. I have ventured much farther than I have ever been before. With one final testing of the air, I determine that the wolf is gone and begin to trot back the way I came.
‘I’m going home,’ I tell Oso.
The dog is beside me now, wagging his tail furiously as he runs at my shoulder. He keeps close as we bound back through the forest, two shadows in the dark. After a time, we break through the trees and face the same light I saw from the clearing. Here is a house silhouetted against the moonlit sky with a porch light shining into the black. It is my beacon in the night, my guide. An empty porch swing stirs in the breeze. The house rests nestled in the trees with the inky black lake below. It is as familiar to me as my own scent. I know the sound the screened door makes as it squeaks open and slams shut behind you. I know the creeks of the floorboards, the sweeping curve of the handrail, and the flaking paint on the windows. I know that the bedroom on the top floor has lilac print wallpaper surrounding a cozy, quilted bed.
I turn away from the house and lope down to the edge of the lake. The rain clouds have rolled away and the water is a perfect mirror of the moon poised above. I take a moment at the water’s edge, looking at the brown and gray face staring back at me. My luminous blue eyes blink heavily with sleep. My long tongue laps up a few mouthfuls of ice-cold water, creating ripples in the mirror. I give my whole body a shake, spraying rainwater onto Oso, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s happy I’ve come back home. I know the dream is about to end. It always ends this way.
In a haze, I lumber back to the house and push the screen door open with my wet nose. My eyes are getting heavier and I know the dream is moments away from ending. Padding quietly down the hall toward the bedroom, I am followed by Oso’s clicking nails on the hardwood floor. I nudge the door open and leap into my bed. I shut my eyes and allow my dream to fade away into nothing.
***
Sunlight begins to filter through my eyelids, but I don’t open them just yet. I lie there half-awake, trying to remember. I know I had that dream again, the wolf dream, but I can’t remember the details. I know this dream will slip away just like the others. A memory floats to the forefront of my mind of a siren’s song lifting over the hills. The call of a wolf asking me, Are you there?
Suddenly, my breath is knocked out of me and my dream is shunted away as a heavy weight crashes into my chest. Hot wet dog breath announces that it is Oso.
“Get off, you crazy bear!” I groan as I push him off the bed.
With the abruptness of this wake-up call, thoughts of my dream are forgotten. Sitting up, I rub my eyes and pull myself out of bed. As my feet hit the floor, I finally look around. The scene before me is shocking. Mud. Everywhere.
“Oso! What have you done?”
I gaze around my room in horror. The entire floor is covered in muddy paw prints leading out the door and undoubtedly through the kitchen. I begin to dress hastily, knowing it will be my fault if Heather wakes up and finds her house covered in mud. She has always made it very clear – Oso is my dog and my responsibility. I grab a towel and clean up as quickly as possible, starting at the front door and working my way back to the bedroom. It looks like Oso made multiple trips outside into the mud during the night. I work my way up the stairs cursing him and the fact that Heather didn’t lock the door last night. It’s only as I’m wiping up the last of the prints that I notice something odd. Oso, who has been happily following me around, oblivious to my stress, is sitting next to the prints with his tongue lolling. I grab a paw and place it over one of the muddy prints. The paw print is twice the size of his foot.
“Iris!” Heather bellows from downstairs. “You’re going to be late!”
Her voice breaks through my contemplation and with a swipe of the towel, I erase the last of the mud. With a shake of my head, I grab my bag from the desk and hustle down the stairs. I can tell from Heather’s tone of voice that she is not in a good mood. Best to not add me being late to her morning. Already on the table are eggs, toast, and orange juice. As I slip into my seat, Heather is bustling around the kitchen slapping peanut butter on some bread.
“What’s up?” I ask as I shovel eggs into my mouth.
“Oh, I’ll tell you what. It’s been a morning,” Heather said. “The horses must have been riled up last night. They were all agitated this morning. Cowboy even managed to kick open the stall door and helped himself to a bag of oats. He will be sick as a dog today. I think the wolves must have scared him.”
I froze and slowly lowered my forkful of egg.
“What makes you say that?”
“Didn’t you hear them howling last night?”
I shook my head.
“Well, it’s a miracle you slept through it. There must have been a couple of them with all that racket – at least two or three. They were far away from the sound of it, but they were close enough to stir up the horses.”
Again, the dream flitted into my mind. A lone cry in the night calling, Are you there?
