“Sunita, why don’t you take Mrs. Cooper and Ling Ling into the Herriot Room, over there on the left. I’ll tell Gran that you’re here, Mrs. Cooper.”
“Thank you, Margaret,” says Mrs. Cooper. Sunita grins. She escorts cat and owner to the exam room.
“Margaret? I thought you flattened people who call you Margaret,” David says as soon as Sunita closes the door to the Herriot Room.
“I’ll flatten you if you don’t fix that plant.”
He plops the plant back in the pot. “There, all fixed. Happy?”
I dump the dirt I’m holding back into the pot. “Happy.” I buzz Gran on the intercom to let her know that Ling Ling is here.
“Now who do I pay to get a tour around here?” asks David.
“A tour?”
“Why not? It was so busy when the collies came in, I never got to see behind the scenes.”
“OK, but it’ll be a short tour, and no ballet moves. This is obviously the waiting room. Sunita just went into the Herriot Room. Across from that is the Doolittle Room. That’s where we usually examine dogs.”
“I know who Dr. Doolittle is. I read a book about him. But what does Herriot mean?” asks Brenna.
“James Herriot was the pen name of an English veterinarian, Dr. James Alfred Wight. Gran loves his books. All Creatures Great and Small is one of her favorites. Next stop, the receptionist’s desk.” I flip up the counter. “There’s a computer under this mess somewhere. We’re having a hard time finding an animal-friendly receptionist. They always leave after a day or two.”
“I know. I was on my bike when one of them ran out of the clinic screaming,” says David. “What was she so afraid of?”
“A skunk. A pet skunk. He couldn’t spray anymore, but she took one look and never returned. Follow me.”
Past the desk is the hallway that leads to the hospital part of the clinic. I open the door to the operating room. “This is where surgery takes place. Notice the shiny equipment. Don’t touch, David.” We walk through the operating room to the recovery room.
“Hi, Dr. Gabe. How are the puppies?”
“Sleeping soundly. No problems. Dr. Mac told me what a great job you kids did,” he says.
“Dr. Mac and Maggie did all the work,” says Brenna. “We just did what they told us to do.”
“Well, you listened. That’s more than a lot of people do.”
“I’m giving them a tour,” I tell Gabe, then turn back to David and Brenna. “This is the recovery room, where we watch animals recovering from surgery or sickness. Those cages on the back wall”—I point—“usually have an assortment of critters in them, rabbits, ferrets, dogs—”
“Cows,” Dr. Gabe teases.
“No, we don’t keep cows in here. Ignore him. Now to our left, you’ll see a real live veterinarian. We call this creature Dr. Gabriel Donovan. Don’t be afraid. He’s scruffy looking, but he doesn’t bite.”
Dr. Gabe snaps his teeth at us and barks. Brenna giggles. He is cute, but I can’t have a crush on him because he’s way too old, like twenty-eight or something. Dr. Gabe’s been working here for years. He started volunteering when he was in high school and came back to be Gran’s associate when he graduated from veterinary school. I better move on before Brenna falls under the spell of his ice blue eyes.
“Let’s go. Take good care of the pups, Gabe.”
“Mooooo,” he replies.
We leave the recovery room and move on to the lab. “This is where we analyze blood, urine, and fecal specimens.”
“Don’t let David touch the microscope,” Brenna suggests.
“Good idea. The next room is X-ray, followed by . . . the Beauty Shop. Gran has talked about hiring a groomer to work here, but she hasn’t had time to set it up yet. Sometimes I groom a boarder in here.”
“I had no idea this place was so big,” Brenna says. “You can’t tell from the front, can you?”
“A vet clinic is kind of like a small version of a hospital. You need everything from labs to laundry machines.”
“Oh, sure,” David says. “Next you’ll tell me you have a cafeteria.”
“Of course. Animals with different illnesses require special diets. We provide those, too,” I explain. “And guess who’s the head waitress?”
“OK, so the next time a kitty wants dessert, can you bring her a three-mouseketeer bar?” David doubles over with laughter.
Brenna and I groan.
