Love Is the Best Medicine by Dr. Nick Trout Read Free Book Online

blossomed. Eileen would relish the opportunity to transform this furry pauper into a Westminster princess.

    P EPE Le Pew did not relinquish her perfume without a fight. Rinse after rinse the water ran black as Eileen worked the doggy shampoo into an unruly lather. Throughout the careful, head-to-tail liberation of ticks in various stages of satiation, and all the suds and spray, Helen had stood silently in the tub, head outstretched, doleful eyes staring up at her, trembling like a cell phone in vibrate mode.
    The wet fur revealed the real folds and contours hidden underneath and it was clear from the surfeit of body fat that Helen had been an accomplished scavenger for some time. What kind of a life had she been living? There were no obvious scars or bruises to suggest anything like physical abuse. A label of neglect seemed to be a better fit, or maybe forced independence, though it was hard to imagine this relatively small, pure-breed spaniel competing against coyotes and raccoons in the wilds of Massachusetts. Where did she get her street smarts? How had she survived the harsh New England winters? Based on what Eileen had experienced so far, not-so-little Helen had obviously learned to use charm and flirtation to her advantage. What she lacked in speed and savagery she more than made up for with feminine wiles.
    As Eileen began to towel Helen dry, the dog remained quiet, maintaining a passive stare. Eileen carefully lifted up those heavy, pendulous ears, gently dabbing at the red, raw, and swollen interior, long since abandoned to the will of thriving bacteria and fungi. She maintained a soothing monologue as she worked, the white towel finally swaddling the dog’s head and chest, a canine version of a shrouded E.T. staring back.
    Eileen felt it then, a keen awareness of this animal’s need for her. And it was the absence of sound that sealed her fate. Eileen studied this creature staring back and realized her silence was saying volumes. It felt as though the dog’s silence was a pause, a moment between them in which Helen was waiting to be understood. Eileen read thistelepathy as a plea that said
“Look at the state I am in. Do you really think anyone will miss me? When do you think was the last time anyone even acknowledged my existence?”
She tried to imagine how bizarre the last few hours must have been for this dog, but in that moment, kneeling beside the tub, with her and Helen’s eyes locked, Eileen focused on trying to convey one simple message—
trust me
.
    T HAT first night, Helen ultimately squeezed into a tight space between two couches. Perhaps it was the closest approximation to a familiar sleeping arrangement. Only then did Didi make her move, going over to where this stranger lay and, with great deliberation and delicacy, sniffing this
Mini-Me
over her entire body without waking her up. Apparently satisfied, she trotted off to her own bed to retire for the night, leaving Eileen puzzled by this detached introduction. Didi was used to other dogs. She was well socialized, a popular player at the local dog park. It was true that they rarely entertained other canine guests in the house, but this interaction seemed so reserved, almost awkward, it was as if the big girl knew to give Helen some space. Perhaps something in the way Eileen handled this newcomer made Didi realize she should go slowly.
    By the next morning the physicality of the relationship between Helen and Eileen became apparent. It was as if they were adjacent convicts in a chain gang. Everywhere Eileen went, Helen was sure to follow, at her heels, moving from one room to the next, a furry lady-in-waiting. If Eileen went to the bathroom, Helen would insist on joining her. Conversely, Eileen’s efforts to encourage Helen to use their backyard for her toilet needs were met by hesitation and a look of abject fear.
    “She won’t go outside without me,” said Eileen to Ben, who drifted into the kitchen, grabbing his first cup of coffee of the