Dog Crazy by Meg Donohue Read Free Book Online Page A

ignores me. She stands and drops a crumpled check onto the table. “Just make sure to tell my brother that I came so he gets off my case.”
    She has already opened the door and is headed up the path by the time I catch up with her. Before I can stop myself, I reach for her arm. The filthy material of her jacket folds between my fingers, Anya’s actual elbow lost somewhere within the large sleeve. She turns. My stomach lurches and I release the cloth, knowing that the warm, slick feel of it will leave a specter of dirt on my fingers long after I’ve scrubbed them clean. I flick out my fingers, frantically rubbing them against my pants and then immediately regretting the instinct—I’ll have to wash them, too, now.
    Anya stares at me with a look of such intense curiosity that I feel my cheeks burn.
    â€œPlease stay—” I begin, but her expression rearranges itself instantly.
    â€œIf you really wanted to help,” she says, swiping angrily at the tears that have risen at last to her eyes, “you’d help me find Billy. I’m not wasting any more time here.”
    And then she’s striding up the stone path toward the gate.
    Oh, for Chrissakes . Maybe I should let her go, but I can’t. I follow her. Those spindly legs of hers have a motor on them, and by the time I reach the gate, it’s swinging shut again. I yank it open and step through.
    Panic sinks into my chest like a hook. The black ribbon ofroad in front of me wavers; the sidewalk tilts. You’re fine, I tell myself. You’re fine. You’re fine. But I’m not. I lurch back and feel my spine smack against the gatepost. I start to count my breath; it’s one of my mother’s old tricks, a calming technique, and now it’s mine, too.
    In, out: one .
    In, out: two .
    In, out: three .
    â€œWait!” I call to Anya. My voice is husky and raw and the gust of wind that rushes up the hill toward me swallows it easily. My heart is pounding—not just from fear, but from frustration, anger, and shame, too.
    Anya is far down the slant of sidewalk now, her edges softening as she recedes into the dingy swirl of fog. If she hears me, she makes no sign of it, and there is nothing I can do but watch her go.

Chapter 4

    â€œThe positive effect of dogs on people afflicted with agoraphobia never ceases to impress me,” says Dr. Kirin Himura. He goes on to explain that a dog eases the transition between inside and outside for people prone to panic in public or crowded places; the dog remains familiar in every environment, a reassuring presence, a constant companion, a buoy in a sea of unknown. Some dogs, Dr. Himura notes, are even attuned to the earliest swells of panic in their human charge, sensing the nonverbal distress cues such as increased heart rate or trembling hands that often precede an episode. When these dogs sense an attack building there are little tricks they might do—either through training or simply nature—to defuse the situation. Sometimes the dog will swiftly guide his human companion away from whatever istriggering the symptoms of panic. Other times, a dog need only press his nose into the hand of the person who has suddenly found herself on the edge of panic’s chasm, and it’s enough to calm her.

    I find the article in an online journal called Alternative Therap y. After Anya Ravenhurst left, I’d scrubbed my hands under hot water and swallowed a fistful of vitamins and probiotics, all the while a single refrain running on loop through my thoughts:
    If I can’t help my patients, who am I?
    I knew I was being too hard on myself—what therapist can be expected to chase after an unwilling patient, or help her search for her missing dog?—but I couldn’t shake the feeling of having failed Anya. I kept thinking of the sad, exhausted air of desperation that she tried so hard to mask with a stony expression and flat voice. It must have been nearly