“You know,” I said slowly, “I think I must have heard them. I think I was dreaming about them. I was dreaming that I was a wolf running through the woods…”
My voice trailed away. Heather had stopped scrubbing the dishes. Her shoulders tensed as she gazed out the window toward the lake below. A blaring honk broke through our silence and made us both jump.
“Oh shoot! The bus!” she exclaimed.
Heather handed me the sandwich and planted a kiss on my cheek as I scooted out the door.
“Have a good day!” she called after me.
Oso sprinted alongside me to the end of the drive. I patted his head at the mailbox as I climbed onto the bus. I worked my way toward the back to the empty seat always held open for me by my best friend, Spencer. As usual, her nose was in a book, but she pulled it down to flash me a braces-filled smile before returning to her pages. She had thick bangs and long wavy dark hair that fell in curtains around her face. My bus rides were usually pretty silent when she was reading a good book. This annoyed me when I had my own story to tell.
Placing my hand over the text I said, “I have to tell you something.”
Spencer reluctantly put the book down and I told her what I remembered of the dream. The forest, the wolf howling, Oso, and the lake. At the end of my tale, she looked unimpressed.
“I have to say, that dream is a bit boring. No dragons? No standing in the middle of school in your underwear? No falling off a cliff? That’s what I have nightmares about. Falling.”
She smiled, her green eyes flashing, and buried her head back into her book. I sighed. She was right. It was just a very realistic dream brought on by too many late-night chocolate chip cookies and wolves howling in the woods. Oso’s muddy footprints had been nothing more than evidence of his nighttime explorations. I closed my eyes and leaned back against the seat as the bus bumped along the gravel road.
***
As students filed into their first classes of the day, I followed Spencer into our English class. Miss Kelly always started our day with a quote from a famous author. This morning’s quote was written on the whiteboard in her delicate cursive handwriting.
“I shall be telling this with a sigh,
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.”
― Robert Frost
I smiled at the familiar poem and pulled out my homework.
“Good morning and happy Monday!” trilled Miss Kelly.
She was one of those teachers that every kid in school adored. She was fun and beautiful, and she commanded her classroom effortlessly. Her vibrant, curly red hair was tied back with a sash and her navy-blue dress swung as she turned away from the whiteboard.
“Dani, please collect everyone’s homework,” she directed. “As we have just completed our poetry unit, it is time for a new subject. For the month of May, we will be focusing on fairy tales and myths from various countries. We all know of Grimm’s fairy tales and Aesop’s fables?”
Miss Kelly glanced around the class for our confirmation. Some students nodded, some shrugged, and some looked at one another blankly.
She sighed. “Well, you should know them at this point. As you are all in the 12th grade, all of you should know of Cinderella, Hansel and Gretel, and The Tortoise and the Hare. I would like you to look further than the popular fairy tales and fables. For this project, I want you to work in groups and choose a country that interests you. You will then delve into their stories, myths, and legends and find one that resonates with you. For this project, we will be looking into the cultures and histories of other countries to help us interpret the meaning behind the stories you choose. For today we will divide up into groups of three and your group will choose a country to learn about. Come to me when you have made your decisions. Now get started!”
The class began to break into groups. I automatically paired with Spencer and searched around the classroom for our third. As the other groups began to claim their spaces around the room, it became clear who our third would be.
At the back of the room, head plastered to the desk, was Liam. His dark hair was askew, and it looked like he was threatening to drool. I caught Spencer’s eye and we both scanned the room again, looking for anyone else. It’s not that Liam wasn’t a nice kid or even an unpopular one. It was just that he was often aloof and lazy, and it seemed like he would make a bad group partner. He was the kind of student who let other group members do most of the work. Miss Kelly spotted the pair of us still standing in the center of the room and she followed my gaze to Liam. Frowning, she walked to his desk and gave him a shake.
“What? I’m up!” he shouted, ungluing his cheek from the desk.
Half his face was red, with the thin line from the pencil holder etched across his forehead.
“Liam, it is the first class of the day,” she said sharply. “You should not be falling asleep already. We’re dividing into groups just now.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Kelly,” he groaned. “I just had a terrible night’s sleep last night. Honest. It won’t happen again.”
“Well, now that you’re up, your two group members will brief you on the project.”
She gestured toward the two of us. Spencer rolled her eyes at me and plopped down in the seat next to Liam. I chose the chair across from him. When I looked up, Liam was watching me expectantly. I realized that he must be waiting for some direction. Quickly I looked down at my notes and explained the project. All the while, Miss Kelly waited and listened. When I finished, Liam smiled.
