by Karen Ranney
As the low man on the totem pole, I had a feeling that I would be volunteering a lot more than the other vets.
I’d been right.
By the end of the first month, the managing partner had changed it from a volunteer position to a mandatory one, with every vet assigned a night to pull duty. By this time, of course, the brilliant idea was gaining some opposition.
Tonight it was my night to stay late. Under normal conditions I wouldn’t have worked this afternoon. I’d have gone home and taken a nap. However, the day had been filled with problems and frantic owners, so I’d stayed to handle those.
I was working on about three hours sleep. If the night wasn’t busy I could take a nap in the on call room.
Never make plans. The Universe does what it can to screw them up.
The Emergency Clinic was never the home of easy cases. By the time someone decided that they had an emergency, the situation had exacerbated. Like the poodle that had been vomiting for a week. By the time I saw her, it was too late. Or the terrier that had been run over by his owner’s boyfriend’s car when they were having a fight. Too late for him, too.
Tonight wasn’t as bad, thank heavens, but it was busy all the same.
Annabelle, the vet tech assigned to work tonight, came into the breakroom when I was pouring another cup of coffee. I hadn’t yet begun to bounce off the walls, so I fueled up again.
“Don’t even think of relaxing,” she said. “We’ve got a doozy.”
I waited for her to explain, but she only shook her head.
I went out to the reception area and introduced myself to the man sitting there with a phone glued to his hand. About twenty-five, he had brown hair and was wearing a yellow Polo shirt and black jeans. In other words, he looked normal.
I had to wait a minute or two until he finished his text and glanced at me.
"Hi, I'm Dr. Boyd. Can I help you?"
He pocketed his phone, grabbed a small cardboard box from the chair beside him, stood, and thrust it at me.
“It’s sick. It keeps throwing up and it's got diarrhea. It's ruining my floors not to mention what my car smells like.”
I plastered an artificial smile on my face. I didn't know this guy, but he’d already showed me that he was one step up from a scumbag. Blaming a pet for being sick was one sign. Expressing more interest about his floors and the interior of his car than a living creature was another.
Look, I know it's hard to clean up after an animal that’s been sick. But they don’t do it on purpose, so being angry about it didn’t serve any useful purpose.
It was my sincere belief that we revealed our character by how we treated the innocent among us: babies, children, and animals. (Weres were very protective of our children and we were damn good pet owners, too.)
Some people shouldn’t be responsible for an animal. They were better with robots or something that didn’t require attention. Maybe a phone pet.
This guy was one of those.
After giving me the box, he sat back down, evidently eager to continue texting.
I took a deep breath, read through the consent form Annabelle had asked him to complete and read through it, still holding the box.
“Do you have any other pets at home?” I asked.
He shook his head. "No, my girlfriend wanted a puppy, so I got her that one. But she threw up the first time it pooped all over the floor."
What a nice warm, comforting, pet-friendly environment. Not.
"So you haven't vaccinated him yet?"
"The damn thing’s already cost me a fortune."
I wondered if he knew how expensive the initial exam was going to be. I told him. He gaped at me for a minute.
“Is that a problem?”
If it had been, I would have treated the puppy anyway, but he shook his head.
I glanced at the form. Under the pet’s name he’d written a word I’ve never used in polite company, one that began with an F and ended in an R.
“That’s the dog’s name?”
“It is now,” he said, ignoring me in favor of his phone.
I took the puppy back into the examining room, not even asking the owner if he wanted to accompany me.
The puppy was a Jack Russell, perfect in every way except for the fact that he was too thin. His temperature was high and as I took the test, I guessed what it would tell me. Parvo. Unfortunately, I was right.
After setting up the IV, I put the puppy in a cage in the treatment room. He was severely dehydrated and needed nourishment. He might not make it, but it wouldn’t be for lack of trying.
I returned to the waiting room. The owner didn’t look up until I came and stood in front of him.
"I'm afraid your puppy is very sick," I said, refusing to call the terrier what he’d named him. “He has Parvo. I'm going to need to keep him here for a few days. I’ve given him antibiotics and an IV. He’s severely dehydrated and I’m guessing that he hasn’t been able to eat for a few days.”
"Hell if I know," he said. "Like I said, he's my girlfriend's dog. What’s all this going to cost me?”
I quoted him what I thought the treatment would run, using a two to three day stay at the clinic.
I should have expected his next words. It wasn't the first time I'd heard something like it.
"I'm not going spend another cent on that dog. Go ahead and put him down. How much is that going to run?"
I took a deep breath, took another, and thought about my next words. I wasn't going to get into an argument with the guy. Nor was I going to lecture him on the sanctity of life. It would zoom right over his head.
If the puppy did survive what kind of environment would I be sending him back to? The next time the guy was annoyed, he’d want the poor animal put down again.
I fought death almost every day, but sometimes I was grateful to be able to ease the suffering of a beloved pet.
