by Adam Frost
‘How do you remember all this stuff ?’ Tom said.
‘It’s written on that sign,’ said Sophie, pointing, ‘over there.’
Just at that moment, Tom heard a fluttering sound.
‘I don’t believe it,’ he exclaimed, and tugged at Sophie’s arm, pointing to the far end of the tigers’ enclosure. Once again a pigeon had somehow managed to wriggle through the wire.
‘We’d better call Dad,’ said Sophie, pulling out her mobile phone.
‘OK.’ Tom nodded, and watched the pigeon as it landed just a few metres away from Ziggy. Tom glanced at Ziggy and then back at the pigeon. Surely, this time, Ziggy would catch it.
Sophie had got through to their Dad and told him about the pigeon. She hung up.
‘Well, that’s weird,’ Tom said.
‘What’s weird?’ Sophie asked.
‘Look at Ziggy,’ said Tom.
They both looked at what the tiger was doing. Or rather, what the tiger wasn’t doing. He hadn’t even noticed the pigeon. When he finally did, he looked at it and then looked away.
Mr Nightingale arrived.
‘I don’t believe it,’ said Mr Nightingale. ‘I’ve worked here for fifteen years, and only ever known two pigeons get into that enclosure. And you’ve been here to see them both!’
‘Well, this one’s not in any danger,’ said Tom. ‘I think Ziggy has become a vegetarian.’
‘That’s strange,’ said Mr Nightingale, looking at the tiger and rubbing his chin.
Sophie glanced at the lump of meat that Ziggy was now batting backwards and forwards with his paws and then said, ‘Dad, are Ziggy’s teeth OK? He doesn’t seem very interested in his breakfast.’
‘I wasn’t sure if it was just an upset stomach,’ said Mr Nightingale, ‘but there’s been no vomiting or drowsiness. You could be right, Sophie – it might be his teeth.’
‘Look at his jaw, Dad!’ said Tom. ‘There seems to be a small lump, just above his lip.’
Mr Nightingale nodded. ‘Well spotted, Tom. We’d better give Dr Sharp a ring.’
Tom and Sophie looked at each other and smiled.
‘Looks like we’re still in business,’ said Sophie.
Later that day, after the zoo had closed its gates, Tom, Sophie and Mr Nightingale were back at the tiger enclosure. This time, they had Dr Sharp and Violet in tow.
Mr Nightingale was about to explain what the problem was, but Sophie had already started talking.
‘So we’ve had no problems with Ziggy’s teeth before now,’ she said, holding up her notebook, ‘but this morning we noticed that he was off his food and showed no interest in stalking a pigeon that had got into his enclosure.’
Dr Sharp looked at Sophie and smiled. ‘So what do you think it could be?’ he asked.
‘Definitely a problem with the canines,’ said Sophie.
‘He has a slight swelling in his top lip,’ said Tom, ‘so if it’s not the canines, it’s the incisors.’
Dr Sharp peered into the enclosure and glanced back at Violet. Violet nodded.
‘Ed, can we have a look at him in the hospital?’ Dr Sharp asked.
Mr Nightingale nodded and said, ‘I’ll call Katie.’
While Mr Nightingale was phoning Mrs Nightingale, Ziggy seemed to notice that he was being watched. He stalked towards the edge of his enclosure where everybody was standing, not taking his eyes off Dr Sharp. He bared his front teeth in a snarl. This made Dr Sharp stare even harder, so Ziggy gave a full-on roar, showing all his teeth at once.
‘What an extraordinary sight,’ Dr Sharp said, ‘Violet, did you see his canines?’
Violet nodded. ‘I think Tom and Sophie are right. Either an incisor or a canine has become infected. His top gum looks tender and discoloured.’
Ziggy roared again, even louder. This time, he kept his teeth bared even after he had finished roaring.
Then he turned away sharply, swishing his tail back and forth.
‘I’m pretty sure Ziggy doesn’t want to go to the dentist,’ said Tom. ‘I recognise the signs.’
Dr Sharp nodded. ‘I don’t think he’ll change his mind either. Fortunately your Mum’s on her way.’
At that moment, Mrs Nightingale arrived.
‘Are you sure you need Ziggy to be asleep?’ she asked with a smile. ‘He’s just a big pussycat really.’
