The barking in the kennels was usually loud, but today was worse than usual.  Mark blamed it on the full moon.  He had noticed that the animals always got a little weird on the full moon.

Mark, as his mother would put it, was in a delicate position this morning.  He had been drinking with his buddies last night while watching the lunar eclipse from behind his trailer -- oh sorry "mini home" -- and had obviously had too much.

Normally he watched his drinking.  A couple of years ago he got in trouble with the law for doing something stupid while drunk.  Now he just kept his head down and stuck to having only a couple of beer at a time.

I didn't think I had that much, he muttered to himself as he prepared the food for the animals.  Maybe I'm just getting old.

Mark liked working with the animals.  He felt he was giving them a second chance like he was given.  There are no bad dogs.  He certainly believed that.  Dogs treated you the way they were taught.  You had to teach them what to do, but the trick was you had to teach them in their language.  You wouldn't teach a French kid how do somethin' by talking English to him. Mark remembered some comedy guy's skit.

"You take a right on Queen and go about a block."

"Me no speak engrish."

"YOU .... TAKE ... A ... RIGHT ... ON ... QUEEN..."

It still cracks him up.

So ya don't teach a dog by just yelling at it in English.

The other shelter workers teased him and called him the "Dog Whisperer" like that horse guy.  Mark guessed it was a compliment. He had actually looked up that guy's -- Monty Roberts -- book at the local library.  That guy talked sense.  Someday I'll get myself a horse and try it out.

Cats were another story.  They were all about dignity.  Cats want to be clean, fed, and warm.  And a good brushing.

Mark finished up serving breakfast and headed to the isolation kennels.  A new dog had come in last night and nobody had been able to get near it yet.  Mark looked over the new arrival.  Some sort of terrier mix with scraggly brown and black wiry hair. It might not even be brown.  The dog was caked in dirt, oil, and excrement. It stood off center and had pushed itself into on corner of the kennel.  Mark suspected that something was wrong with its mouth.  It sniffed at the food and looked hungry enough.  But it wouldn't eat or drink.  Anytime he tried to examine the dogs mouth, the dog would twist its head out of the way and retreat to the other corner.

"Well Scraps," the dog looked like a Scraps. "What are we going to do with you?"

*mouth hurts...*

Mark blinked and figured that maybe he was still out of it.  He really didn't have that much bear last night.

"Ok, your mouth hurts.  How can I fix it if you don't let me see it?"

Scraps put his head down in standard submissive dog pose.

"Let me see that mouth."

Scraps inched forward and put his muzzle under Mark's hand. This is gettin' freaky, Mark thought.

Mark looked in Scraps's mouth and couldn't immediately see anything.

*under tongue*

Mark looked under the tongue and found a thin wire had been wrapped around Scraps' lower jaw.  Deliberately wrapped.

"Okay this is going to hurt more, but then it will be gone."  Mark carefully unwound the wire.  He was also trying to keep his anger under control.  Who could do this?

*boys*

This was damned freaky.

With the wire off, Scraps ate and drank greedily.

*thank you* *thank you* *thank you* *thank you* *thank you*

Mark took the wire out of the kennel.  Looking around at the other kennels, it was as if he was hearing for the first time.

*Look at me*

*Where's my boy*

*I'm beautiful*

Well, this would either help him with his job -- or drive him insane!