"Poor boy. Aren't you feeling well? You seem to be running a fever. What say we go check your temperature?" But when I tried to coax him into the exam room, the snarling returned. If I was going to check him out, it would have to be done under restraint. I decided to wait until Cleo could give me a hand.
It eventually occurred to me that many of my clients who had called in with complaints had been the same ones I had seen in the office during the coronavirus outbreak. I asked my receptionist to pull up a list of all the patients who had been vaccinated during the first month of the allotment program. Sure enough, every client that had reported a behavioral problem had been in during that time. I also recalled that Runyon had been one of the first to receive the new vaccine.
Within the hour Cleo returned from her appointment at the vet school. Her news was not good either.
"There's been a meeting called for tomorrow evening at the school," she informed me. "It's about this sudden outbreak of aggressiveness. They'd like you to attend if possible."
"Sure, no problem. I've got my own theory as to what might be happening." I showed her the list.
"You think the vaccine has something to do with this?" she asked as she reviewed the names.
"Well, it ties in. The names match, and it's the only common thread I can come up with. Also, remember what Harold said about the testing of the vaccine. There would be plenty of room to have overlooked something."
"Good lord, do you have any idea how many dogs and cats have been vaccinated in the past few weeks? We'll have chaos if even 10% of them react this way." Her pretty face showed a mixture of puzzlement and misgiving. "What are we going to do?"
"There don't appear to be a lot of options. We either start a massive eradication program or we find a cure for what's ailing them. In either case, we're going to have to act fast. In the meantime, I would say all pet owners had better be particularly nice to their four-legged friends, or there’ll be hell to pay."
I then told Cleo about my findings on Runyon and solicited her help.
"I don't know if all this is related, but I do know one thing. I'm too attached to the old boy to just give up on him, but I must admit, having him lying under my desk while I work makes me just a wee bit nervous. I think we had better take action to confine him. Since it's obvious he has whatever is going around, we can use him to study the problem. Here's what I suggest we do..."
That evening as I prepared Runyon's meal, I slipped three thirty milligram phenobarbs into the canned food. I knew that Runyon's hearty appetite would keep him from tasting anything unusual. Within the hour, he was sound asleep.
"Okay, Cleo. Let's muzzle him first just in case he wakes up. Then I want to do a general physical on him and draw some blood samples for the lab. After we're through, we'll put him in the rear run away from everyone." I patted him gently on the head as Cleo slipped the gauze over his mouth. "Sorry to trick you like this, boy, but you're getting too smart for your own good these days. Let's get this over with."
The findings on the physical were more astounding than I expected. His rectal temperature was 106.6 degrees. His heart rate was over 240 and his respiration, even while asleep, was 55.
"I can't believe this. He doesn't even act sick. That temperature is high enough for him to be seizuring. Hell, he ought to be dead with a temperature that high, or at least close to it."
"Do you think his aggressive actions could be small seizures?" Cleo asked.
"No, I wouldn't think so. They're too consistent with him being disciplined. One thing is for sure, there is something going on inside of him and we've got to get it reversed. Maybe the blood tests will show something. Let's run them down to the school tonight. I'm sure they'll run a stat on them when I explain what is going on."
The chem screen report that was returned the next morning was even more astonishing. Every test was outside the normal range. Many of them were double or triple what they should have been. The T-3 and T-4, measurements of the thyroid gland function, were off the scale of the instrument.
"That might explain, at least in part, why his metabolism is so far off," I explained to Cleo as we studied the report. "Now the question is, what in blue blazes is causing all this? On that question, I'm afraid we're no closer to the answer. Let's go check on the poor fellow and see how's he's adapting to the confinement."
It was a lucky move. Just as we were entering the kennel area, we saw Runyon trying to open the cage door with his mouth. I grabbed the high pressure hose next to the door. With a quick spurt I forced him back to the rear of the cage.
"Quick Cleo. Get that dog leash over there. Use the clasp to lock the gate until we can get a sturdier lock." I continued to hose Runyon down as Cleo locked the gate. "Sorry, boy, I know how much you hate baths, but it's not time for you to leave just yet." He stood in the corner, his legs spread wide apart fighting to maintain his balance, his lips raised in a ferocious snarl. I hardly recognized him. I could feel a gripping anguish clutch at my throat. "I'm really sorry," I repeated.
The meeting at the vet school was not exactly what I had expected. Due to evening clinic, Cleo and I arrived a little late, but in time to hear the main speaker, Dr. Lawrence Harfield of the Department of Agriculture, deliver his plan.
"It would appear from all indications that we have had a sudden outbreak of a new and possibly deadly disease. One that is infecting both dogs and cats, apparently without rhyme or reason. We can't even rule out rabies at this time although we have no confirmation on it." At the word rabies, a general buzz went through the audience. "The disease, if that is an accurate description, leads to abnormal and often aggressive behavior on the part of the animal affected."
"After careful consideration, the Department has decided to take the following stand. We are making the recommendation that any pet who has shown or does show any abnormal behavior be confined for observation, or..." he paused for a moment, "be euthanized in a humane fashion."
