Hunt Along the Iron River and Other Timeless Tales

by Orrin Jason Bradford

  As the beagle approached the pen, her natural instincts told her to go no closer. Something was wrong. There was sickness here. She could smell it in the air. All her senses shouted. Danger! She hesitated for a moment. The voice reassured her. It had been right every time so far. She would trust it once more. She wanted a new home very much.

  Dr. Jerome entered the office of Pharmgel the next morning where he met his assistant, Pete Houseman.

  "Good morning, Doctor. I've got good news for you. Those corona dogs came in last night after you left. We put them in the holding pen out back. Strange thing though. Joe and I went to tag them a little while ago. I could have sworn there were twenty dogs. That's what it says on the invoice too, but we came up with twenty-one this morning."

  "Great, Pete. Now we can get some work done around here. If we don't get a move on, one of our competitors is likely to beat us to market with a vaccine. Not to mention the hundreds of dogs that are dying every day from the disease. If we don't get this vaccine out soon, there won't be anything left to vaccinate."

  The two men walked out to the holding pen. As they looked through the wire mesh of the cyclone fencing, Pete asked, "What about the extra dog? I don't know if we miscounted last night or if someone put a dog in by mistake."

  "Don't worry about it. In the morning, we'll draw samples to check the virus count to see which has the highest level. If we have an extra dog, it'll show up in the tests. Look at that one there." He pointed to the beagle. "She's got the brightest eyes, especially for having been so sick. The way she's watching us, looks like she's listening. Glad we don't have to do anything but draw blood. It would be a shame to waste such a friendly pup. Pete, for the rest of the day, get the lab ready to run those samples. We'll draw blood first thing in the morning."

  As the two men walked away, the voice returned. Virus count. Small One, we must work fast. By the time those samples are drawn, we must have the highest number. In order to do this, I must make some alterations in your systems. Not to worry. I won't hurt you, and I'll protect you against the virus, rest assured. The beagle believed the voice. It had yet to lead her astray or lie to her. So when the strange sensations started to develop in her stomach area, she did not worry. She curled up and rested.

  That evening the voice woke her. My friend, all is in readiness. Now, all we need is a small sample of our own. Take the small brown one resting in the corner. Go for the ear and hang on long enough to get a few drops of blood in your mouth. Hopefully, we will find the virus we are seeking there.

  Without hesitation, the beagle got up, stretched her front legs, then her rear. She walked over to the other dog as it laid deep in sleep. It was not in her nature to fight, but the voice had made a request, and it was looking after her. She sniffed a moment at the right ear of the sleeping canine. She steadied herself for the tussle she knew would come. Suddenly, the brown dog started to stir. Now! shouted the voice. She chomped down hard on the unsuspecting ear.

  Instantly she was caught up in a series of somersaults as the brown dog tried to dislodge himself from her grasp. She hung on tenaciously tasting the warm salty flavor of the fresh blood. In a few seconds the voice instructed, Okay, Small One. That will be enough. Beat a hasty retreat to the far corner. We will be able to protect ourselves better there if he decides to pursue the fight.

  She relaxed her jaws and backed away towards the corner of the pen. The rest of the dogs scattered away from her, most of them dazed at the sudden activity. The brown mutt recovered his footing and growled menacingly towards his assailant. He shook his head gingerly and cried out from the resulting pain. He sized her up carefully and decided that such an attack could not be ignored, especially from one so small. To do so would result in a loss of respect. He leaped for her throat.

  As the brown missile traveled towards her, a strange sensation came over the beagle. Everything suddenly slowed down. The dog, who moments before had been speeding towards her, seemed suspended in air, moving ever so slowly. As he reached her, the reflexes of the voice took over. To the other dogs it appeared that the small bitch moved with lightning speed, first dodging to the side, then turning her head to catch her opponent on the flank as he went by. The mongrel cried out a second time from the nip. As he landed, she attacked again. Grabbing him by the nape of the neck, she planted her feet firmly and with a flip of her head and neck, tossed him over her head. When he finally landed, he scurried to the farthest corner from her.

  We should have no more trouble from him, I would think, the voice said softly.

