The More the Terrier by Linda O. Johnston

to save every animal, too. The difference was that I, and others like me, have to be strong and responsible and only take on as many as we can adequately care for in our facilities.
    Which was one reason I was so delighted that HotRescues was currently in expansion mode.
    But staring at this Web site, reading the posts both critical of Mamie and supportive of the rescue, I realized something.
    Bethany Urber read this site. I’d never seen her post before, so she must have been lurking. But now she was all over it, bragging as if she had saved those abused dogs and cats all by herself.
    She had even scheduled an emergency meeting for all animal rescuers who could attend, to discuss hoarding and what could be done about it. She was holding it at her own facility, the chief location in the Pet Shelters Together network.
    Okay. I know I like to be in charge, too. Even to micromanage. I also tend to want to protect my friends.
    Mamie had once been a friend.
    And I was damned curious now. Who was this Bethany Urber, really? As awful as the first impression she’d made? I’d have bet one of my favorite thick dog towels from HotPets on it.
    What was her network of rescue sites actually like?
    Could I get her to shut up about Mamie by pointing out some of her shortfalls?
    And exactly what would she say at her meeting?
    First thing, I called Matt. Fortunately, he was able to confirm that Mamie’s psychological assessment was still progressing well and that she’d probably be released on schedule. He also promised to talk to the people at the West L.A. Care Center again soon to check on the rescued pets—but swore that they’d promised to let him know if any of the animals was in danger of being euthanized.
    “What I’ve heard so far is that they were all in surprisingly good shape. Some were malnourished, a few had festering sores because of the poor hygienic conditions, but there were none in danger of needing to be put down . . . although don’t hold me to that. I’ll ask for confirmation again.”
    “Thanks, Matt.” I inhaled deeply. I’d been so worried about bad news that I’d been holding my breath.
    “So when are we getting together for dinner?” he asked.
    “Soon,” I promised, feeling good about seeing him again.
    I called Dante to give him that news. Then I posted the information on the Southern California Rescuers site—with the same kind of caution that Matt had given. No guarantees, but it appeared that the animals just might all survive.
    Then I said to Zoey, “Time to go, girl.” My beautiful pup rose immediately and started wagging her tail in anticipation. “We’ll go to HotRescues first. This afternoon, I’ll leave you with our friends. I have a meeting to attend.”
     
     
    I hadn’t gotten the impression that Bethany had a grain of modesty anywhere in her professionally beautiful body, so I wasn’t surprised at the name on the sign outside the facility whose address she had posted on the Internet: “Better Than Any Pet Rescues.”
    I knew immediately where it had come from. It was a play on the name of the company she had owned: Better Than Any Cosmetics.
    The name wasn’t the only thing that gave the impression of superiority, though. A lot of people were apparently coming to her meeting, and I’d had to park a block away—no easy feat in this commercial and highly developed part of the Westchester area of Los Angeles. Following the crowd—none of whom I recognized—I stopped and stared at the main gate that led into the shelter. It looked like the entrance to a movie studio, white and ornate with a tiaralike symbol at the top. The only thing that identified it as a pet rescue facility—besides the name—was that the tiara had profiles of a dog and cat, nose to nose, at the top.
    Someone at the forefront of our ad hoc group must have pushed an intercom button; within moments, the gate rolled open in two massive sections, revealing grounds that were equally ostentatious. The vast,