“Ireland,” he said simply. “We should study Ireland.”
“Why Ireland?” I asked Liam.
He ran his hands through his thick dark brown hair. His golden, hazel eyes studied mine intently. I found that his gaze made me uncomfortable, and I shifted in my seat.
“It’s where dad is from. Isn’t it interesting to learn about your family history?” Liam asked, leaning in eagerly.
I frowned. I wondered if he knew just how loaded that question was for me. I wondered if he had heard the stories about my family. Liam was now so close that I could smell the faint scent of cedar wafting from his hair. His unblinking stare was still on me. I dropped his gaze and looked at Spencer, who had her head down taking notes. She seemed oblivious to the intense and unusual attention Liam was giving me.
“Ireland should be interesting,” Miss Kelly interjected. “Clifden is actually originally an Irish settlement. A large number of Irish immigrants moved here in the 1850s during the Potato Famine. Most of them were farmers in Ireland and they found that the volcanic soil here had good nutrients for farming. They established the town and named it after their old home, Clifden, Ireland. The Irish roots run deep here. There should be lots of good information for you in the library.”
Spencer and I had no objections so Miss Kelly noted our choice on her clipboard as she moved on to speak with the next group.
“Sounds good. When should we meet?” Spencer asked, finally looking up. “My house is way too crazy to get anything done.”
Spencer was one of five kids and that was certainly true. The amount of noise in her house rivaled a herd of elephants. Liam casually sat back in his chair. With the renewed personal space, I felt myself begin to breathe again. I hadn’t even been aware that I had been holding my breath.
Spencer turned to me, “Iris, could we meet at your place?”
“Let me ask Heather first, but tomorrow should be fine,” I consented.
Liam nodded, indicating that my house would be fine by him. With our decision made, our research began as we traveled with the rest of the class to the library. As we browsed the shelves, I noticed that Liam still seemed to be watching me. Whenever I glanced at him, he would quickly avert his eyes. Annoyingly, Spencer still seemed to notice nothing as she brusquely dragged us through the aisles handing us stacks of books. When the bell rang, I melted into the crowded hallway, my heart beating a little faster than usual. I was not sure what had just happened between myself and Liam, but the smell of cedar seemed to linger with me as I headed to Math class.
During our lunch break, I went to our usual table by the window. Spencer was already there with her book out.
“Can you put that down for a minute?” I asked irritably. “I need to talk to you.”
I waited until her book was stuffed away and I had her full attention.
“Did you think Liam was acting weird today?” I asked.
“Well, he was asleep during class, he was no help in the library, and he will probably be a terrible group mate… but that’s all to be expected,” after a dramatic pause, she added, “Oh, and he could not keep his eyes off you.”
“Oh, thank god. You noticed too?” I asked. “You seemed pretty deep in your note-taking. I thought you didn’t notice.”
“Oh please,” she laughed. “If I can do anything, it’s multitasking. But why all the attention? Have you two been talking recently? Had any interesting encounters that I don’t know about?”
I thought back to all the time I had ever spent with Liam. Mainly it consisted of a few choice comments like, “Can I borrow a pencil?” or “What was the homework last night?” Of course, I had noticed him before. I’m sure most of the girls at school had, but we didn’t have much in common, so we never really talked. Thinking back on it, I didn’t believe Liam had ever stopped to speak to me outside of class.
“Nope,” I shrugged. “Maybe he was still half asleep. I hope he acts normal for the rest of the group work. It’ll be a long project if he doesn’t.”
“Well, he is cute,” she teased. “You could do worse.”
I rolled my eyes and pushed our conversation on to other topics. Eventually, the bell rang and the two of us gathered our things. As we passed one of the cheerleaders in the hall, a wave of perfume hit me like a wall. I veered away to give her a wide berth. Spencer laughed, insisting she couldn’t smell a thing. For some reason, I felt like every scent was more concentrated than usual. Maybe I was about to get sick or something and my nose was extra sensitive. The air was heavy with the smell of textbooks, the shavings of pencils, the floor cleaner the janitor used… and the scent of cedar. Following my nose, I saw Liam digging in his locker at the end of the hallway. I mentally shook myself. There was no way I could smell him from here. Liam seemed to sense my stare and looked up sharply in my direction. Quickly, I ducked into my next classroom, feeling the heat of his gaze following me.