  How in blazes did I do that? the beagle asked back.

  You didn't. We did it, you and I. You'll have to get used to it, but it won't take long. We're a team. Soon we will be as one. Don't worry. I'll take good care of you. Now I must get busy with the analysis and production. You've done a splendid job. Now sleep.

  "Dr. Jerome, you better come down to the corona pen. It appears we've had a fight during the night. One of the dogs is chewed up pretty bad." It was Pete on the phone.

  On arriving at the pen, Pete had the brown dog tethered to the fence with one of the blue rope leashes used at the lab. He was gently cleaning the blood away from the right ear.

  "What's it look like, Pete?" Dr Jerome asked.

  "Not as bad as I first thought. When I entered the pen this morning, it looked like a bloody massacre. But you know how these ear wounds bleed. He's also got a small tear on the flank and an abrasion on the back. I don't know who attacked him, but they certainly were the winner. I've looked the others over. No signs of him getting even one lick in. Poor thing."

  "Well, let's take him on up to the lab. We can clean his wounds better there and take the first blood sample at the same time. We've got to get on the stick. The news this morning wasn't good. It appears that the epidemic is spreading like wildfire. Here's another leash. Let's go ahead and take two.”

  The doctor started toward the pen. "Okay pooches. Who's our next volunteer?"

  The beagle jumped at the pen door, barking excitedly.

  "Well, girl, you seem to be willing. Let's go."

  I threw the report down on the cluttered desk.

  "Damn. Who has ever heard of a strain of coronavirus that can infect both dogs and cats?"

  Cleo sat on the corner of the desk, playing nervously with her stethoscope. "I knew you'd be excited about the confirmation report, Dr. Morris. That's why I photocopied it for you. The school will be sending it out to all the vets within the next few days. Of course, you've been suspicious of this for some time, haven't you?”

  I looked in her direction. "Yeah, you're right. I guess we knew this all along. I was hoping maybe there was another answer; something we had a cure for. And I told you, when clients aren't around, you can call me Tyler. Despite the fact I'm your boss during this internship, there's still only four years of difference in our age."

  "Sorry, Doctor... I mean Tyler. Guess I've just been indoctrinated with this doctor thing. An overdose from school or something."

  "Any more news on the vaccine?" I asked her. The look she returned was not encouraging.

  "Unfortunately, not much. They're trying to get it ready as soon as possible, but you know the FDA. Even in an emergency like this one, they have their rules. Pharmgel seems to be making good progress. That virus line that your friend, Dr. Jerome, isolated seems to show the most promise. That should help speed things up, but right now good old American red tape could be the biggest problem."

  Cleo's face took on a sudden smile. "Cheer up, Doc. Three more weeks, school will be out. I should have my license from the exam board and I'll be ready to tackle this problem for you and the rest of the country. Dr. Cleo Tomlin to the rescue. Right, Runyon?"

  This last comment was directed to my Australian sheepdog that lay passively under the desk taking all of this in. He lifted his head to her outstretched hand and graciously took the ear scratching she offered.

  "Well, if Pharmgel doesn't get that vaccine out soon, we won't have any pati
ents to protect."

  As it so happened, Cleo was closer to the truth than she realized. In three weeks, not only did she graduate and pass the state boards, but Pharmgel released their first batch of coronavirus vaccine approved for both dogs and cats. Due to the tremendous demand, the FDA had been more lenient on the testing than usual. The first dosages were released in allotments due to the nationwide need. Concerned pet owners started flocking to their vets all over the country begging for the vaccination. Demanding it if begging didn't work.

  For a while, things were even more hectic than before the vaccine. I was thankful to have Cleo help out. Since Dr. Harold Jerome of Pharmgel Incorporated had been my roommate in vet school, I called in every favor I could think of to get an extra allotment of vaccine for my patients. I knew it wasn't exactly fair, but my patients were important to me. Besides, my practice was in one of the hardest hit areas.

  Finally, things started to relax a little. Pharmgel caught up with the demand, and the allotment program was no longer needed. Many of the clients we saw were for follow-up boosters. It was still crazy but a manageable sort of crazy. I remember thinking at the time how lucky we had been that the vaccine caused so few post vaccination problems. There wasn't even swelling or pain at the site of the injection. After talking with Harold, I was even more thankful.