‘We’re sure,’ Dr Sharp and Violet said together.
Mrs Nightingale called Ziggy and he looked up, seeming to recognise her voice. He walked slowly over to her and lay down alongside the mesh as if he was used to this routine. Mrs Nightingale took a syringe out of her case and quickly injected him in his rump. Ziggy didn’t flinch. He just looked at Mrs Nightingale over his shoulder and then back at his enclosure.
‘Doesn’t that hurt him?’ said Tom.
‘Not at all,’ said Mrs Nightingale. ‘He barely felt it. Years ago, to put a tiger like Ziggy to sleep, I’d have had to use a tranquilliser gun. Seeing the rifle used to make all the cats panic. Ever seen a lion or a tiger panicking?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Sophie.
‘You’d remember if you had,’ said Mrs Nightingale. ‘Anyway, we’ve trained them to let us do this instead.’
By this time, Ziggy was asleep.
‘OK, let’s get the patient to the hospital,’ said Mr Nightingale.
Mrs Nightingale fastened an oxygen tube to Ziggy’s mouth and attached monitor cables to his body so that she could keep an eye on his heartbeat and blood pressure. Then Mr Nightingale rolled the tiger on to a black hammock-like sheet and then, with help from Mrs Nightingale and another keeper, they lifted the tiger into the back of a zoo truck. Mr Nightingale squatted next to Ziggy and stroked him gently.
Tom and Sophie looked at their father expectantly.
‘Oh, go on then,’ Mr Nightingale said. ‘In you get.’
So Tom and Sophie sat in the back of the van with their father as Ziggy was driven through the zoo to the hospital. ‘He’s so soft,’ said Sophie, running her hands through his fur.
‘When he’s awake,’ Mr Nightingale said, ‘that fur is super-sensitive. It can detect the smallest pressure or faintest movement.’
‘Look at his massive paws,’ said Tom, stroking one of Ziggy’s front legs.
‘Those paws are pretty incredible too,’ said Mr Nightingale. ‘Like most other cats, he can decide when to show his claws and when to put them away. Imagine being able to move your fingernails in and out!’
Tom and Sophie looked down at Ziggy in wonder, their mouths open.
‘There’s – there’s – no way he could wake up, is there?’ Tom asked.
Mr Nightingale smiled and shook his head. ‘It’s not likely, and we’d get some warning. Chances are he’ll wake up in about three hours, happy and rested.’
However, just at that moment, the truck went over a bump on the path and Ziggy seemed to stir.
Tom and Sophie sprang back against the side of the van.
‘D-Dad . . .’ stammered Tom, ‘you said . . .’
A split second later, the van swerved to the left left and Ziggy appeared to lift up two of his legs.
‘He moved, Dad. He moved!’ Sophie exclaimed.
‘For goodness’ sake, you two,’ Mr Nightingale said. ‘It’s just the movement of the van. He’s fast asleep. Honestly.’
Mr Nightingale put his face next to Ziggy’s. ‘Sleeping like a baby!’ he said.
Sophie smiled and relaxed.
Tom calmed down slightly, but stayed right against the side of the van, one arm on the door handle.
A couple of minutes later they reached the hospital. Mr Nightingale and some vets carried Ziggy carefully in through the door and along the corridor before gently laying him on an operating table.
Mrs Nightingale checked his oxygen supply and the monitor cables.
Tom and Sophie were allowed to stand in the room next door and watch through a glass screen. There was a speaker above them, so they could also hear everything that Dr Sharp, Mr
s Nightingale and Violet were saying.
Everyone in the operating room put on a mask and gown, scrubbed their hands and pulled on gloves. Then they turned back to Ziggy.
‘OK, let’s start with a general check-up,’ Dr Sharp said.
He gently tugged on Ziggy’s huge tongue – which stretched as if it was made of rubber. At the same time, Mrs Nightingale carefully held Ziggy’s mouth wide open, so Dr Sharp could see right into the back of the tiger’s mouth.
Dr Sharp tapped and scraped with a long metal tool.
‘A tiger’s back teeth are called carnassials. They’re very strong and very sharp. They’re not round and flat like our molars because tigers don’t really chew as such. They just tear meat off and swallow.’
Dr Sharp nodded at Violet. ‘All fine there. Let’s take a closer look at that upper canine.’
