She turns to her assistant. “Left lung deflated, left side pneumothorax, right lung strong, respiratory rate once a minute,” Gretchen says. “Heart rate once a second.” The assistant writes down all the information, just like we take notes for Dr. Mac and Dr. Gabe at the clinic.
Carlos fills a clean syringe with clear fluid from a glass vial. The needle on the syringe is enormous, at least three inches long. Then he sticks the needle just above Violet’s peduncle and injects the fluid into her.
“That’s an antibiotic,” Dr. Mac says. “That will help fight any infection that Violet has. He’s rubbing the area where he inserted the needle to distribute the antibiotics better.”
“Wait a minute,” Zoe says to Dr. Mac. “How come they haven’t taken her temperature, or looked in her mouth, or checked her ears—all those things you do at the clinic?”
“They don’t want to stress her body out any more than is absolutely necessary,” Dr. Mac explains. “Dogs and cats are used to being touched by people and can tolerate more poking and prodding. There is a real art to treating wild animals. The vet has to watch the animal’s behavior to figure out how she’s feeling.”
I can understand that. At home when we’re rehabbing a fox or deer, we have to do the same thing.
“Do you want to X-ray her now?” Carlos asks Gretchen.
Gretchen cracks her knuckles, surveying her patient. “I don’t know. Her ribs are broken and her lung is punctured. Plus she has contaminated wounds and is fighting infection. She is one stressed puppy.”
She looks up to where we sit, on the concrete above her. “To X-ray, we have to anesthetize her. She’s very weak right now, and I’m afraid the stress of the anesthesia and additional movement will be too much for her.”
“Let’s tap the chest, flush her cuts, and patch them up,” she tells Carlos. “She needs to chill out for a while. We’ll tube-feed her every four hours and reassess her condition in the morning. If she’s stronger then, we’ll X-ray and do a serious cleaning of the prop wounds.”
When the propeller cuts have been washed out, Gretchen and Carlos lay an enormous disinfectant-soaked bandage across Violet’s side. It’s bigger than a beach towel. Gretchen takes a tube of something out of her medical kit and dabs it on the edges of the bandage.
“Guess what this is,” she calls up to us. “Superglue. It’s the only thing that keeps these bandages on.” She injects a local painkiller into the skin on Violet’s back, then inserts a large syringe with a thick needle into her chest. She pulls up on the plunger of the syringe.
“That’s tapping the chest,” Dr. Mac explains. “She’s removing the air that leaked into the chest cavity so Violet will be able to expand her collapsed lung again. I’ve done the same thing on dogs plenty of times.”
When the chest tap is complete, Gretchen starts to clean up. “All right, gang, let’s get this girl in the water.”
The staff quickly pick up all the equipment from the floor of the chute and climb up the ladder. One of the assistants walks over to a small control box on the wall and pushes a few buttons. Water begins to flow into the chute.
When the water is as high as Gretchen’s knees, it stops. She and Carlos remove the sling, which Violet is now floating over. They run their hands over the bandage to make sure it is holding.
“Looks good,” Gretchen says. “Time for some peace and quiet, Violet.”
She and Carlos climb out of the chute, bringing the sling with them. The assistant lets more water into the chute. When the chute is totally full, the door that leads to the exhibit tank opens, and Violet swims through it. She moves very slowly, more like she’s swimming through Jell-O than water.
“Is she going to make it?” I ask.
Gretchen studies her patient. “We’ll know better in a few days. Carlos will keep an eye on her for now. Why don’t I show you around?”
Chapter Five
Gretchen leads us down the stairs to the middle of the rescue center, the exhibit area. The long glass wall of the manatee tank is the star attraction.
“Look at Violet!” I shout.
Under the water, she looks almost graceful. Her tail flaps once and she glides in front of us, her snout quivering and her right flipper swaying. She’s not moving her left flipper, and the bandage covering her cuts looks weird in the water, but what counts is that it’s still on and in the right place.
“Couldn’t you just stay here all day and watch her?” I ask.