“Gran has the latest equipment and supplies so she can give our patients the care they deserve,” I say, getting back to the subject.
“Jeez! This place must have cost a fortune.” That’s David’s way of asking where the money is coming from. I think we’re lucky to have the setup we do. Gran has worked really hard for it all.
“Gran writes a column about animals that appears in newspapers all over the country, and she’s published a bunch of books. A few years ago, she invented a couple of surgical tools. She gets extra money from that, too. Come on. Tour’s almost over.”
I lead them through the door to the boarding kennels. “Gran keeps the boarders separate from the sick animals in the recovery room so the boarders won’t be exposed to germs.”
“Rrrouf!” Mitzy stands by the door to her kennel and barks for attention.
“Hi, Mitzy.” I reach in and pet my student. “We have room for ten dogs. Each one gets an inside cage like this, and they have their own runs—long, fenced-in areas where they can romp around. We don’t have too many right now, but you should see this place in the summer.” I stand up and brush my hands on my jeans. “OK. That’s it. Tour’s over.”
“No, it’s not,” David says. “We passed a couple of doors that you didn’t open.”
“We want to see everything,” Brenna says.
“Follow me.” I sigh. We leave Mitzy behind and go back to the main hall. I put my hand on the doorknob of one of the “mystery” doors. “This is the supply closet. To open it is to take your life in your hands. It is so messy, it makes my room look neat, and that is saying something.”
David scoots ahead of me and opens the last door. “What’s in here? Yikes!”
“What is it?” asks Brenna.
I peek in. “This is Gran’s office. The extremely large creature on Gran’s desk is Socrates.”
“Wow!” exclaims Brenna.
Socrates looks at Brenna and closes his eyes once. He is pleased with her admiration.
“He rules the roost. He thinks that we are his pets, or maybe his servants. Our job is to feed him.”
“You make it sound like he’s a snob,” says Brenna.
“Well, he’s not cuddly, that’s for sure. And if he’s guarding Gran’s office, I’m not going in there. Come on, let’s go back up front.”
By the time we make our way to the waiting room, Ling Ling is yowling on her way to the car. Gran and Sunita are standing at the door.
“You did an amazing job keeping her calm,” Gran tells Sunita. “Ling Ling needed eardrops,” she explains to us.
“So how many scratches did you get?” I ask. Ling Ling does not like eyedrops.
“No scratches. Sunita has a real gift with cats.”
“Well,” I say, “I guess you guys have to get home for dinner.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Sunita says, looking at her watch. “My parents don’t like me to be late. Thank you very much, Dr. MacKenzie. This was the best day I’ve had in ... in ... in a very long time.” She heads out the door.
“Hey guys. Wait,” David says. “We didn’t ask about tomorrow.”
“What about tomorrow?” Gran asks.
“Can Sunita and I come back? To help?”
There’s a long pause. I look at Gran. I can see she’s thinking it over.
Please say no, Gran. Please say no.
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. We have Brenna here to help, and we’re over the real crisis. We just need to monitor the pups from here on out. But I couldn’t have done without you today. You were all great.”
Brenna buckles on her bike helmet and hops on her bike. David shuffles out the door and cuts through the hedge without looking back. Sunita walks down the driveway. At the sidewalk, she turns and waves to us with a faint smile. I wave back.
Gran looks like she’s a thousand miles away. She sure is acting strange.
“Is something wrong?” I ask. “You know I’ll pull my grades up. Pretty soon, you won’t even need Brenna to do my work.”
Gran leans against the doorframe and crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s not just that. It’s your aunt Rose. Remember her phone call? Her daughter, Zoe, is coming tomorrow.” She picks some cat hair off her sleeve. “She’ll be staying with us for a while.”
The pickles twist in my stomach. “What? How long is a while?” The last time I saw Zoe was a year ago. We didn’t get along so well.
“Maybe a couple of weeks until her mom gets settled in L.A. I insisted we enroll her in school. And I’m counting on you to show her around and make her feel comfortable. We’ll talk more about it after I finish up in the clinic. Now, don’t you have a test to study for?”