He lifted Ziggy’s upper lip.
‘Now, a tiger’s canines are the longest of any cat,’ Dr Sharp continued. ‘Longer than a lion’s, longer than a jaguar’s. They’re about fifteen centimetres, and their roots go right up into the tiger’s skull.’
Violet whispered something to Dr Sharp and he nodded.
‘That’s true, the clouded leopard’s tigers are longer in relation to its body size,’ he said. ‘Good point, Violet.’
He peered underneath Ziggy’s lip and inspected his gums.
‘The thing is though,’ said Dr Sharp, ‘tigers’ teeth aren’t so different to ours. They get plaque like we do. They can need fillings too. And, as in this case, they can also get infections.’
Tom looked at Sophie with a worried expression. An infection sounded bad.
‘The infection has spread into his gum and, if we don’t intervene, it could spread through his whole body and make him very sick indeed,’ Dr Sharp said.
Sophie looked back at Tom, also worried.
‘So at least we know he’s got an infected canine. What’s the plan?’ Mrs Nightingale asked.
‘A pretty basic procedure,’ replied Violet. ‘It’s called root canal work.’
‘Oh, OK,’ Mrs Nightingale said, nodding. ‘You did that to me last year.’
‘What that means,’ said Violet, glancing up at Tom and Sophie through the glass, ‘is that we’ll remove the pulp in the centre of Ziggy’s canine. All mammals – humans included – have pulp tissue down the inside of each of their teeth. It supplies the tooth with nutrients and helps with feeling and sensation. But sometimes this pulp gets infected. Bacteria spreads through the tooth, killing the pulp tissue. So we have to clean the pulp out and replace it. That way, the tooth can survive for another ten years or more.’
Dr Sharp was holding a metal tool with a long needle on the end.
‘Ready, Violet?’ he asked.
Violet nodded.
Dr Sharp started by hollowing out the end of Ziggy’s canine with the needle. Then he took a long thin tube and threaded it up the centre of the tooth. He kept passing it further and further up.
‘When’s he going to get to the end?’ Tom asked.
Sophie shrugged. ‘He said it was a really long tooth.’
Finally Dr Sharp stopped pushing and wiggled the tube around to remove all of the infected pulp.
A few minutes later, Dr Sharp stood aside and Violet moved in, filling the centre of the tooth with a greyish material. Throughout, Ziggy looked peaceful and oblivious, his gigantic tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth and resting on the operating table.
‘OK, let’s put the crown on,’ said Dr Sharp.
‘A crown?’ Tom whispered to Sophie, pointing at his head
‘Not that kind of crown, you dingbat,’ Sophie said. ‘A crown for his tooth.’
Tom looked confused.
‘A crown is an artificial tooth,’ Violet said. ‘We’re going to stick it on to replace the top of Ziggy’s tooth. It will look just like a real one.’
The children watched as the dentist filed down Ziggy’s tooth to make room for the crown. Then Violet squirted dental cement on to the end of Ziggy’s canine. She passed Dr Sharp the crown and he carefully pressed it into place. The crown was made of white plastic and was a very good match. Tom and Sophie couldn’t tell where the tooth ended and the crown began.
‘All done,’ Dr Sharp said.
‘You can take him back home now,’ added Violet.
Tom and Sophie met Dr Sharp and Violet in the corridor outside the operating theatre.
‘Will Ziggy’s mouth be sore?’ Sophie asked.
‘For a little bit,’ Dr Sharp said, ‘but he’ll be back on the steak by tomorrow.’
‘Do you want to come and celebrate with us?’ Tom asked. ‘Before we spotted that Ziggy was sick, we were actually on our way to have hot chocolate and squirty cream.’
‘Hot chocolate is full of sugar,’ Dr Sharp exclaimed, ‘and sugar rots your teeth!’
‘Oh, yeah, I suppose . . .’ Tom admitted.
‘However,’ said the dentist went on, ‘it’s not every day you have a tiger for a patient. So let’s all have hot chocolate and some cake too!’
‘Hot chocolate and cake!’ exclaimed Violet.
Tom and Sophie grinned.
Chapter 6
Over the next few days, Tom and Sophie kept a close eye on Ziggy. They visited him every day after school. Tom took lots of photographs and Sophie drew sketches and made notes.