Chapter 2: Liam
Watching her disappear through the classroom door, Liam felt immensely curious. He wanted so badly to speak with her, but he did not want to scare her away. Before now, Iris was someone he had never really thought about. Sure, she was pretty with her long blonde hair and bright blue eyes, but she was extremely shy and she was always attached to that nerdy book girl. When Iris had first moved to Clifden, she had been the talk of the town. Everyone wanted to gossip about the new orphan girl. The buzz had lasted about a month, but it eventually died down and Iris hid in the mass of students. Iris now blended in so well that Liam hardly ever noticed her. But that was before last night. Liam knew that there may be others like him who were beginning to change. This was the age after all. At 18 people began noticing that they were different. Liam had repeated a grade in elementary school, so his 18th birthday had come a year earlier than most of his peers. For an agonizing year, Liam had been watchful, searching for signs of another. The full moon was like nature’s alarm clock, awakening the changes in a few special people. With that knowledge, every full moon Liam kept his eyes peeled, searching, and hoping that he might find someone else like him.
After his journey last night around the mirrored lake, he had finally found what he had been seeking. Liam had seen a wolf and a dog wandering the forest together. Thinking this was odd, he followed them back to Iris’ house. He couldn’t believe his eyes as he watched them push through the screen door. Wanting to be certain, Liam had perched in a nearby tree. He watched through her window as the shadowy form of Iris crawled into bed and curled up next to her dog. Liam did not know how long he had stayed there watching her sleep. After almost a year of searching, here she was. Someone he could talk to. Someone who might finally understand him. It wouldn’t be long now. Soon she would know everything. He could wait until then. Liam closed his locker and moved on to his next class.
Chapter 3: Growing Pains
On the bus ride home, I spent most of the time with my head leaning against the window watching the scenes of hills and pine trees rolling by. The town of Clifden was an isolated town in the foothills of the Cascades in Central Oregon. It was not very large, but it was big enough. You certainly couldn’t make your way in and out of the supermarket without seeing someone you knew, but you could keep your business private from the whole town. I liked it that way. I did not want the whole town to know my business. I was sure that most of the town had heard of me, and I was annoyed that Liam had alluded to my past during English class. He didn’t know me and had no right to bring up my past. Only a handful of people knew my whole story. Spencer, who was once again nose-deep in her pages, was one of those select few.
I moved to Clifden when I was 10 years old to live with my Aunt Heather. Growing up, Heather had been my favorite aunt. I had always looked forward to her visits. When Mom would set down the phone and announce, “Auntie Heather is coming for a visit!” I would screech with excitement. Aunt Heather would bring sunflowers, cherry red tomatoes from her farm, and little gifts for me. She brought miniature fairy figurines, a music box, and stuffed animals. To this day, I still had the plush wolf that Heather had given me for my 9th birthday. I had named him Fang after Jack London’s book White Fang. My mother used to read books to me every night before bed and that had been one of my favorites. After I got the wolf, I carried Fang with me everywhere I went.
I moved to Clifden when I was 10 years old to live with my Aunt Heather. Growing up, Heather had been my favorite aunt. I always looked forward to her visits. When Mom would set down the phone and announce, “Auntie Heather is coming for a visit!” I would screech with excitement. Aunt Heather would bring sunflowers, cherry red tomatoes from her farm, and little gifts for me. She brought miniature fairy figurines, a music box, and stuffed animals. To this day, I still have the plush wolf that Heather gave me for my 9th birthday. I named him Fang, after Jack London’s book White Fang. My mother used to read books to me every night before bed and that had been one of my favorites. After I got the wolf, I carried Fang with me everywhere I went.
When my parents died suddenly in a fire, it made perfect sense that Aunt Heather would take me in. According to the police, the fire had been caused by a gas leak in the kitchen. My parents both worked from home and had become trapped in their upstairs studio office. I shuddered at the thought. I still remembered that little gray cottage by the beach. Their office faced the ocean and mom would paint spectacular watercolors of the sea and sell them in her art gallery. Dad was a marine biologist and he had worked extremely hard to get a job on the Oregon coastline. Between the two of them, all the bills were covered, and they were able to save up enough money to buy their dream house on the bay. We were happy. Times were simple. But then the fire happened.