Gretchen grins. “Sometimes I do. I never get tired of looking at manatees.”
There is a long bench in front of the glass wall for people to sit on, and lots of extra room to handle a crowd—but we’re still the only visitors. There is a clear plastic donation box by the door. It has an inch of pennies, dimes, and nickels in it, along with some gum wrappers.
“I thought this was supposed to be a big tourist place,” I say.
Gretchen looks over at the donation box. “We don’t get many visitors,” she says with a sigh. “The center needs more money for advertising. The center needs more money, period. Come on. I want to show you some other friends.”
She leads us down the hall. “Although manatees are a big part of the work here, we take in all kinds of creatures.” She opens a door. “Here’s the hospital ward.”
It looks like the recovery room back at Dr. Mac’s Place, but bigger, and with a curious collection of critters. Various-size cages line two walls, a couple of refrigerators and some medical equipment run along the third, and sinks, cupboards, and a long counter fill the wall right next to the door. An examining table is in the middle of the room. Music plays from a speaker mounted near the refrigerator—country-and-western. Not my favorite, but maybe the animals like it. We’re in the South, after all.
“Wow!” Maggie gasps. “Look at these guys.”
These are not your average animal clinic patients. There are lizards, snakes, turtles, giant birds, and a couple of opossums.
“Aren’t they great?” Gretchen says. She walks over to a large glass cage where a long red snake has coiled itself over and around rocks and branches. We all kneel down to get a good look. The snake flicks his tongue out at us.
“This is Ralph,” Gretchen says. “He’s a red rat snake.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Zoe asks.
“He was soaking up some sun on the highway and was run over by a truck. The truck driver felt awful and brought the snake in to us,” Gretchen explains. “He fractured several vertebrae. It has taken a couple of months, but Ralph should be ready for release soon.”
“He’s sort of beautiful, don’t you think?” Zoe says. She brings her face close to the glass. “I never thought about a snake being pretty before.”
I’m impressed. I always figured Zoe for a snake hater. I guess you never can tell how people are going to respond to animals.
“What’s wrong with this turtle?” I ask, moving to a smaller cage.
“Francis here will never be released.” Gretchen lifts out a three-legged turtle almost the size of a lunch box. “He’s a gopher tortoise.”
That’s right—a tortoise, not a turtle. Tortoises live on land, turtles live in the water. Duh.
“Gopher tortoises dig long burrows with their strong legs,” Gretchen continues. “More than three hundred other species use gopher tortoise burrows for shelter, so they are an umbrella species. If they disappear, the other species will be hurt, too. Gopher tortoises were just designated a Species of Special Concern. That’s what the government calls animals that aren’t endangered yet but are dying out fast enough for us to be worried.”
“What happened to his leg?” I ask.
Gretchen strokes the tortoise’s shell. “A dog bit it off,” she says. “We were able to save his life, but we can’t release him. He can’t dig burrows anymore.”
“That’s so sad,” Maggie says.
“He’s making the best of it,” Gretchen says as she crouches down and puts Francis back in his cage. “He gets a
ll the dandelions, strawberries, and sweet potatoes he can eat, and in the winter we make sure he’s warm and snug.”
A parrot in the corner caws loudly.
“Is there any kind of animal you can’t take in?” Dr. Mac asks.
Gretchen stands up. “Cougars and bobcats. There’s a rehab center farther south that specializes in them. We have the room but not the money. There’s one whole wing of the building that we’re not using yet. I’d love to set up exhibits and show kids more about habitat loss and the endangered and threatened species of Florida. Someday.” She sighs. “When we solve the money problem.”
Her words are hopeful, but she’s not smiling anymore. I get the feeling that the center needs a lot more than nickels and dimes.
Dr. Mac and Gretchen lead the way back to the exhibit area. “I remember your plans when you were in vet school,” says Dr. Mac. “You were going to specialize in marine mammals and move down here to the beach. You had visions of taking care of dolphins and spending lots of time waterskiing.”