However, I’ve never considered euthanasia to be a tool to assist a selfish owner. There were some people who didn’t understand the responsibility of having a pet. When it dawned on them that an animal wasn’t a toy they could put in the closet when it became too much of a bother, some of them actually hinted to a vet that the pet had outlived its usefulness.
In my early days as a vet, I’d gotten into two shouting matches with people who’d suggested that and had been disciplined by the national chain I worked for. I’ve learned, over the years, to bury my anger.
Tonight, however, I was tired, bouncing between delightful recollections of my night with Mark and a real lack of sleep. I was dangerously close to letting this idiot know what I thought of him.
I took one deep breath after another until I could control my emotions.
"Okay," I finally said. "I'll just get the paperwork, shall I?"
I returned to the desk, printed out the form I needed and returned to him with a pen and a clipboard, indicating where he should sign.
"How much?" he asked, the pen hovering an inch over the paper.
I quoted him the daily vet visit, knowing that I would have to make up the difference as well as pay for the puppy’s care. It didn't matter. The money from my grandmother went a long way toward making me happy. This was one of those times.
He signed the form and handed over his credit card. I ran it, gave him the receipt, and stood there patiently as he signed it, all the while giving me a sour faced look.
"You want me to go and watch you do it?"
"I'm sorry, we don't allow owners to be present while we euthanize their animals. We’ve found that it's too emotional for them."
I was getting really good at lying while smiling. The opposite was true, but I didn't want this bastard anywhere around the puppy. Yes, I could be judgmental and difficult at times.
I watched as he left the clinic, consulted my watch, and sighed. A whole night left.
I returned to the treatment room and checked on Jack, the name I’d given the puppy. There wasn’t a cure, per se, for Parvo, but palliative care almost a
lways helped. Hopefully Jack would make it.
"You made him sign away his rights, didn't you?" Annabelle asked.
I glanced over at her in surprise.
"It's no secret, Dr. Boyd. Everyone knows how you hate assholes like that guy. I just don't see how you can afford taking care of all these animals."
“There aren't as many as there were before," I said. "Not since Fred took Dorothy on a world cruise."
Dorothy had been our neighborhood dog savior. She’d rounded up every stray without a home within ten miles and brought them to our clinic. She’d rescued the Brood, which would always make her a special person in my eyes. Enough that I could ignore her habit of disappearing before the bill for the treatment of the strays was due, leaving me to make up the difference.
Jack looked up at me, his soulful brown eyes pleading with me to make him feel better.
“He’s a sweet boy,” Annabelle said, petting him gently. “Do you think he’ll make it?”
“Yes.” The answer was firm, definite, and without equivocation. I was always optimistic.
Annabelle and I smiled at each other.
"I'll keep checking on him,” I said, knowing that Annabelle would do the same. Between the two of us, Jack would get VIP care.
I wish the idiot had brought him here earlier, but I remembered the old adage: if wishes were horses then beggars would ride.
The night got better after that. There were definite successes, like the pug who hadn’t been able to deliver naturally and had to have an emergency C-section. She and her three puppies were doing well. Or the German Shepherd who’d gotten his ear caught in a door. The owner who’d accidentally done it was sobbing as I clipped the ear and stitched the wound closed. An antibiotic and a couple of pain pills and the dog would be fine.
I wished I could give the woman a prescription to help her.
I went to Jack’s kennel often and every time I peered at him he raised his head and looked at me. I asked him how he felt and I swear he knew what I was saying because the end of his tail lifted a little.
“You’re going to be fine,” I said in my best bedside vet manner. “I’m going to make sure.” When he was all better I’d ask Marianne to find a new home for him, somewhere where he would be welcomed and truly loved.
I was not going to incorporate him into my Brood. Three dogs were enough even though he was the most adorable Jack Russell puppy I’d ever seen.
Because I was alone with Annabelle, I kept my cell phone with me. When it went off, I looked at the picture and smiled. I hadn’t given Mark a Wolf icon. Nor had I used a full moon. Instead, the picture that popped up when he called was a Hummer, a reminder of how he had saved me the night I’d been returning home after my Pranic transfusion.
“You do know what time it is, don’t you?” I asked as a way of saying hello.
“Well, at least you answered the phone,” he said.
“I always answer my phone.”
“Not at work.”
“No, even at work. I send my cell calls to the clinic reception desk. That way, if someone really needs to reach me, they can.”
“Okay, maybe I phrased it incorrectly. You never returned any of my calls.”
I made my way to one of the chairs behind the reception desk and sat.
“When did you call?” I asked.
“Well, try three months.”
I frowned at the wall. “I never got a message.”
“I must have called you thirty or forty times, Torrance.”
That didn’t sound like Marianne. She was conscientious and super organized. Yet why had she given me every single one of Doreen’s many, many messages and not one from Mark?
“Is there a reason you’re calling me at…” I glanced at my watch. “Five thirty in the morning?”
“I’m on my way to the hospital,” he said. “I thought I’d say good morning.”
A warm, goofy feeling spread through me.
“I was thinking about you.”
I sighed. He’d been thinking about me.