At the time of the fire, I had been at school. I remember vividly being called to the principal’s office and being afraid that I was in trouble for bringing a toy to school. Fang had been tucked away in my backpack all day, but I pulled him out at recess. When I wouldn’t let my friend Taylor play with him, she tattled on me to the teacher. To my 10-year-old brain, this was certainly the reason I was being called to the principal’s office. If only that had actually been the case. I was met there by the police who told me nothing but said we were going to visit my Aunt Heather. I remember the cloud of sadness that seemed to hang over the principal’s face and I knew something was terribly wrong.
The drive seemed to go by in a blur and soon I was being dropped off by the police on Heather’s gravel driveway with nothing but my school backpack. I had visited Heather’s home many times before. Normally the sights and sounds of the animals brought me wonder and excitement as I jumped out of the car. But on that day, I only felt scared as I stepped from the police car. Heather was waiting for me and scooped me close as soon as my feet hit the ground. Tearfully she told me what had happened. The two of us collapsed in on one another, grieving together right there in the driveway.
From that day on, Heather took me in. My grandparents, who I called Mamó and Grandad, also lived in Clifden at the time. They had helped Heather as much as they could with my transition into her care. However, they were in ill health themselves, they could not do much more than financially help support her. Both of them passed away a few years later from illness and old age. Heather was my rock through it all. She bought me all new clothes and toys. She painted her spare room purple with a lilac wallpaper pop and turned it into a fairytale bedroom that any 10-year-old girl would have adored. She brushed my hair, packed lunches, and juggled the responsibilities of being a parent all on her own. I loved Heather deeply for all that she had done, but my heart still ached for my parents.
The bus jerked to a stop and broke me out of my reverie. Spencer scooted out of the way to allow me to climb into the aisle.
“See you this afternoon?” she asked.
“Definitely!” I called over my shoulder.
As I hopped off the bottom step, a wagging ball of fur surrounded me in his ritualistic afternoon greeting. Oso sniffed every inch of me and licked my hands happily.
“Come on you crazy bear,” I laughed, starting toward home.
As I crunched up the driveway, I breathed in deeply. My overly sensitive nose picked up the scents of freshly mown grass, flowers, damp earth, and the overwhelming smell of animals. People who do not live on a farm may not enjoy the smells of horse manure, hay, and goats, but to me they were comforting. Aunt Heather and the animals had gotten me through everything. Heather ran an animal rescue that rehabilitated everything from rabbits to Clydesdales. There was never a dull moment here and I loved every minute of the work. Heather’s one rule was that each animal was to be rehomed. The more animals we could rehome, the more we could help. There were only a few exceptions to that rule, one of which was Oso.
I remembered the day Oso had arrived. He was skinny and smelly, and his fur had been lank and matted. His chocolate brown eyes had been wild then. When the volunteer from the local shelter had dropped him off in his crate, she had seemed skeptical.
“Let us know if this one is too much for you,” she had told us.
Her meaning was clear as Oso had snapped and raged about in his cage. Heather looked at him appraisingly.
“Let’s give him time to settle in and relax,” she had replied.
At the time, Heather did not allow me near the upset dog. Heather knew that I was good with the animals, but this one seemed like he could be a danger to an 11-year-old. Heather also implemented the rule that this dog was not for petting.
“He’s a real bear,” she said.
During the first couple of weeks, Oso had been kept alone in his own kennel. He had an indoor sheltered cage that had a doggy door access to the run outside. I was allowed to fill his food and water bowl, but I was only allowed to enter Oso’s cage when he was secured in the outside run. Oso did calm down a little, but he was still very skittish, and he would not let Heather anywhere near him as she attempted to gain his trust. It was on a stormy day during his third week with us when things changed.
I was going about my chores and feeding all four of the dogs that we were rehabilitating. Because of the rain, the dogs were all inside and Oso was doing his normal pacing at the back of the kennel. When I stopped outside his door, I suddenly felt a wave of fear and anger. I was confused for a moment before realizing that these feelings were not my own. It was as though I had accidentally pushed into a bubble of Oso’s feelings. I felt his wildness and his paralyzing fear. At that moment I felt connected with him. I knew that he had lost someone too. I did not know how I knew this, but I recognized his feelings clearly. I felt my own fresh pain at losing my parents rising within me and I sent those feelings toward him.
“I understand. I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
The dog’s head snapped up as though he had understood me. He stopped pacing and cocked his head. His brown eyes still looked afraid, but also curious. After a moment, he walked to the front of his kennel and sniffed the air between us. Slowly, I reached my fingers through the chain links. I knew I was not supposed to do this. Heather had warned me that this wild dog might try and bite me, but somehow, I knew that I needed to reach him. After a brief hesitation, the trembling dog softly licked my fingers.
