When they arrived at the shelter Dean, Sam, and Bobby approached the front desk with Center For Disease Control fake IDs in their pockets.
After they flashed the IDs to the secretary, she frowned. "Why is the CDC interested in dogs with rabies?"
"Rabies is a very serious disease ma'am," Dean told her. "We don't want anymore dogs to become infected, especially with how vicious these infected dogs have been. They are a threat to public health and safety, so we have to know for sure what we're dealing with."
The secretary blushed at her idiotism. "Of course. I am guessing you want to see the dogs?"
"Yeah," Bobby said, before thinking, What do you think?
"We would also like to know if you have confirmed yet that this is rabies," Sam added as they followed her down a hallway.
The secretary shook her head. "No. The tests aren't in yet."
She opened a door and the Winchesters and Bobby were on her heels as they passed pens and pens of dogs, mostly large adult dogs like Labradors, Huskies, Pit Bulls, and Shepherds.
Sam glanced around as they passed, his expression sad. He'd always had a soft spot for dogs, and the adoptable dogs at the shelter looked so...hopeful.
When they reached the end of the walkway, the secretary opened another door, into a section of the shelter built like a miniature animal hospital.
A set of doors and they entered the quarantine area.
There were a total of eleven dogs, leaving only three of fourteen pens empty.
There were all sorts of dogs in the pens- a black and white English Springer Spaniel slept by the entrance of its pen, a Bloodhound laying on the ground looked up at them with seemingly mournful bloodshot eyes, an Irish Wolfhound drank from his water bowl, and...
"Proof little dogs cannot be trusted," Dean commented.
Before them, a Chihuahua stood in its pen, wagging her tail and releasing a few yaps in greeting the secretary.
"What is this dog's story?" Bobby inquired.
"A neighbor called 9-1-1," the secretary began. "The police found her owner dead and she was laying beside her, face covered with her blood. At first they didn't believe a little six pound dog could do this, but there was nothing else around that could have done damage to her neck like a dog could."
"Not disturbing at all," Dean muttered. "Still, she doesn't look like she has rabies."
"None of them do," Sam added.
"Shouldn't they be foaming at the mouth?" Dean quizzed.
The secretary shook her head. "That occurs in the final stage. These dogs are all most likely in Stage two where the aggression and ability to pass the virus is high."
"Isn't that strange?" Sam asked. "Wouldn't some of them be in different stages?"
"I should get the doctor," the secretary decided. "Our vet will be able to answer the rest of your questions."
"Alright," Bobby said. "We'll wait here."
The secretary left, and Bobby turned to the brothers.
"This isn't rabies," Sam told him and Dean.
"Not surprisingly," Dean grunted.
Bobby pulled a silver dagger out of his jacket. "Time to see if they're skin walkers."
"We can't just cut each dog," Sam argued.
"Don't need to idjit," Bobby said. "Skin walkers normally react when they see a silver knife."
So they tested all the dogs, one by one, pushing silver knives towards all the dogs. Some shied away, but none had the reaction they'd expect from a skin walker.
"Seem like real dogs to me," Dean sighed. "So now what?"
"We listen to what the vet says," Bobby said, "And if that doesn't give us any hints, we'll hit the books.
Dean sighed again. He hated research, and he had a bad feeling they were going to need to do a ton of it.