“In abundance,” Lark said, glancing down at her boots.
“Don’t forget the fishing sinkers Angela Dimato found on the ice,” added Harry.
Lark’s impatience reached an all-time high. “Then it’s settled. So how do we help them?”
Eric pushed up his sleeves. “According to Covy, the only chance is to remove the lead from the geese’s gastrointestinal tracts, then give them chelating agents and pray.”
“How do we do that?” Lark asked.
Harry pressed his palms together, up under his chin.
“Not pray,” Lark said. “How do we get the lead out?”
Eric’s mouth twitched. “It can be surgically removed.”
“Do either of you know how to operate?” she asked, glancing between them. “Because I sure don’t.”
“I’ve done a few dissections,” Harry said.
“We’re going for live,” Lark said.
Eric nodded. “Which leaves us with lavage. We’ll have to flush out their digestive tracts with water.”
She froze. There were two ways to do that. Lark raised her hand. “Question?”
“Ja?”
“Which end are we washing?”
Eric grinned, crow’s feet crinkling at the corners of his eyes, then he burst out laughing. “We go in through the mouth.”
Lark’s face grew hot.
“You stole my question,” Harry said, taking the heat off.
“At the risk of seeming stupid… ” she said.
Both men looked at her expectantly.
“What exactly is a ‘chelating agent’?”
Harry spoke up. “It’s medication that neutralizes lead in the blood and body tissues. To simplify the explanation, it binds with the lead and helps cleanse it from the bloodstream.” In lieu of an overhead, Harry sketched an illustration on the desk blotter. “I’d guess the treatment would run about ten dollars per goose per day.”
“Where are we going to find that kind of money?” Eric asked. “Any chance we could give them something like mineral oil to get the lead to pass?”
Lark grimaced. “They’ve already got diarrhea. Do we really want to compound that problem?”
“You have a point.”
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Harry said. “Mineral oil impairs digestion.”
Eric rubbed his chin. “How about something that makes them throw up, then?”
Lark brightened. “Like Ipecac syrup? What about trying something like that?”
Harry shook his head.
There was a heartbeat of silence, then the geese honked in the background. Lark met Eric’s gaze.
“Fine,” she said. “Then we’ll pay for it ourselves. Now teach me how to lavage a goose.”
CHAPTER 6
While Eric rounded up the medical supplies, Lark broke the news to the EPOCH members. Standing at the back of the barn, using a wooden crate as a podium, she pounded for order.
“Okay everyone, listen up.”
The volunteers gathered around, except for the cowboys, who bucked hay in the hayloft.
“This is what we have to do. We’re going to lavage the lead out of the geese’s ventricular systems using whatever small tubing we can find. Supplies and resources are limited. Eric’s working that problem now. He’s on the phone to the pharmacy, and—”
“I’ve got some aquarium tubing,” Andrew Henderson interrupted. The large, bald man stroked his goatee. “I keep fish.”
“Perfect. We need some ten millimeters in diameter.” Lark made a small circle with her thumb and index finger and hoped she’d sized it correctly. “Then, once we’ve removed all of the lead, we’ll give the geese a chelating agent called Calcium EDTA.” She explained what it did for those that didn’t know, then continued. “George Covyduck, the Raptor House veterinarian, is calling around trying to obtain the medication, but we’ll have to supply syringes.”
“What size do we need?” GertieTanager asked. She had shown up at the Raptor House within an hour of Lark’s showdown with Petey Hinkle. He had apparently called her himself in hopes of staying clear of the doghouse. In her purple sweatpants, speckled with bright green splotches, she reminded Lark of a pug-nosed, polka-dotted Barney doll.
Lark consulted her notepad and the list of supplies. “Three milliliter syringes, with twenty-five gauge by five-eighths-inch needles.”
“I can probably get a batch from the dental office.” Gertie’s short, dark hair swung at her shoulders as she glanced around at the others. “Or from my friend, who’s a physician’s assistant at the clinic. Consider it a perk of my being a dental hygienist.”