  "Tyler, I'm glad to hear you say that you're not having any problems with our vaccine. You would not believe how little testing the FDA required on this one. Of course, we're now going back through and catching up. We may have to modify it a little here and there, but so far everything is looking great."

  Harold and I had kept in touch since graduation. My expertise out in the field had been a lot of help to him and Pharmgel, and he had helped me stay posted on some of the new innovations in the profession.

  "What ever happened to the million dollar beagle, Harold?" I asked.

  "Oh, you mean Molly. Billion dollar beagle would be more like it. Her blood was the break we needed all right. After we were through with her, no one here could stand to see her just discarded. Most of the dogs here go on to other labs after we're through with them, or they're euthanized, but we just couldn't do that with Molly. Everyone fell in love with her. She's so damn smart. So, yours truly is now the proud owner of a short-legged slightly overweight beagle. She's getting the best attention possible, I can assure you. She really is a sweetheart of a dog, which reminds me. How's that old mutt of yours doing?”

  "Old mutt? Guard your tongue. Runyon is likely to have this phone tapped. He's his usual old lazy self, to tell you the truth. He still goes everywhere I go. That reminds me. He's due for his second corona shot today. I'm glad to hear everything is checking out so well. Keep me posted."

  As I hung up the phone, Cleo came into the office carrying the evening paper. "Listen to this, willya? A Mrs. Pinkleworth of Washington D. C. filed assault charges on, are you ready for this, her eight year old Persian cat."

  "Assault charges on her cat? What in the world for?" I asked with a smile.

  "It appears that Tooshie bit her owner on the hand and wrist causing multiple deep puncture wounds when Mrs. Pinkleworth attempted to place the cat in a carrier to take her on an evening drive. It goes on to quote Mrs. Pinkleworth. ‘Tooshie has been going on an evening drive with me since she was six months old. I don't know whatever came over her, but I won't stand for it.'"

  "Well, where does the case stand now?" I asked Cleo, shaking my head.

  "It says that after much counseling and discussion, Mrs. Pinkleworth decided to drop the charges but said, 'As far as I'm concerned she's on probation. Another incidence like this and out she goes.'"

  I sat back in my chair and roared with laughter. Runyon came in to find out what all the commotion was about. I reached down to find his favorite place behind his left ear. "You'd never do anything like that would you old boy? You know better than to bite the hand that feeds you, right?" He answered with his customary groan as I found the perfect spot. He pressed his head against my hand and closed his eyes in an expression of contented bliss.

  "Sorry old chap, duty calls. You'll have to get someone else to finish the ear rub. I've got a busy afternoon ahead of me. Let's go Dr. C. I'm going to need your assistance."

  Over the next several days, other reports of pets turning on their owners started to crop up, several among my own clients. None were serious, but they all seemed to have a pattern to them. The pets responded aggressively when disciplined. Most of the pets had no history of such behavior in the past. I didn't think much about it until one day Runyon joined the list of offenders. It was shortly after work as Cleo and I were closing up.

  "Another successful day of saving lives,” I quipped. “Let me ask you Dr. C., what do you think of your new career? It's been a month now. Is it all you thought it would be?" I flicked the light on for the outside sign.

  "I'll have to admit, it's a little different from what I expected, but I'm enjoying it. I just feel like I have so much to learn. I'm wondering what the eight years of education was all about." Cleo removed her smock and reached for the burgundy wind breaker she was accustomed to wearing.

  I paused a moment and watched her as she put it on. I couldn't help noticing her trim figure. Work had become much more enjoyable since she had joined the staff. "Tell you what. Why don't we go out and celebrate your first month anniversary. We'll let the practice pay for it."

  "Sounds good to me. Where shall we go?"

  "Let's drive into Westover. I know a great Italian place there. Besides, we're less likely to have clients pestering us about their disobedient pets over there." As I spoke I opened the side door leading to the staff parking area. As was his habit, Runyon followed me out. "Whoa boy. Back inside. No Italian food for you. I'll pick you up when I drop Cleo off at her car. Now back inside."

