Bella

“I could swear she knows where we’re going,” Rory remarks as I drive our pickup down US 2, the highway that takes us from our home in Bemidji to Cass Lake. We got about eight inches of snow last night. Typical for winter around here.

Bella, our five-year-old yellow Lab, sits in the back seat. We’ve had her since she was a puppy. We were newlyweds and fresh transplants from Minneapolis. Rory’s a family doctor and I’m a nurse. We got recruited, hard, by the good people at Indian Health Services after graduation and our internship at UMMC.

Five years in, we have come to terms (sort of) with the brutal winters and the ways of a small town. You can’t call Bemidji a city, not by a long shot.

“I agree Bella’s smart,” I reply. Bella woofs softly.

“Nope, Bella’s psychic,” he retorts. “She knows we’re going to get a new d-o-g.”

Bella lets out a howl, claws scrabbling as she tries to worm her way between the front seats.

“Bella. Sit.” With a small whine of displeasure, Bella sits.

“There’s so much joy in this dog. She’s ready for a companion.” I can’t help but agree. Bella is a joy.

Making the turn onto an unplowed road, I shift the truck into four-wheel drive to avoid slipping and sliding. I don’t want us to end up in a ditch. There’s a sign ahead. “Cass Lake Animal Rescue. This way.” An arrow points helpfully toward a couple of squat snow-covered buildings.

We park in the nearly empty lot. All around us are unbroken expanses of snow.

I step out and close the driver’s door while Rory gets Bella on her leash and out of the truck. As he comes around the front, I notice he’s wearing only Carhartts and a grey sweater.

“Rory. Really?”

He shivers and grins. “Weatherman told me I did not need a coat today. Guess he was wrong.”

I roll my eyes. “The weatherman is some guy sitting in an overheated office in downtown St Paul, sipping spiked coffee.” Men. I swear.

Bella is sniffing as we walk. Snow bothers this dog not one bit. I tried to put a coat and booties on her. Once. She looked so aggrieved that I ended up taking the coat off. The booties she bit off and spat out onto the carpet while I watched.

We crunch our way to the entrance of the rescue shelter, our snow boots leaving deep indentations behind us. It’s not much warmer inside, but it is louder. Dogs barking, mostly, along with some howling. I check Bella who has suddenly parked her butt on the linoleum floor of the reception area. She’s not joining in. Instead, she appears to be listening, ears perked and head tilted to the side.

A pimply-faced young man greets us. “Hep ya?”

“Yes. Hi. We’re here to pick up our new d-o-g? I’m Natasha and this is my husband Rory. And Bella. She can spell.”

He scratches at an inflamed patch on his chin. “Sure. Sure. Chief sent ya? Got’er right back here.”

The kid pushes a clipboard at us before disappearing through the door behind him, setting off a fresh spate of barking.

Bella grumbles but stays seated, shifting her weight from one front paw to the other.

Picking up the clipboard, I sit on one of the uncomfortable molded plastic chairs. Rory stays standing. He too is shifting his weight from one foot to the other. This isn’t a happy place. Not with all those dogs that need homes.

I read through the paperwork, supplying the requested information in the spaces provided, and then hand it to Rory after I sign it. He makes a show of reading through it but mostly just flips to the last page to scrawl his signature.

Then we wait. Bella stays calm but continues to stare at the closed door. I do a fair amount of staring myself.

After what seems like a really long time, the door opens. All three of us perk up.

In the kid’s arms is a black ball of fuzz, not much bigger than a football. A puppy. God help us.

Bella is up, prancing at the end of her leash to get a better look. I walk closer, holding out my arms. “This is?”

The kid blinks as he hands her over. “Huh? Oh, she don’t have a name yet.”

Bright black eyes, a black nose and a bright pink tongue are what I see through sudden tears.

Bella has run out of patience and woofs softly. “Okay girl. Time to meet your new sister.” Squatting, I place the puppy on the floor. She’s maybe ten weeks old.

Bella stays very still as the puppy approaches. Rory and I watch, ready to intervene, but I don’t think there’s going to be a problem. After a few minutes of mutual sniffing, I can tell that Bella will be the perfect older sister to this little girl.

We finish the transaction. Rory opens the door to the parking lot. Bella bounds through, barking excitedly as she leaps into the snow.

The little one pauses, looking out but not willing to take on this new world just yet. That is until Bella gazelles her way back to the door and woofs encouragingly.

Rory and I laugh as the puppy face-plants into the snow. In the next moment though, she is a black ball of fuzz speeding after Bella.

We hold hands as we head back to the truck. “Did you see the way she hesitated at the door?”

“Bella will watch out for her,” I reply. “We’ll call her Cassie. After the place she came from.”

Rory whistles. Bella comes bounding up, with Cassie hard on her heels. They’re both covered in snow. “All right girls.” He lifts them up into the backseat for the journey home.

The truck smells like wet dog. I’m okay with that.


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990 words

Prompt: Write a poem or story about a dog experiencing snow for the first time. Include the following words in bold: snow boots, slipping and sliding, hesitated at the door, did not need a coat, so much joy.