From that moment on, I worked hard to gain his trust and train him. It was not an overnight fix, but this connection we found seemed to save him and in turn, I found that he saved me. Heather was so stunned by the change that she agreed that our connection was special. It didn’t take much persuading for her to let me keep him. Today, looking down into his warm and happy gaze, I did not see any trace of the wild fearful animal that had been dropped at our door. Heather had laughed out loud when I told her that I had named him Oso. After all, he was a real bear.
***
“I’m home!” I hollered as the screen door slammed shut behind me.
At the silence, I deduced that Heather must already be making her rounds with the animals. I unloaded my bag and felt relief as the weight of my textbooks slid off my shoulders. I quickly changed into my grass-stained blue jeans and a gray t-shirt. I grabbed a banana nut muffin from a plate on the kitchen table and tramped outside in my black rubber Wellington boots.
This was my favorite part of any day. The animal rescue was my therapy. It had rescued me from my own depths of despair and in return, I loved to help mend broken animals. Following my routine, I went straight for the chickens and began gathering eggs. I then refilled the food and water bowls in the rabbit hutch and made my way down to the horse pasture. As I had predicted, Heather was working with one of the fillies, sending her on a slow trot around the training ring. This particular horse, a paint named Daisy, had come to the rescue very skinny and dirty. The whites and browns of her coat had been a dull gray due to the layers of grime. The prior owner had neglected her greatly and her hooves had not been trimmed properly. Because of this, Daisy’s feet were in a lot of pain when she arrived, and she had extreme difficulty walking. We had doctored her hooves and carefully washed the filth away. With proper feeding and grooming, she had filled out quickly. Despite her past experiences, she had warmed up to us quickly and craved our attention. Now Daisy pranced around the circle with her gleaming chestnut and ivory spotted coat shining in the sun. Her golden tail fanned out behind her as she trotted around the ring.
“She’s looking good!” I called out. “Her gait is much better. That limp looks like it’s almost gone.”
“She sure does!” Heather called out brightly. Her gaze did not break from the horse. “How was school?”
“The usual,” I replied leaning against the rails. “Math was boring. Science was fun. We used microscopes to look at the cells of an onion. Writing class was… interesting.” Again, my thoughts flitted back to Liam.
“How so?” Heather had caught the blip in my school report.
“Uh, just a new project,” I covered. “We’re writing a report on Irish folklore and it’s a group project. Would it be ok if the group came over here tomorrow after school to work?”
“Sure thing. Maybe I’ll make some of my world-famous brownies!”
She was wrapping up the training now and brought Daisy to a halt.
“Oh, I don’t want you to make a fuss…” I began.
“Iris! Don’t discourage your aunt from making brownies!”
The interruption came from Spencer. She climbed the fence and sat on the rail next to me.
“If she wants to make brownies you just need to thank your lucky stars and let us eat them,” she said.
Heather laughed. Spencer was always expected in the afternoons. She would hop off at the next bus stop, drop her bag at home, change into gardening clothes, give her parents the compulsory wave, and shoot off to our house. She spent as little time as possible in her cramped home full of younger siblings. Her three brothers would always be tussling over something – a video game controller, a new toy, a stick… anything. Her little sister Becca was the youngest. With the 10-year age difference between them, it was not a surprise that Spencer preferred my company. When she was home, Spencer was usually tasked with looking after her younger siblings. Her time with me and Heather was a bit of a reprieve from that responsibility.
Heather looked at the two of us.
“Well girls if you help me for the next hour, we can stop and have some lemonade and cookies. How does that sound?”
“The usual payment then,” Spencer smiled. “I’m in. What needs doing today?”
Heather waved toward the garden, “Well, the tomatoes need the suckers pulled and the carrots need thinning.”
Needing no further direction, Spencer hopped off the fence and headed toward the garden. Her long black hair was tied back in a braid that swung between her shoulders and her bangs hung loose around her face. She wore a grass-stained pair of overalls over a light green top. Like me, she wore black rubber Wellington boots that were ideal for working in the mud and dirt. Spencer always worked in the garden when she visited. She had a green thumb and knew enough about horticulture to rival anyone our age. Heather had always kept a garden, but since Spencer had started tending it, the vegetables had flourished. Spencer would talk to the plants as she worked, coaxing them, and encouraging them with what she called “good vibes”. It seemed silly but we couldn’t mock her methods – the girl produced results.
