October 13, 2017 | Posted in WooFPAK Heroes

It works.

For Bluebell, this is no surprise. The little rabbit knows full-well that her human is good at this sort of job. But the men, the dogs, they’ve never been around someone that does this.

Donna steps close to the raccoon, steps slow and voice soft. “It’s alright,” she coos, and other sweet things drip from between her lips.

The raccoon is still scared, but he’s also tired, and he also hurts. He stays still, eyeing her warily as she approaches with the bright blue blanket.

Donna manages to get it thrown over the raccoon in one go.

Quickly, she pushes the raccoon into the nearby crate and slams the door shut.

WooFDriver gives a low, impressed whistle. “Now that’s fancy work.”

The raccoon pokes his head out from the folds of the bright blue blankets. He lays there, trapped within the warm, soft folds of fabric.

Jag tells him, “you’re going to be okay.”

The raccoon looks entirely unconvinced.

Donna doesn’t go back to the cabin with them. Instead, she takes the raccoon somewhere else – a friend of a friend, she says, a vet that can help.

Princess says, “I imagine it’s different patching up cuts and digging out a bullet.”

The WooFPAK’s leads have been attached to a few pine trees just outside of the cabin. Chase whines. “I hope that it’s okay. I know that coon’s aren’t good creatures, but that one didn’t seem really bad.”

“I think it was hungry,” says Jag, thoughtfully.

From her perch on the top of the picnic table, Bluebell chitters and snorts. “Of course it was just hungry! You heard him, didn’t you? Aspen, that’s his name, by the way, not that you wolves ever bothered to find out, Aspen was just hungry, and that old crone had all kinds of food sitting about!”

“Unlike you,” snaps Princess, baring her fangs.

Jag whines and shakes his head. He’s sitting slightly away from the group, so he can keep an eye on the road. “No,” he interrupts, before Princess can get anywhere. “No, Bluebell’s right. We should have gotten his name.”

It’s dark out before head lights appear at the edge of the path. Jag’s ears perk up. Excited, he jumps to his paws and starts barking. The rest of the WooFPAK struggle to their paws and carry on the cry before they even realize what it’s about.

“Donna’s back,” announces Jag, cheerfully.

The woman parks her truck close to the front door. She pulls the crate out of the back and hauls it into the cabin, with little more than a, “good dog,” tossed in the husky dog’s direction.

Jag runs over to the window of the cabin. He throws his paws up against the windowsill, pressing his nose against the glass. The window is closed, and he can’t make out what’s being said.

Donna sits the crate down on top of the table. She says something to WooFDriver, then vanishes into the adjacent room.

Chase asks, “what’s going on? I can’t see anything, Jag. Come on, let me have a turn at the window!”

Disappointed, Jag gets down and lets Chase peek through the glass instead. Jag says, “it doesn’t matter. I can’t tell what happened.”

From her perch on the picnic table, Bluebell asks, “can you see if the raccoon is still in the cage? Was my hooman’s friend able to help? Oh, never mind! You rotten wolves probably can’t tell. I’m just going to go find out and see if my hooman got to the poor thing in time.”

And then, just like that, Bluebell is hopping off the table and running around to the front door. Bluebell slips into the house through the little swinging door, meant for cats but perfect for rabbits, and the husky dog’s crowd around the window, jostling at each other, trying to follow her movements.

Bluebell runs across the floor and over to the table. She jumps up onto a cardboard box – then onto a chair – and then onto the table itself. The little rabbit peeks in through the door of the crate.

Jag asks, “is the coon okay?”

“I can’t tell,” whines Chase. “I can’t see anything from here!”

Zarro’s nose leaves wet smears over the glass. “I can’t tell what she’s looking at!”

Princess, the only one not vying for a spot at the window, sniffs. “It doesn’t matter if you can see or not. You can just ask that little rat later.”

“I need to know,” insists Jag. “I need to know what’s happening.”

Bluebell finally hops away from the cage. She turns towards the window, rises up onto her haunches, and nods her head just once.

The raccoon is okay.

 

Katelynn E Koontz – Author