Chapter Nine
I studied for the social studies test. Honest. But it was a waste of time. I got a miserable, rotten 57 percent. D minus. My teacher graded it right in front of me. I hate social studies. I hate tests. I hate school. Now I have to go home and tell Gran. She’s going to explode when she sees it. How can I make her believe I really tried?
David sits next to me on the bus and asks all kinds of questions about the puppies. Great. Now, on top of having to break the news to Gran, I start worrying about the puppy mill again.
As we step off the bus, it starts to rain. “Say hi to the pups,” shouts David, crossing the street. “You know where to find me if you need any help over there.”
In your dreams.
Everyone else runs for home holding their backpacks over their heads to keep dry. I walk slowly through the downpour.
What am I going to say to Gran? Maybe she’ll forget to ask about it.
When I open the back door to the clinic, the dogs in the kennel start yipping. Now that’s a warm sound. I hang up my dripping jacket and go straight to the recovery room to check on our patients. The collies and the mutt are out of the oxygen cage. That’s great. It means they are breathing better on their own. They are in a puppy pen next to the one with the black Labs. Shelby and Inky look stronger, but I’m worried about Dinky, the smallest Lab. I check his chart. He has lost weight.
I hold Dinky up to my face. He opens his sleepy eyes. “What’s wrong with you, little guy? You need to get big and strong, or your brother is going to get all the attention. You probably have more brothers and sisters at the puppy mill, don’t you? Are they cold and hungry, too?” I get goose bumps.
Dinky doesn’t answer—not even a wag of the tail. I’d love to hold him the rest of the afternoon, but he needs quiet to recover. I give him a kiss on the top of his head and settle him back in with Shelby and Inky.
I stop to count. Three Labs, five collies ... Wait—where did the mutt go? My heart pounds.
I get on my hands and knees to search.
I look under the instrument cart. Not there.
I check behind the trash can. Nope.
There he is, crawling toward the door!
“You! You are sneaky,” I scold as I scoop him up gently and carry him back to his pen. “Now don’t you disappear on me again.”
“Maggie?” Gran calls from down the hall.
“I’ll be right there.”
I put the mutt in the pen with the collies, then carefully close the door behind me on my way out.
Gran is in the Doolittle Room peering into the ears of a messy dog named Brigitte. Brigitte looks like a Yorkshire terrier, more or less. The hair inside her ears is caked with dried earwax and dirt.
“Yuck. Are they infected?” I ask.
“I’ll know for sure once I can get a look in there. First I have to clean them out.” Gran lays out the equipment she needs. “How did your test go?”
She doesn’t forget anything.
“You don’t want to know,” I answer.
“That bad, huh?”
There is no way out. I take the test paper out of my backpack and hand it over. My teacher, Ms. Griffith, wrote her phone number on the front of it and a note asking Gran to call her.
Gran glances at the grade and looks across at me, tapping her fingers on the metal examination table. The noise makes Brigitte jumpy.
“Dial the phone,” she says.
“Now? You’re going to talk to Ms. Griffith now? You’re working. You have to help Brigitte. And I haven’t even explained what happened. There was all this stupid legal stuff on the test that she never talked about in class, and—”
“Call your teacher, and put her on speakerphone.”
Ms. Griffith picks up on the first ring. Gran introduces herself and starts to trim the matted hair in Brigitte’s ears. Normally Brigitte is easy to work with, but today she’s acting hyper, as if she just ate a giant bowl of sugarcoated cereal.
“I just don’t know what to tell you, Dr. MacKenzie. Margaret pays attention in class, but when it comes to written work, or to tests, it’s as though she’s never heard the material before. I have tried everything.” Ms. Griffith’s voice crackles over the speakerphone. “I really think she needs a tutor—and to spend more time on her studies.”
Brigitte twists her head away from Gran.
“Settle down!” Gran says.
“Excuse me?” Ms. Griffith asks.
I bite my lip and pet Brigitte.