  Runyon turned and looked at me. Instead of obeying, he sat on his haunches and continued to stare. I repeated my command in a little sterner voice. Again, he did not move.

  "Runyon," I spoke sharply. "I said get back inside, now!"

  He stood slowly, then his lips curled in a brief but definite growl.

  "Oh, let the poor dog come with us," Cleo said as she joined us. "He's been cooped up all day. He won't mind staying in the car. It’s cool enough and we can keep the windows cracked open.”

  I looked back in his direction. He was again sitting, waiting patiently, his mouth open in an affectionate grin, his tongue hanging to one side. Had I actually seen the snarl? I wasn't sure now.

  "Okay. What the hell? Did you see his behavior though?"

  "What do you mean?" Cleo asked with a puzzled look.

  "Never mind. Let's go, I'm starving."

  Over the next several days, more and more reports of strange and aggressive behavior poured into the office. Each time, the brief snarl returned to mind. I decided to put Runyon to the test.

  Over the years, Runyon and I had developed a special closeness. Our lifestyles seemed to match, so seldom was it necessary for me to correct or discipline him. The one thing which Runyon hated was a bath. He was good for them, but his attitude was always one of quiet misery until I would finally give him the command to jump out of the tub. Immediately, he would bound out and take off running around the clinic in an effort to rid himself of the strange odor of the shampoo.

  I walked into the office. "Let's go boy, time for your bath."

  From his spot under my desk, Runyon raised his head and looked at me. He then lowered his head back on his paws to resume his nap.

  "Runyon. I said let's go, this way." Still nothing. I walked over and stooped down to grasp his collar. As my hand neared his head, he suddenly moved in a fashion I recognized only too well. I caught a brief glimpse of his teeth as he moved to sink them into the flesh of my fingers. Instinctively, I swung my hand back, the teeth grazing my thumb. My knuckles rapped against the desk.

  "Shit!” I shouted in pain. Runyon and I had been close buddies for over six years. Never in all that
time had he ever made a move to bite me or anyone else. Something was deeply wrong.

  Molly was lying quietly in her bed in her new master's study when the voice called to her. Little One, do us a favor, please. I want to read the report which is over there on the desk. Would you be so kind?

  Molly started to point out to her inner master that reading was not among her abilities but then realized that lately she had been doing a lot of things beyond her ability. She quietly rose from her spot and padded over to the desk. Raising herself on her rear haunches she could just make out the report that the voice had alluded to. Dr. Jerome had brought it in a short time ago, a look of satisfaction on his face.

  As she stared at the paper, it became obvious that a new change had taken place. The words made perfect sense.

  CORONAVIRUS VACCINE SALES STATISTICS

  PRELIMINARY REPORT

  Molly continued to read the small typed words. The voice chimed in, Ahh, I see we are doing very well. Sales of the vaccine have broken all records. Excellent, excellent. By the end of the quarter, we should have a firm footing on this region.

  The door leading to the hallway suddenly opened, and Dr. Jerome re-entered the room.

  "Molly, what are you doing, checking out the business report on your vaccine?" he asked with a chuckle. "Don't worry, thanks to you we are doing quite well. You won't ever have to wonder where the next meal is coming from." He reached down and patted her head.

  Molly heard the mental response of the voice, No, you're right, Doctor. I would say that my race has little to worry about. Now yours—that's another story.

  ____________________________________________________

  Within a week of the incidence with Runyon, I was convinced that we were in the midst of a new and much more serious problem of epidemic proportions. The reports of pet disobedience were no longer a laughing matter. Several people had received severe wounds from their previously docile pets. I discovered with Runyon that as long as I followed the normal routine and did everything to his liking, he acted quite normal. If I tried anything that was against his wishes he would suddenly turn aggressive. I say he acted normal, yet that is not completely accurate. I did notice that his respiration had increased significantly. Even at rest, he breathed much more rapidly than normal, almost panting. During one brief moment when he placed his head on my lap as I sat at my desk (during which my own respiration increased appreciably since he had become so unpredictable), I reached down and rubbed his favorite spot behind his ear. He felt decidedly hotter than normal.