No matter how hard she tried, or how many hours she devoted to them, Rachel couldn't reach every dog.
But she did her best. She set out food, she set out clean water. When she found people trying to snatch them up, or poison them, or hit them, or even just yell at them, she beat the shit out of them and chased them away. She spent a lot of time trying to entice dogs who had exceedingly good reasons to never, ever trust another goddamn human again to come close so she could rub anti-tick and anti-flea poison on their backs. She made sure that the area around her home had shelter for them. Places to get out of rain or cold for a while.
She did the best she could.
But she was just one girl. Sometimes she preferred things that way. But with every dog-fighting ring she broke up, every puppy she found on the street, every miniature poodle being choked and dragged by a leash from someone who should know better, every mutt she grabbed from a dogcatcher, everything got harder. She needed to buy more food and medicine and collars and leashes and toys. Needed to provide more space.
Had to do more work. Scoop more poop. Teach more dogs how to follow commands.
It was obviously worth it. And she wouldn't give up. But it wasn't sustainable.
Joining the Undersiders, as much as they were annoying and confusing and smiley, solved her money issues. At least partway. But it didn't do much for her in terms of workload. Actually made it harder, with the way they occasionally cut into her free time. They wanted her around even when they weren't doing jobs. Which didn't make sense, considering they didn't actually like her.
Currently, she was looking around the Trainyards for more stray dogs. Brutus, Judas, and Angelica were following at her feet. It was one of the places in the Bay where there were fewer people around but plenty of garbage to eat and warm places to sleep. When one of her best-trained dogs turned suddenly, focusing in on a scent, the other two began to sniff the ground as well and tugged her slightly in the direction they wanted to go. She followed them, before reaching a sewer drainage pipe. Ugh. The grate had rusted away a long time ago.
The sewers were always warm. And with the nights getting colder, no matter how much most dogs disliked the moisture and filth, a few would decide it would make for a nice place to sleep.
She ventured close to the entrance, and bent down, looking inside. Already the stench was inside her mouth. But Angelica was sure there were dogs in here.
Taking out one of her spare leashes, she advanced inside, keeping as dry as she could. Brutus and Angelica went in after the scent, but Judas hesitated, not wanting to get his paws wet. She empathized. She would have to wash her shoes extra-well tonight. And probably give all three of them and whatever they could lead out a bath.
Nobody was going to enjoy that.
The first dog is aggressive at first, but she calms him down, and gives him a treat, and gets a leash around his neck. He is riddled with fleas. Not to mention he had been eating a dead rat when she found him. He either hadn't been eating well, or something in his belly was eating more than their share. She would have to give him worm medicine just in case. She found two more in similar conditions and managed to wrangle both.
Letting out a sigh at the simple fact that the dogs were allowed to get this miserable to begin with, she began to quickly make her way back. Each one of her more experienced partners marshaling the three newcomers forwards and keeping them calm and docile.
Getting back to her home was always a production. Dozens of dogs running up to her, greeting her, smelling her, begging for food, or scratchies, or simply to be acknowledged. A half-dozen toys were dropped in front of her as she walked, but she had long since gotten used to the art of not tripping over squeaky toys suddenly manifesting under her feet. The newcomer dogs were sniffed at, and barked at, and crowded around before a short whistle had the better-trained dogs backing off, and the ones who weren't following their lead.
No need to crowd them. Or spread their fleas.
She hosed off her own shoes and gave all six a bath and thorough brushing, as well as she could without spooking the newcomers too badly, anyway. That was when she found the first of them. The brush hit a snag in the fur, and she pulled away with a silvery-white... glowing thing. She squeezed it, but it was too hard for her to break. Slightly sticky to the touch, it took her wiping it off on a table to get it off her finger. Was it a seed of some kind? A fungus?
She brushed and brushed, and pulled free a few dozen more off of just the first dog. Not to mention all the ones that ended up in the bottom of the tub. The next two newcomers had even more of them.
There were at least two hundred of the things by the time she was done.
She emptied out the tub, and then scraped off all the seeds into a pile. She'd have to try and figure out what they were. If it was a type of fungal infection or something, she'd have to buy medicine for that too. She dumped the pile into a bit of old newspaper and carried it with her into a supply closet, putting the pile on a high-up shelf. One of the few places in her makeshift shelter the dogs couldn't weasel their way inside. She would grab it again later, and try and look up what it was.
In the hectic mess of all the other things she had to do that night, the pile slipped her mind. In the week that followed, she found no other dogs with white pods, so she stopped worrying.
She had no idea yet that they would solve a lot of her problems and cause plenty of others.