“I’m very concerned about Margaret,” Ms. Griffith continues. “If she fails the class, she’ll have to repeat it in summer school. I’ve tried to talk to her several times, but I don’t think she realizes how serious the situation is.”
Gran picks up the otoscope to look into Brigitte’s ears. Brigitte yelps and flinches before Gran touches her. She’s really nervous.
“Don’t get so worked up,” says Gran, still talking to Brigitte.
“Excuse me, Dr. MacKenzie, but I am worked up, and with good cause!” says Ms. Griffith.
This would be funny if they weren’t talking about such a serious subject—me. Eventually, Gran gets two things accomplished: she gets a good look at Brigitte’s ear canals, and she agrees with Ms. Griffith about my torture—I mean my extra-credit assignment. I have to write a report about how laws are made.
After Ms. Griffith hangs up, Gran focuses on Brigitte. She flushes the infection out of her ears and puts in some medicine. Then she combs and trims the silky hair falling in her eyes.
I take a brush out of the cupboard and start on the tangles on her back. This poor little thing looks like she hasn’t been brushed in months.
“Stop,” Gran says. She takes the brush from my hand. “I’ve made a decision.”
This does not sound good. I want to whine like Brigitte.
“You’re grounded, Maggie MacKenzie. Double-dog grounded.”
“But—”
“You can’t help out in the clinic until you write that extra-credit report and get a good grade on it. And we are getting you a tutor.”
“But, Gran, that’s not fair. I already have to spend all day in school. You’re going to make me go to a tutor, too?”
“Can you bring your grades up on your own?”
“Yes, I think I can. I just need to work harder, which I will. I promise, Gran, I promise.”
Gran looks at me over her reading glasses. “All right. No tutor for now, then. But your grades have to come way up. Not a D, not a C. You have to get a B or better. And I don’t want you in the clinic. I’m keeping you on a short leash until you prove yourself.”
No clinic? No way. This is not fair.
“You can’t do that. I mean, you can do it, but you need me. Who’s going to walk dogs, pet cats, talk to snakes, or take care of whatever hops in tomorrow? I belong here, Gran. Please don’
t do this.”
“I already have.” She clips the hair matted around Brigitte’s paws. “David had a good idea yesterday. I’m going to take him up on it. He and Sunita can help Brenna with your jobs. I’ll call them when I’m done with Brigitte and ask them to come right over. Brenna should be here any minute now.”
She trims the hair on Brigitte’s tail. “Aside from freeing you up to concentrate on schoolwork, I think it might be nice to have some extra kids around. You know, for Zoe, so she can make some friends.”
I’m sputtering, stuttering, and getting Yorkshire terrier fur in my mouth when Brenna walks in, whistling like a canary.
“I’m ready to work,” she says.
“Be with you in a minute,” Gran says. “Wash your hands.” She picks up Brigitte. “Maggie, write down what Brenna has to feed Mitzy and the other boarders. Make a chart. When that’s done, get started on correcting your test.”
“Gran, you haven’t let me say anything!”
Gran holds up her hand. “There is nothing to say. D minus is just not good enough, Maggie. If helping out in the clinic interferes with schoolwork, then you have to cut back on time spent here. With Brenna and the others around, it’s a win-win situation.”
Ha. It’s a lose-lose situation, if you ask me.
Brenna follows me to the boarding kennels, where I show her the cupboard that contains the food bowls and giant bags of dry food.
“Each dog gets fresh water, and the older dogs get a special feed. We aren’t boarding any puppies, so you don’t have to worry about them. Regular-size dogs like Mitzy get two and a half scoops of dry food and four little dog biscuits a day. If we had a big dog, like a Great Dane, it could eat as much as six scoops a day. Don’t give them too much—that makes them sick. And don’t give them too little, or they’ll wake us up howling in the middle of the night.”
“Hold it,” Brenna says. “You’re going way too fast. I’ll never remember this. Don’t you have notes or something?”
“I never use notes. I just remember it.”
“You do this every day. This is my first time. Just write it down.”
“Do you want a report, too?” I ask as I slam the cupboard shut.
Fight for Life Page 4