“Perfect.” Lark checked syringes off the list. “Now here’s what we have to do first. We need to categorize the geese and tag them. Move the strong birds to the left side of the barn and the critical birds to the right.” She made sweeping gestures with her arms, hoping they would get the idea. “Then we’ll number each goose using adhesive tape around the leg and a waterproof pen.”
“Why bother tagging them?” someone from the back shouted. “U.S. Fish and Wildlife doesn’t care.”
Lark stood on tiptoes trying to see who had posed the question. Anger caused her hands to shake, so she steadied them by gripping the crate. “I care. And Eric cares. This is a rehab center. We’re going to document treatment.”
“What’s next?” Cecilia prompted, breaking the tension.
Lark glanced back at her pad. “We’ll need to break into teams again. We need several four-man lavage teams, and the rest of you to work hospice. There need to be some changes made in the permanent housing area.”
Dorothy’s expression hardened. “What’s wrong with the way it is now?”
“Nothing,” Lark said, trying to placate her friend. “We just need to add a few things.”
Dorothy’s expression didn’t change.
“For one,” Lark said, “George Covyduck wants us to put some powdered electrolyte in the birds’water supply. The geese are stressed, and they haven’t been eating.”
Dorothy’s eyes narrowed. “What else?”
“He wants us to switch their food.”
“To what?” The older woman tapped her foot and pointed to the feed sacks. “I’ll have you know, we chose the highest quality duck feed Carmichael’s had.”
“Oh my, Dot,” Cecilia said. “I don’t think Lark is criticizing the job you’ve done.”
“Of course not,” Lark said. “The geese need to be given softer pellets, that’s all. Preferably a food that’s high in protein and devoid of corn.”
“Why?” asked someone in the crowd.
“According to Covy, corn-based pellets can increase the lead toxicity in the birds’bloodstream.” She looked at Dorothy. “And hard pellets exacerbate the situation. They force the goose’s system to work harder, so any lead inside gets further ground down and absorbed. Covy thinks that by eliminating the corn and mushing up the pellets we can avoid those problems.”
Dorothy’s stance softened. She dropped her arms to her sides and whispered something to Cecilia. Lark continued down her list.
“We also need to add a powdered avian lac-to-ba-cil-lus,” she sounded out the large word slowly and figured she’d butchered it anyway. “It aids appetite and helps correct diarrhea.”
“I’ll second that,” Harry said.
“You know, I read a paper on lead poisoning in Canada geese,” Andrew said. “Written by a woman in Wisconsin as I recall. In it she mentioned the possible use of aloe vera gel to provide viscosity and protection to the damaged gastrointestinal tracts of lead-poisoned birds.”
Leave it to Andrew to add another dimension to the treatment.
To Lark’s chagrin, Harry rose to the bait. “There is only anecdotal evidence to support that theory. It’s unknown what effect the aloe vera gel might have on the absorption of protein and calcium from the gut. Therefore—”
Obviously they’d both done their homework.
“Look, gentlemen, can you debate thi
s on your own time?” Lark asked, pointing to Cecilia, who had raised her hand.
“What about the ones who seem too sick to save?” The older woman’s gray eyes brimmed with tears.
Lark blinked her own.
“We treat them,” she said. “Again, according to Covy, they’re not in pain, so we might as well try.”
It had taken them hours to tag the geese, dispose of the dead birds, and collect all of the supplies needed to perform the procedure. By the time they were actually ready to start, the crowd of available help had dwindled.
Three volunteers were assigned to work the hospice area, while the rest assembled in the kitchen. Chrome counters gleamed, and the linoleum floor looked freshly polished. A number of pitchers and buckets had been gathered and set by the sinks. Lark noticed the buckets were fitted with screens.
Eric explained the protocol. They would insert a tube down the throat of the goose and rinse out the stomach, using syringefuls of water.
“Any questions?”
“Are we using anesthetic?” Andrew asked.