Gretchen chuckles as she holds the door open for us. “I haven’t had a day at the beach in what, two years? If I don’t get a call about an injury, or something with a bacterial infection, then I arrive in the morning to find a cranky alligator has been left on our doorstep. Or—and I swear this happened—I go out on a dinner data and end up chasing a seagull with a broken wing.”
“Did you save it?” asks Zoe.
“The data?”
“No,” Zoe giggles. “The seagull.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did,” Gretchen says. “That’s the part of this job I really love—the rescue, the hands-on work, the helping. I wouldn’t change it for anything.”
“Hang on,” I say. “I’m confused. How can it be hard to get money for the center? It’s so important to save and protect these animals.”
“Some people get it,” Gretchen says. “Floridians raise thousands of dollars every year from the sale of special SAVE the MANATEES license plates, and we get donations from schools, scout groups, and families. But when you are trying to save a species on the edge of disaster, you are talking about big sums of money. Sometimes it feels like a race that we’re losing.”
“We can help,” I say. “Tell us what you need done, and we’ll do it.”
Gretchen smiles. “I’d like to bottle that attitude. What I really need is about a hundred thousand dollars. I have a meeting with the bank tomorrow about a loan. I don’t mind dealing with ornery alligators, but bankers scare the daylights out of me.”
“It’s not that bad, is it?” Dr. Mac asks.
Gretchen’s smile vanishes. “Yes, it is, J.J. If I don’t get this loan, we may have to close—even with a good turnout at the fund-raiser.”
Close the center?
“I didn’t realize it was so serious,” Dr. Mac says. “Let me help. Why don’t we go over your plans for the bank meeting?”
“That would be great,” Gretchen says with relief. “Can you girls stay busy for half an hour?”
“I’m going to help wash out the boats,” Maggie says.
“I’d like to keep an eye on Violet,” I say.
“This is going to sound weird, you guys, but I’d love to take another look at that snake,” Zoe says.
They all scatter, and Violet and I are left alone. I fiddle with my camera. I’ve got to get a shot of her swimming in the tank. But if I take a picture facing the glass, the flash will reflect back and ruin the picture. I slide to the side. Maybe if I take it from an angle …
Violet floats by. How could anyone hurt a beautiful creature like this? Manatees don’t bother anybody. They just swim and eat and play. Click!
I read the sign posted next to the tank:
MANATEES ARE CLOSE TO EXTINCTION. AS MUCH AS TEN PERCENT OF THE POPULATION DIES EACH YEAR. LEADING CAUSES INCLUDE BOAT STRIKES, GETTING CAUGHT IN DAMS, HYPOTHERMIA, AND BACTERIAL INFECTION.
Ten percent!
My face flushes. It’s not the heat—it’s my temper. What would it take to get people to start paying attention? What would make them care? I wish I were older, old enough to move down here. I could start out volunteering, then Gretchen would give me a job. I’d find a way to tell people about the manatees—I know I would.
I lie down on the floor and angle my camera up so it looks like Violet is swimming above me, with shafts of light streaking down from above her. She has stopped swimming and is resting, floating straight up and down. Her flippers are suspended by her sides. Her chewed tail hangs gracefully. The stark white bandage covering those awful gashes looks like a big warning sign—TAKE CARE OF THIS CREATURE.
Click!
There has to be something I can do.
Chapter Six
When Gretchen and Dr. Mac finish talking about the bank meeting, we drive to our hotel in Bay City. While Dr. Mac checks us in at the hotel’s front desk, Maggie, Zoe, and I wander around the lobby.
I’m stunned.
“This place looks like a movie set!” I exclaim.
The lobby stretches twenty floors up to a glass ceiling and is longer than a football field. It reminds me of an expensive mall. It has two restaurants, fountains, a piano player, a bunch of little shops, and a special computer station where people can check their e-mail. In the middle of it all, a huge column of glass-and-chrome elevators rises up to the guest rooms above. Everywhere I turn there are glass windows, or mirrors, or other shiny surfaces that reflect my sweaty face and gaping mouth. I’ve stumbled into the Land of Oz.