There was an immediate uproar from the crowd. I looked over at Cleo. She had the same astonished look on her face as did the rest of us. Confined? Euthanize? Did this joker have any idea how many animals he was talking about? In my practice alone, we had had over a hundred complaints. No telling how many more had failed to call. I had an absurd vision of ordering cases of the light pink solution we used for euthanasia. Euthanasia? What made Dr. Harfield think that these animals were going to be so cooperative. They weren't likely to act like lambs going to slaughter.
Cleo and I sat in the meeting for another hour and a half. It became apparent that nothing would be decided quickly. Finally, I touched her lightly on the hand.
"Let's get out of here," I whispered. "This is going to get us nowhere."
As we stepped out into the fresh summer evening, I breathed in a deep lungful of cool air. "You noticed no one said anything about the coronavirus vaccine," I remarked to Cleo as she joined me.
"Yes, I did. You don't suppose no one else has made the connection, do you?"
"Not likely. It doesn't take much deduction to come up with that as a possibility. No. It was like no one wanted to admit it. I suppose they'll have to sooner or later. In the meantime, we had better find out as much as we can, before Dr. Harfield goes down in history as the Hitler of the animal kingdom."
The next morning, I tackled two chores before brushing my teeth. I called my friend, Harold Jerome, and I opened the paper to see what news was making headlines in the world. From all indications, it was going to be a long day. As I sat at the kitchen table, sipping on my instant coffee, waiting for Harold to answer the phone, I flipped the front page of the paper over. There on the third page was the headline:
MRS. R. J. PINKLEWORTH HOSPITALIZED WITH RARE DISEASE
I read on, a vague feeling that I had heard that name somewhere before.
"Mrs. R. J. Pinkleworth, noted philanthropist and oil heiress, was hospitalized at Walter Reed Hospital early yesterday evening with a mysterious and so far unexplained disease."
; The article went on to explain that Mrs. Pinkleworth had complained of severe pain and swelling of the area where she had received bite wounds from her cat the previous week.
Bite wounds! Of course. She had been the crazy lady that had wanted to press charges against her cat.
"So far the disease has eluded the best diagnosticians. They are particularly concerned by the high fever which is unresponsive to treatment at this time."
"Oh, God," I thought. "The shit is about to hit the fan."
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of my friend's voice.
"Hello," came the slow response.
"Hello, Harold. This is Tyler. How are you? Not sleeping I hope."
"No, no," Harold lied quickly. "Had to be getting up anyway. What time is it?"
"Don't worry about the that, Harold. You've got just enough time to catch the 9:20 flight out. I've already booked a seat for you."
"Gee, thanks Tyler. Now, do you mind telling me where I'm going? A few people kind of expect me to show up at work today."
As quickly as possible, I explained my theory to him. There was a long silence when I finished.
"You're serious, aren't you?" was all he could manage.
"I'm afraid so, Harold. I know this won't look good for Pharmgel, but the fact remains, something needs to be done quickly. I want you to bring all the data that has been done so far on the vaccine and, if possible, a sample of the blood you took from Molly. Can you do that?"
"Uh, yeah, sure. No problem." His voice sounded distant and confused. "What am I going to..." he started.
"Harold,” I said emphatically, "Listen. It wasn't your fault. What you are going to do is get on that flight and get down here and help get us out of this mess."
"Right," his voice was clearer. "I'll see you later this morning."
I didn't have the heart to tell him about Mrs. Pinkleworth. He'd find out soon enough.
Cleo met me at the office with the newspaper.
"Do you think there can be any connection?" she asked.
"I don't know for sure. It could just be a strange infection from the bite itself. Lord knows, cat bites are filthy things to deal with. Still, this problem with the high temperature and all makes me wonder. How's Runyon doing this morning?" I asked, wanting to change the subject.
"I looked in on him a few minutes ago. He wouldn't even look at me, but I did notice the pad lock we placed on the door had scratches all over it, like he's been trying to get out."
The news didn't make me feel any better. I decided to walk back and check on him myself. The area was strangely quiet. The concrete floor glistened in spots where it was still wet from the morning washing. We had moved all the other animals to another part of the hospital. Runyon lay facing the opposite wall; the only motion was his rapid short breaths. My footsteps made an eerie echo as I walked to his run.
"How you doing old boy?" I asked with more enthusiasm than I felt. "Would you like some breakfast?"
Slowly he looked up at me. His sad brown eyes produced that clutching feeling in my throat again. He got up and walked over towards me. He sat down in front of the cage door and lifted one paw. I could feel the tears start to well up in my eyes. I started to speak, but he beat me to it.
"Tyler, please don't..."
I stumbled back as if hit by a sharp blow to the ribs. I shook my head, blinked a few times and looked back.
"Please...let...me...out." There was no mistaking it. The voice, although soft and somewhat guttural, was coming from my dog.
The door at the end of the kennel opened and Cleo entered. Seeing her approach, Runyon put his paw down and turned back to the corner.
"What's wrong Doc?" Cleo asked as she approached. "You look awful."