“No. The drug we would use is a controlled substance and requires a Drug Enforcement Administration permit. We can’t get one.”
Andrew elbowed himself toward the front of the crowd. “And what about using a stomach pump?”
“If we had one, we could use it on the larger, stronger birds, but we don’t. We’re doing this the old-fashioned way.”
“What about X-rays, then? Shouldn’t we at least see how much lead is present before we start this procedure?”
“Again, Andrew, if we had a machine, we’d use it.” Eric picked up a length of tubing and twisted it in his hands. “Covyduck is trying to locate a portable X-ray machine, but we can’t delay treatment.” He peered over Andrew’s head at the others. “Does anyone else have a question?”
No one spoke.
Andrew started to open his mouth again, but Lark cut him off.
“Why don’t we break into teams?” she said.
“Good idea,” Eric said.
He grouped them, then regrouped them according to size and strength. Finally, he shook his head. “We need two more guys to help hold the birds. There’s just no way some of the women will be able to manhandle the geese. Sorry, ladies. No offense.”
“I’m stronger than I look,” insisted Cecilia, flexing a muscle.
“No, he’s right,” Lark said. It was one thing to carry a goose, another to hold it in position for lavage. “Each team needs two strong individuals. We could use some real bruisers.”
Dorothy crinkled her forehead in thought, then brightened. “What about the cowboys?”
“Oh my, do you think they’d be willing to help?” Cecilia asked.
“Sure. Why not?”
Dorothy headed for the hayloft. Lark followed, serpentining around the geese. “Ask them nicely.”
“What do you take me for?” replied Dorothy, stopping at the foot of the ladder. Cupping a hand beside her mouth, she hollered up, “Hey, you boys in the hayloft!”
Three young men with bright red hair, wearing black Stetsons, popped their heads up one by one and peered over the edge. There was no mistaking them for anything but brothers. Lark placed their ages between seventeen and twenty-one.
“Do you need something, Ms. MacBean?” the oldest asked, whipping the hat off his head.
Did Lark detect a quiver in his voice?
“Come down from there,” ordered Dorothy.
Spoken like a true schoolmarm, thought Lark. Dorothy had taught middle-school science before retiring, and she sometimes subbed. Had she taught these boys in the past?
“Yes, ma’am,” the boys said in unison, scrambling down the ladder. The second-oldest boy straddled the rails and slid to the floor. Pounding the dust from his jeans with his hat, he stood at attention at the end of the line.
“We need your help,” explained Dorothy, pacing before them like a military recruiter.
The boys stared straight ahead, hats in hand, fingers splayed against their blue jeans. All three sported double-pocketed cowboy shirts and wide belts with huge silver buckles.
“You’re all strong young men with sharp minds. Have any of you ever tipped a cow?”
They looked at each other, the oldest boy rolling his eyes. “You mean thrown and hogtied, ma’am?”
“Whatever.”
All three nodded.
“Then what we’re asking should seem tame by comparison.”
The two youngest looked to the oldest, then the middle boy raised his hand.
“Teddy?”
Considering how many kids she had taught in the last forty-plus years, it surprised Lark that Dorothy had remembered his name.
“Just what is it you want us to do, ma’am?”
“Didn’t I tell you? We need you to wrangle some geese. Follow me.” She headed for the back room, the three redheads in tow. Lark took up the rear to prevent escape.
When they reached the kitchen, Dorothy waved her hand toward the boys with a flourish. “Eric, you know the Carmichael boys. They’ve volunteered to help.”
“More like they got roped into it,” Lark said softly.
Dorothy jabbed an elbow into her side.
“Terrific,” Eric said, ignoring Lark’s comment. “We’ll put one of you over there.” He gestured to the team against the back wall. “And two of you on Lark’s team.”
The cowboys exchanged glances. Dorothy disappeared, then returned with a large Canada goose.