Heather sent me off to feed the dogs and clean the kennels. Oso trotted at my side as I headed toward the large building near the driveway. It was a simple gray structure with two large windows in the front to let in light. The back of the kennel had six dog runs that each had a doggy door connected to the kennel. As I swung open the creaky wooden door, a chorus of yaps and barks greeted me. Five of our kennels had foster dogs today. The dogs bounded to their doors wagging their tails and barking excitedly. Oso ran to each kennel, sniffing his newfound friends through the chain links. He was an excellent companion and an amazing training partner. When a particularly stubborn or afraid dog came to us, Oso would often help me gain their trust. Just last week, Oso had helped me earn the trust of a battered pit bull mix named Copper. He had been abused in a dog fighting ring and his face was scarred and pitted from the fights. Copper had been found next to a dumpster by a local rescue. He was at death’s door when they found him and nursed him back to health. However, once he was healthy, his aggressive nature began to show, and the rescue brought him to us. They did not feel like they had the resources to train him to be adoptable. We were his last chance.
At first, Copper would snap at me viciously through the bars when it was feeding time and I did not dare to open his door and meet him. Instead, I had spent time sitting in front of his kennel, tossing him treats. He would accept the treats but always kept a wary eye on me. He also had to be kept separate from the other dogs due to the aggression he held from the fighting rings. Eventually, Copper had begun to settle down a little. He no longer snapped at the gate, but it was clear that he did not trust me. This was when I decided to employ my side-kick Oso.
I brought Copper into his kennel and put all the other dogs outside in their runs, so it was just me, Oso, and Copper in the building. As expected, he lunged at the cage, growling, and snapping at Oso, but the dog was not fazed. Oso was amazing at his job. He sat with me quietly until Copper began to tire of snapping at us. We waited until Copper quieted down and Oso knew it was his moment. Slowly Oso made his way toward Copper’s door. He crawled on his belly, signaling that he was not a threat. Copper still growled, but he did not snap at Oso anymore. Once they were close enough, Oso and Copper exchanged sniffs through the kennel door. Their sniffs lasted around 30 seconds and then they broke apart. Oso stood and looked at me, wagging his tail. He then turned to sniff and lick Copper through the caged door. I let Oso do his job and simply sat and waited. After a minute or so Oso trotted back over to me to signal that his work had been done. I slowly stood and approached Copper’s door. He stood quietly but was still eyeing me suspiciously. Very carefully, I extended a hand and pressed my palm against the door. A tense moment passed before Copper finally sniffed it through the cage. Our eyes met and he wagged his tail.
It always went that way. Oso would spend some time with the rescued dog and afterward, they would accept me. Weirdly, I felt like I could understand a bit of these interactions between Oso and the rescued dog. It was as though he was saying to them, ‘Don’t worry. She will care for you. You can trust her. She understands us.’ On occasion, I would feel flickers of the conversations between the dogs at the edges of my mind. I would get strange feelings that didn’t seem to belong to me. Feelings of fear, sadness, or anger that I knew were from the rescued dog. I didn’t know why I had these flashes into the minds of the dogs, but I certainly wasn’t going to ask anyone about it. I didn’t want people to think I was crazy. They might think that my parent’s death had unhinged me. Maybe it had.
Since Oso’s “conversation” with Copper, he had progressed very quickly with me. Today, when I walked up to his cage to feed him, he stood with those big brown eyes shining at me and his tail wagging furiously. Grinning, I opened his door and entered to give him the cuddles he deserved. It felt like magic when Heather, Oso, and I brought these shattered beings back to life. When I finished my rounds, I headed to the garden to see if Spencer needed any help. I spotted her sitting next to a tomato plant, staring at it intently.
“What are you doing? Scolding it for not growing fast enough?” I joked. I walked down the row and caught sight of Spencer’s face. “What’s wrong?”
Spencer was frowning and was paler than usual. She shook her head and glanced up.
“It’s nothing,” she said shiftily.
I sat down beside her in the dirt.
“You’ll think I’m crazy,” Spencer whispered, still staring at the tomato plant.
I frowned. “Come on Spence. What’s the matter? You can tell me.”
Spencer hesitated a moment, then said, “Watch.”
She pulled her garden glove off and reached with her bare hand toward one of the tomato flowers. She touched it gently with the pad of her index finger.