‘He’s completely back to normal, isn’t he?’ Tom said on the third afternoon, as they watched Ziggy gnawing on a gigantic bone.
‘He seems to be,’ said Sophie.
‘It’s funny what Dr Sharp said about tigers not chewing their food,’ said Tom. ‘I read on the internet that tigers can’t even move their jaws from side to side. Just up and down. They bite and then they swallow.’
They watched Ziggy nibbling and tearing tiny bits of meat off the tip of the bone with his front teeth.
‘Ah, hello, you two,’ said a voice behind them.
They turned around and saw their grandad leaning on his walking stick.
‘I thought I’d find you here,’ he said.
‘Everything OK, Grandad?’ Sophie asked.
‘Funny you should ask,’ he replied, ‘because I think I might need your help.’
Both Tom and Sophie turned to face him.
‘I’ve heard a rumour that you know rather a lot about teeth,’ said Grandad.
Sophie blushed and said, ‘Sort of.’
Tom said, ‘We know absolutely everything! We saved that tiger’s life!’
‘Glad to hear it,’ said Grandad. ‘The thing is, we’ve been having a few problems over at the allotment. Probably better if I just show you, eh? That is, if you’re not busy here.’
‘No, we’ve fixed most of the zoo animals,’ Tom said, ‘We’re so good, we’ve run out of patients.’
‘Tom, that’s not completely true,’ said Sophie.
‘I bet it is true!’ Grandad exclaimed. ‘Knowing you two! Come on, let me show you the crime scene.’
Grandad, Tom and Sophie went around behind the zoo cafe, through the staff turnstile and out into Regent’s Park. Grandad had previously been Chief Vet at London Zoo and he was still allowed to use the staff exits and short cuts.
‘Now, as you probably know,’ Grandad said as they walked, ‘I work in the Regents’ Park allotments a couple of evenings a week. We grow all kinds of things: flowers, herbs, vegetables, fruit bushes. It’s a gardener’s paradise in there. But last night we had a break-in.’
Grandad led Tom and Sophie towards the allotment and opened a small brown gate. He showed them a row of half-eaten cabbages and what had been a row of broccoli. Everywhere there were small holes, disturbed soil and mangled plants.
Then he led them into the shed at the end of the allotment and showed them the remains of a ham sandwich on the floor.
‘I was saving that sandwich for my supper,’ Grandad said, ‘but when I woke up, this was all that was left of it.’
‘You mean, you were in here?’
Tom asked.
‘Ah, er, yes,’ Grandad stammered, ‘just having a nap. I’d been hard at work, you see! So anyway, it happened at about eight o’clock at night. Whatever it was must be a nocturnal animal. Let me show you how he got in.’
They went back outside and he took Tom and Sophie round behind the shed.
The panel at the back had a small hole at the bottom, with claw marks at the edges. A section of the fence had also been nibbled away by very strong teeth.
‘Look at these bite marks here,’ said Grandad, pulling up the loose board at the bottom of the fence and showing Tom and Sophie the other side. A ring of teeth marks could clearly be seen in the wood.
‘The thing is,’ Grandad said, ‘I can’t think of a single British animal that would leave teeth marks like that. Particularly not one that eats flowers and vegetables and ham sandwiches.’
‘Right then, Soph,’ said Tom. ‘We’ve got a new case.’
Sophie nodded. ‘Time to take a look at the evidence.’
Tom and Sophie were standing on the outside of the allotment fence. Sophie was running her finger along the teeth marks in the wood.
‘Could it have been a cat?’ Tom asked.
‘Not sure,’ said Sophie.
‘All cats have similar teeth, right?’ Tom said. ‘These teeth marks are like a smaller version of a tiger’s – a bit like our pet cats’, in fact. Two big holes for the canines, two smaller holes for the incisors.’
Tom felt the bottom of the fence.
‘A cat’s back teeth could have gnawed along the bottom here,’ he added.
Sophie didn’t agree. ‘These marks are too shallow and close together,’ she said. ‘A cat’s teeth are giant compared to whatever did this.’
‘If you say so,’ said Tom.
‘I do say so,’ said Sophie.
‘So how are we going to find out what broke into the allotment?’ Tom asked.
Sophie was silent for a few seconds.
‘If only we could make some kind of model of those teeth marks,’ Sophie said.