“Here’s number one.” Dorothy handed the bird to Eric, then moved toward the back of the room where a magnifying floor lamp hovered over a small wooden table next to a deep washtub sink.
“Dorothy will handle the evidence collection over there.” Eric gestured with his head. “Lark and Harry…” He handed the goose to Harry, then pointed to the oldest Carmichael boy. “Junior and… you.” He jerked his head at Teddy. “Come over here. Let’s give everyone a demonstration of how this is done. I need the strongest person to sit on the lab chair.” He gestured to Junior. “This tends to be messy.”
Cecilia stepped forward and draped a piece of plastic tarp across the boy’s lap. “This should help, dear.”
The cowboy looked scared.
“You’re going to hold the bird’s body, like this.” He placed the goose in Junior’s arms, with the butt held high. “You need to raise the tail and legs to an approximate forty-five degree angle to the head and neck.”
The young man looked confused.
“Point the butt between the one and two on a clock face,” Dorothy said.
“Gotcha.” Junior raised the goose’s rear end, then fumbled the bird, trapping it on his lap. The goose hissed and flapped one wing, knocking Junior’s Stetson to the floor. The cowboy’s eyes widened. “Is it going to peck me?”
“No, no. It’s okay,” Eric said, stepping in to reposition the bird. “She’s too weak to do much. Hold her tighter. Try raising her butt up and down.”
Junior did what he was told.
“Now you’re getting the feel of it.” Eric stepped away. “Are you comfortable?”
“No!”
Everybody laughed. The boy’s ears turned red.
“You’re doing great, Junior,” Lark said.
He ducked his head and grinned, his whole face pinking.
Eric pointed at the young man. “This is actually the most uncomfortable job. Whoever takes this position has to keep shifting the elevation and position of the goose’s body to facilitate the flushing procedure.” Eric turned to Teddy. “The other handler keeps the head and neck in an outstretched position.”
Eric showed him how to grip the bird under the chin, and stretched out its neck. “The person in this spot is responsible for watching for signs of stress and/or aspiration of lavage fluids and effluent.”
“Pardon me, sir,” Junior said, hoisting the bird so he could look at Eric. “What’s ‘effluent’?”
“It’s what we want the bird to throw up.”
“Sorry, we need you there.” Eric patted him on the shoulder. “Look at it this way: it doesn’t have much smell.”
“Well, it ain’t smellin’good.”
“Isn’t,” corrected Dorothy.
Eric turned back to Teddy. “It’s your job to monitor the insertion of the tube. You should be able to feel it slide in.”
He handed the plastic tube to Harry, who inserted it into the goose’s mouth. The bird fought the procedure, but Teddy and Harry held firm.
“Can you feel it sliding past the glottis and down the esophagus?”
Teddy frowned. “I reckon.”
“Great, then avoiding the nares—”
For Teddy’s benefit, Lark interjected. “The nostrils.”
“—clamp the goose’s bill over the tubing to keep it from shifting out of place each time another syringeful of water is needed.”
Teddy positioned his hand, and Eric moved around behind Harry. “This person depends on the others to let him know how aggressive to be. We want maximum results, but everything depends on the overall condition of the bird.”
The group nodded.
“Once the tubing is in place, Harry flushes water in and out using the syringes Lark hands him.”
On Eric’s cue, Lark filled a sixty-millilitre syringe with warm water and handed it to Harry.
“How much water is that?” Cecilia asked.
“About a third of a cup.”
Harry inserted the end of the syringe into the tubing and started to squeeze. The goose struggled.
“Real slow!” warned Eric. He watched a moment. “Once he’s done, he applies a little suction to bring up the stomach contents.”
“Sort of like syphoning gas,” Teddy said.
“You’ve got it,” Eric said. “Next it’s Lark’s job to make sure the effluent drains over the screen into the collection bucket. Meanwhile, Teddy’s watching for signs of stress and/or aspiration of fluids. And that’s it. The process is repeated.”
“How many times?” Andrew asked.
Death Takes a Gander Page 6