“Grow,” she said.
Before my eyes, I watched as the flower quivered and tucked into itself. Then a little green bulb began to push its way out of the vine. The pea-sized sphere swelled and changed from green to yellow to firehouse red. I stared open-mouthed at the huge ripe tomato sitting on the plant where a flower had just been.
“Wha… How?” I gasped.
“I don’t know!” Spencer’s eyes were wide with fear and excitement. “I noticed last week that every tomato plant I was encouraging to grow was much bigger the next day, so I just kept telling them to grow because they seemed to like it.” She glanced at me fearfully. “I know how crazy this sounds, but I just feel an energy around me when I garden. Today the energy felt strong, so I just tried again… and I touched it and…” she trailed off.
I did not know what to say. What do you say to your best friend who just made a plant grow before your eyes? I reached out and picked the tomato. It was sun-warmed and a beautiful ruby red. It was larger than the palm of my hand.
After a minute I asked, “Should we tell Heather?”
Spencer looked at me thoughtfully.
“No,” she said finally. “I want to do some research. I need to keep this to myself for now. Can you keep this a secret for me?”
I nodded.
Then, before I could stop it, the question burst from me, “Can you doit again?”
Spencer laughed and reached for a new tomato flower.
“Grow,” she said firmly.
The flower began to change through the stages. It inflated from a little green bud to a bright yellow tomato. Then abruptly, the changes stopped. Spencer frowned.
“I think,” she said hesitantly, “that I am getting tired. It’s like I can feel the energy disappearing. Each time I’ve asked one to grow, it’s been a little bit smaller than the last. This is so crazy.”
Spencer sat back on her heels and continued to stare at the little yellow tomato. Then not knowing what else to do, we stood to water the garden and headed back up to the house. Spencer carried the vegetables she had gathered to the porch and handed them to Heather.
“Is that one ready too?” Heather asked.
She was pointing at the tomato in my hand. I hadn’t realized it, but I was still holding onto that ruby red tomato.
“Oh, yes,” I stammered. “This one’s a good one.”
Heather smiled and marveled at it.
“Wow, Spencer! Whatever you are doing with these tomatoes is working. Look how big this one is! We need to cut this one open now. There’s nothing better than a fresh garden tomato while it’s still warm from the sunshine.”
We exchanged glances and followed her inside. Heather sliced the juicy tomato, added a little salt, and handed the slices to us on a plate. I looked questioningly at Spencer, wondering if we should actually eat the tomato. What if we sprouted an extra arm or something? Spencer just shrugged and shoved a slice into her mouth. I followed suit. After all, we had been eating her magic veggies for at least a week now.
“Wow!” Heather exclaimed. “That tomato is amazing!”
Spencer grinned appreciatively and said, “It just needed a little encouragement.”
She met my eye and we burst out laughing. Once we started, we couldn’t stop. Heather, clearly nonplussed by our antics, just shook her head and ate her tomato slices. We spent the rest of the afternoon eating Heather’s cookies and sipping lemonade on the front porch. If Heather sensed anything off about our moods, she did not comment, and I said nothing to her after Spencer went home. Normally I would tell Heather everything, but this was not my secret to tell.
***
That night when I found myself in the wolf dream, I was not in the woods, but in my bedroom. The moon illuminated the wooden floor as I leapt off the bed and landed lightly next to a sleeping Oso. He snored heavily as I crept past him, padded down the stairs, and slipped through the screen door. Silently, I descended the porch steps and melted into the tall grass – just another shadow in the night. As I began climbing the hill toward the woods, I felt oddly mindful and awake. I must be lucid dreaming. I thought. This feels so real.
I ran toward the trees and suddenly felt a sharp pain in my front left foot. Looking at my paw, I saw a prickly gumball stuck into the pads of my foot. I yanked it out with my teeth and stood shaking. Why do I feel pain? Heart racing, I whipped back toward the house, up the stairs, and clambered onto my bed. Oso was startled awake and jumped into bed with me. He sniffed my bleeding paw and licked it gently. I lay trembling in my wolf form. Oso lay down beside me until gradually my breathing calmed, and I fell back to sleep.
When I woke again at 5 am, I quickly checked my hands and let out a sigh of relief. No fur, no claws, no padded feet. I chose to ignore the fresh cuts on my left hand. Surely those had been from working in the garden the day before. I must have felt the pain in my sleep and that had filtered into my dream. I told myself firmly, it was just a dream.