"Uh, nothing. Nothing at all." I shook my head again. "Just thought I'd give old Runyon some breakfast." I thought to myself, you'd never believe me.
By noon, a worried, nervous Harold Jerome was in my office, a large brief case clutched in one hand. Time being all too short, I kept the introductions brief.
"Doctors, now that everyone has met, we need to get to it. As it appears right now we three may be the only people that can turn this incredible mess around. Cleo, you've kept in touch with the committee at the college. Any changes there?"
"Not really. So far, no one has actually come out and suggested that the coronavirus vaccine could be the cause. Dr. Harfield is trying to organize a massive eradication program. Sounds more like trying to control hog cholera to me. Cooler heads are prevailing at the moment, but that could change."
I handed the lab reports to Harold. "These lab results came from Runyon. As you will notice, virtually everything is outside the normal range. Have you seen anything like this with your colony?"
Harold's face became flushed. He looked at the report for a minute, then looked up at me. "To tell you the truth, Tyler, we haven't run any of these tests. Time was so short and everything, we just went with the dogs we had. While on the plane, I did have a chance to review some of the tests we've done in the past few days. One thing that I failed to notice before was a complete blood count we did on Molly just before she was released from the lab. It was drawn as normal routine, but I never looked at it. She seemed fine to me, her normal hyper self, I guess you could say. The tech did note a strange inclusion body in the red blood cells. That's about it."
"No other tests have been run on Molly?" I asked, trying not to sound like the Grand Inquisitor.
"None that I know of,” Harold answered.
The intercom interrupted our meeting. "Dr. Morris, Mr. Fletcher is on line 2 and he's quite upset. Said he had to talk with you immediately."
I picked up the phone from the cluttered desk.
"Yes Mr. Fletcher, what can I do for you?" I started.
"Doc, something awful has happened out here. Ol' Jake suddenly went berserk a little while ago, turned on my daughter when she was trying to brush him. Near ‘bout tore her hand off. I had to...well, I had to shoot him to get him off her. 'Fraid I killed him."
My heart picked up a beat. These phone calls were getting more regular and more serious. "Sorry to hear that Mr. Fletcher. Hope your daughter is okay.”
"Doc Brancher is looking her over now. She's scared something awful. She loved Jake more than most anything else. I sure hated to do it, but he was crazy."
"Well Mr. Fletcher, you better bring him in to me. Let me have the lab check him for rabies, just to be sure. You don't want to fool around with something like this."
"That's what I thought, too. I'll put him in the truck and drop him off soon as Doc is through here."
I hung up the phone and told my colleagues the news.
"As much as I hate to say it, this could be a break for us. Now we have a body for necropsy. As soon as it comes, in we'll take samples from every major organ. And I want the brain sent in too."
"You don't really think it's rabies, do you?" Cleo asked.
"No, but we need to check just to be sure. No telling what else we might turn up."
By mid afternoon the histopathology report was back.
"It's strange. On necropsy, everything looked fairly normal. The heart was a little enlarged and the cardiac muscle seemed thickened, but everything else looked okay. But this histopath is another story, particularly the cross sections of the brain." I handed a copy of the report to Cleo and Harold.
"It says here that there were no signs of Negri bodies, so at least we can rule out rabies." Cleo read from the report.
"Yes, but look at the finding on the hypothalamus and the cerebral cortex.” Harold read further from the report. “’These areas show an abnormally high number of cells with proliferation of the synaptic trunks. Approximately fifty percent of the synapses appear to stain as a foreign protein.’”
Harold looked up from the report. "Good lord, that means that something has restructured the neuronal pathways of the brain."
The brief conversation with Runyon flashed through my mind. "That would appear
to be what has happened. In which case, the dog would start to think and act differently, and one would presume that the intelligence level might increase if the number of cells and the synapses have increased."
"But what could be causing this sort of..." Cleo started but was again interrupted by the intercom.
"Dr. Tomlin, you've got a call from the vet school. They said it was urgent."
Cleo glanced at Harold and me, a worried look on her face.
"Yes, this is Dr. Tomlin." We sat watching her expression become even more worried as she listened to the caller.
"What?!” she shouted, "You've got to be kidding. They can't do that. Don't they know what that would mean? Listen, you tell that SOB that Dr. Morris and I will be down there in just a few minutes with some very important information, and not to do anything until he's talked to us. Jerry, if he tries to ignore you, you've got to stop him no matter what. Do you understand? Okay, I'll see you in just a minute."
I had never seen her so upset. I knew the news was not good. "What's up?"
"They've finally made the connection with the vaccine. Dr. Harfield is about to make an announcement to the news media requesting that all pets that have received the Pharmgel coronavirus vaccine be taken to state agricultural stations immediately."
"What in the world for?" Harold and I asked simultaneously.
"For a massive eradication program."
The state agricultural committee headed by Dr. Harfield had been joined by a federal team as well. The six distinguished gentlemen were seated in the dean’s office of the vet school. Outside, a group of vet students, Cleo's friends, were blocking their exit.
Hunt Along the Iron River and Other Timeless Tales Page 12