Follow Me Home by Cathy Woodman

awkwardly, like a first-time parent pickingup their new-born, and carry her like I would a baby, albeit a skinny one with very long legs, to the car, where I place her on the back seat with my coat across her. I turn the heating up and drive into Talyton.
    The lights are on at Otter House. I rush inside, and ring the bell, bringing Maz, one of the vets, into reception. She’s in her late thirties, tall and naturally slim.
    â€˜Hi,’ she says, tying her pale blonde hair back with what looks like one of the postman’s elastic bands. ‘I wasn’t expecting anyone else at this time of night . . . How can I help?’
    I’m Zara. I’m sorry, I should have called ahead, but I came across this dog and I didn’t know what to do.’
    Maz smiles. ‘Slow down and start again from the beginning.’
    â€˜I was driving back from Talymouth when I found her tied to a tree. She’s in the car.’
    â€˜Why don’t you bring her straight in?’
    â€˜Actually, I wondered if you could come and get her. I was bitten by a dog when I was a kid.’ I’m annoyed with myself for wimping out, but I’m feeling a bit wobbly now.
    â€˜I’ll grab a muzzle just in case. Does she seem friendly?’
    â€˜She didn’t try to bite me. She’s sick, I think.’
    â€˜Oh, she is, the poor thing,’ Maz says, when I open the car door for her. ‘Let’s get you indoors.’ She carries the dog into the practice, where she rings the bell, summoning Izzy, the head nurse. I’ve met Izzy several times before at Greenwood Farm and Talyton’s annualCountry Show – her husband is a sheep farmer and one of Murray’s cousins. She’s over forty, but looks younger with her cropped hair and freckles.
    â€˜Come through,’ Maz says. ‘I expect you’d like to see how the dog gets on.’
    â€˜I’m not sure,’ I begin, but I go along with them anyway, not wanting the dog to think I’ve abandoned her in the same way that her owner has.
    â€˜Izzy, set up some warm IV fluids and a heat pad. Oh, and I could do with a stethoscope. I can’t find mine.’
    â€˜You really should get one surgically implanted,’ Izzy grumbles lightly as she marches ahead into what appears to be the animal version of a hospital prep room, complete with table and sink. It smells like a doctor’s surgery – of scrub and surgical spirit. ‘There it is, hanging from the hook where you left it.’
    I smile to myself. I don’t know what doctors and vets would do without us.
    Soon Frosty, as I call her, is lying on the bench on a drip and with a blanket wrapped around her.
    â€˜Where did you say you found her?’ Maz asks. ‘This is a welfare case – the owner should be prosecuted for neglect.’
    â€˜If I had my way, I’d lock them up and throw away the key. Or worse,’ Izzy adds darkly. ‘There’s no excuse for treating any animal in this way. It’s appalling. Not only is she completely emaciated, she could have frozen to death. She would have, if you hadn’t found her.’
    â€˜I don’t recognise her. She isn’t one of ours,’ Mazobserves. ‘I’ll get Jack Miller in tomorrow morning. For now, we’ll take some pictures and get a weight for her.’
    At the mention of weight, I smile wryly to myself. The dog could really do with the extra pounds I’ve put on this past couple of weeks.
    â€˜She can’t have been fed properly for a while,’ Izzy says.
    â€˜We’ll get some food into her when she’s warmed up,’ Maz says. ‘Some of that new convalescent diet would suit her.’
    â€˜I don’t understand how a human being can do this to an animal – and I don’t even like dogs.’ Aware of Izzy’s sharp intake of breath, I soften my opinion. ‘What I mean is, I’m not mad about dogs.’ I pause, gazing