“Do you believe this place?” I gush to Zoe and Maggie. “Your grandmother is nuts. It’s got to cost a thousand bucks a night!”
“Relax,” Maggie says as she falls into a poufy chair near a marble fountain. “It doesn’t cost that much.”
Zoe perches on the edge of the fountain. “I hope Gran lets us order room service,” she says.
Something splashes behind her. “Look!” I say. “Fish!”
Big, fat goldfish swim lazily under a lily pad in the water fountain.
“Brenna, listen to me,” Zoe advises. “You don’t want to look like a hick. Act sophisticated. Look bored. Pretend that we jet all over the world. Compared to the Ritz in Paris, this place is a dump.”
She rolls her eyes and pouts a little.
“Yeah, right, like you’ve ever been to the Ritz,” says Maggie.
“I have,” Zoe answers. “Mom and I flew to France for a fashion show last year. Now, this is how you have to act.” She puts her hand up to her hair. “Ve must get zem to do zomesing about zees sunlight,” she says in a fake French accent. “It’s going to fade my hair color.”
A bright green lizard crawls out from the plants surrounding the fountain and scoots over Zoe’s lap. She shrieks. Maggie and I crack up.
“Way to go, Zoe,” Maggie notes.
“Totally zophisticated,” I add.
We have two connecting rooms with balconies that face the ocean. Maggie leaps onto the bed and turns on the television.
“Cool!” she shouts. “We have a million channels! We can watch three different baseball games.”
Zoe is flipping through the room service menu. “We could have dinner either up here in the room or downstairs on the deck—the veranda, as they call it,” she says. “I like the way that sounds: ‘dinner on the veranda.’”
I slide open the glass door and step out onto the balcony. From fifteen stories up, I can see the thin crescent of white beach, and beyond that the waters of the Gulf of Mexico stretching to the horizon. So much water! There are people bobbing and swimming close to the beach. Farther out, speedboats chase each other, and a few sailboats are pushed by the lazy breeze.
Are there any manatees out there? I’ll have to ask Gretchen. I hope they stay away from the boats. I wish Violet had. It gives me the shivers to remember the way her back looked.
The door of the balcony next to me opens, and Dr. Mac steps out. She puts her hands on the railing and takes a deep breath of salty air.
; “Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asks.
“Sure is,” I say. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
We stand quietly, listening to the mix of seagull calls and the faint noise of the children playing on the beach.
“Do you think Violet will be OK?” I ask.
“Gretchen is a gifted veterinarian, and the people on her staff are very smart. Violet is getting great care.”
“I wish I could do more to help her,” I say, twirling the manatee bracelet around my wrist.
“I understand,” Dr. Mac says. “I wish more people felt the same way. So”—she slaps the railing to change the subject—“what do you think of Florida?”
I chuckle. “Honestly? I love it. The hotel is awesome, and the water, the palm trees, the birds. And our room! It’s bigger than my house. You shouldn’t be spending all this money, Dr. Mac. We could have stayed in a motel or at a campground.”
Dr. Mac stretches her arms over her head. “I worked hard for my money, Brenna, and I don’t spend it on fast cars or jewelry. But when I travel, I like to be comfortable. And I like being able to show you kids a little of the world.”
She twists so that her back cracks, then reaches over to touch her toes. Dr. Mac is in good shape. She can lay her hands flat on the floor in front of her. “I still have kinks from those airplane seats. I’m going for a run on the beach,” she says. “You girls stay out of trouble until I get back.”
Maggie opens the door behind me and sticks out her head. “Can I call the clinic?”
“A fire?!” Maggie shouts into the phone.
“Ouch. Not so loud,” Zoe tells her cousin. The three of us are crowded around one telephone.
David sputters on the other end of the line. “It wasn’t my fault, honest, I swear,” he says. “It was small, a small fire, a mini fire. Really just a couple of flames. And you’ll be happy to know that the fire extinguisher works properly.”
Someone takes the phone away from David.
“Hello? Dr. Mac? It’s me, Sunita.”
Manatee Blues #4 Page 3