“I’ve been thinking about you, too,” I admitted. “Have a wonderful day.”
“You, too.” His voice sounded like he was smiling.
I missed getting a good morning kiss.
I felt goofy and silly and incredibly happy. Okay, so I was being a little odd. I lived in the State of Odd. I liked him. I more than liked him. I didn’t get involved with many men and I was definitely involved with him. Probably more involved than I’ve ever been with anyone — and I hoped he heard that thought. If it didn’t scare him off, then he was definitely a keeper.
“Can I see you tomorrow?” he asked. “Or tonight, rather. Later?”
Be still my heart. Hell, yes, he could see me later.
Oops, damn it.
“I have a special Council meeting,” I said, remembering the email I’d gotten earlier. My father wanted to vote on Michael Rice’s divorce. Evidently, Doreen had been badgering my mother even more than me. “They almost always run late, but I can call you afterward. That is, if you don’t mind a late date.”
I was, frankly, hoping that he’d answer the way he did.
“I’d see you at any hour of the day or night, Torrance.”
“Can I call you when we finish?” I asked, my voice all breathy.
Frankly, I embarrassed myself a little, but there was nothing I could do about it. Mark made me feel silly and feminine and just a little goofy.
When I hung up, I sat at Marianne’s desk, wondering if I should leave her a note. Or maybe I could just wait for her before I went home to sleep. I had to get a little rest before the Council meeting tonight. And maybe a little more activity after that.
I decided to wait. Besides, today was a red letter day at the clinic. A new vet was starting. Jennifer Echevarria was straight out of school. I was, frankly, thrilled that I was no longer the youngest — or newest — vet and was already planning on pawning off some of the grunt work that was always shunted my way to Jennifer.
Hope springs eternal and all that jazz.
I filled up my mug with more coffee and went to wake up Annabelle.
Chapter Fifteen
I'll bet you money that there was a pond nearby
I went into the breakroom, grabbed a package of chips and a candy bar from the vending machine and made a new pot of coffee.
Before I could dig into my quasi-disgusting breakfast, Nancy arrived with a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts.
She had barely put the box on one of the tables when I swept in like a vulture and grabbed two donuts. Trust me, we got territorial when it came to donuts. If you didn't strike first, there was nothing left in a matter of seconds. True to form, within minutes the arriving hordes had emptied the box.
Having scarfed up my donuts and finished off another cup of coffee, I went in search of Marianne.
She’d always been kind to me. In fact, I didn't think she was unkind to anyone. She always had a ready smile and was eager to help in any way, witness her volunteering to try to find homes for all of the homeless dogs Dorothy had brought me.
"I have a friend," I said, after she’d gotten her coffee, donut, and settled in behind her monitor at the reception desk. "He says that he’s left a bunch of messages for me in the past three months. I've never gotten any of them. Do you know what the problem might be?"
"I've always given you your messages, Dr. Boyd."
She was straightening out her section of the long work surface. Five people worked in the office area, each one of them equipped with a networked computer and oversized monitor.
As the lead receptionist, she was the first person to answer the phone. Because she had been here the longest, she also could answer a great many questions that would otherwise go to a vet tech and then be escalated to a vet. For that reason, the other four people deferred to her on everything from how to operate the wonky scale in the waiting area to changing the printer cartridge to giving an owner advice about whether to bring a pet in for treatme
nt.
She reached into her drawer, withdrew a polishing cloth, and wiped the already pristine counter and glass inlay.
"Marianne?"
She looked up at me. The counter worksurface separated us, a distance of some three, maybe four feet. Certainly not enough for me to get the sensation that the distance was telescoping.
She looked away and I blinked. A moment later she came back into focus, but this time she was blue. Not completely blue, no, but surrounded by a blue haze. I didn't know how I knew, but I was suddenly certain that Marianne was afraid, the way someone was filled with fear when they received a notice from IRS, realized they couldn’t pay the mortgage, or got a phone call at two o'clock in the morning from their only child.
The color blue had always struck me as cold and maybe that's what made me think of fear. I didn't see her tremble, but she was clutching her hands together as if they were icy.
What was she afraid of?
"You didn't give me my messages from Mark, did you?" I asked. "Why?"
She began to wipe down more of the counter. I leaned over, placed my hand over hers and held it there until she looked at me again.
"I don't understand, Marianne. Why?"
Her pretty brown eyes began to tear up. I released her hand but she didn't continue cleaning. Instead, she stared down at the keyboard in front of her monitor.
"I need this job. I didn't save enough for my retirement. I need to help my daughter in college. Maybe I should have saved more."
“I don’t understand,” I said.
She only shook her head.
“Marianne?”
She moved back and busied herself replacing paper in the printer.
“I need this job,” she repeated, her eyes meeting mine again. “I like you, Dr. Boyd, but I can’t say anything else.”
Color me confused.
“Did someone tell you not to give me my messages?”
“Please.”
Doug entered the reception area and said good morning to both of us. I greeted him with a halfhearted smile.