“Yeah. She’s scheduled to do surgery on Podge this Saturday.” Only two more school days until I get to spend the day helping Gran with surgery, playing with kittens, and walking the boarder dogs. Hooray!
Sunita wraps her scarf tighter. “It sounds like a full house. Are David and Brenna around?” Our friends David Hutchinson and Brenna Lake have been volunteering at Dr. Mac’s Place ever since we needed extra help shutting down an illegal puppy mill last year.
“David’s around, but Brenna’s family is taking an extra week in Costa Rica. They’re learning about sea turtle nesting habits.” Brenna’s parents are wildlife rehabilitators. It’s so awesome how her whole family’s involved in saving endangered species.
“It would be nice to be in the tropics right about now,” Sunita sighs as the snow swirls faster. We reach my front door and tap snow off our boots. Even though I’m still sweaty from practice, I shiver as a blast of wind whistles under my hood. We hurry in and close the door quickly.
“Whew, it’s almost as chilly in here as it is outside.” Sunita takes her coat off but pulls a sweater from her backpack.
“Gran doesn’t like to heat the house when she’s in the clinic all day.” I flop onto the living room couch and pry off my boots, then hook my ski jacket on a peg in the closet and shiver again. It IS cold in here. My tummy’s rumbling. After basketball practice I could eat a…well, not a horse! I open the fridge. Some yogurt, leftover salad, a bunch of apples. Much too healthy. “Sunita, want some cereal?”
“No thanks, those pretzels filled me up.” She opens one of Gran’s veterinary magazines to an article on cat grooming.
I pour a bowl of Froot Loops and milk and gulp it down, then rinse my bowl and leave it in the sink. “Let’s see if Gran needs help.”
Sunita closes the magazine and follows me through the hallway door to the clinic. Friendly barks from the boarding kennels greet us.
“Gran?” I call as we step into the waiting room.
“Hello,” replies an unfamiliar, high-pitched voice.
A girl sits at the receptionist desk, filing charts. Her tightly curled black hair is held back by two yellow clips, which match her sweater. The normally messy desktop has been straightened up. All the active charts and phone messages are in neat piles. She’s even put the jumble of pens in a Dr. Mac’s Place coffee mug!
“Who are you?” I ask. Why is she sitting at the desk, and where is Gran? Sunita’s usually the one who straightens up the desk. I wonder how she feels about this.
“I’m Taryn. Taryn Barbosa. Dr. Mac asked me to help out today.”
“What for?” Brenna will be back in town soon and David’s right across the street. We don’t need another assistant.
“Something about her granddaughter coming in late from basketball practice, and she needed someone to fill in.” Dimples crease her dark cheeks.
“I’m her granddaughter, Maggie.” Oh, great, joining the basketball team is suddenly a trade-off for working at the clinic?
“You look familiar, Taryn,” Sunita says. “You go to Elizabeth Blackwell Elementary, don’t you? Didn’t you come in last year with your sick canary?”
“Yep. And I also came here last year with my sick rabbit. Dr. Mac did a great job with her. But she died this fall. She just got too old.” Taryn looks sad about the rabbit but pleased that Sunita remembers her. Suddenly, I remember her, too. Taryn is the fastest runner at Blackwell, our old school. But what does she know about animals?
“Nice to meet you, Taryn,” says Sunita, then she turns to me. “I’m going to check the meds inventory in the storeroom.”
“Need any help?” asks Taryn.
“Thanks, but I can handle it,” Sunita replies.
Dr. Gabe, Gran’s associate vet, steps out of his office. “Hey girls, how was the first day back at school?”
“Ugh,” I groan. Sunita shrugs.
“That bad?” His handsome face crinkles into a grin as he pulls on his coat. “Will you tell Dr. Mac I’m off to check on that tired mama cow?”
I nod. “Sure.” He helped yesterday with a tricky breech calf birth on a farm near Dr. Mac’s Place. “Where’s Dr. Mac?” I ask Taryn.
“She’s putting the kittens back in their pen. Not only were they chock-full of roundworms, but they needed another flea bath. Yuck.” Taryn gets up. “I’ll go get her for you.”
“That’s OK.” I start down the hall to help Gran when a loud vehicle rumbles up the drive. I run to the window and pull back the curtains.
An old blue truck pulls in. A woman in a faded woolen jacket jumps out, leading a badly limping dog up the steps. The doorbell jangles.
“Can I help?” Taryn beats me to the door and holds it open.
“Is this the animal clinic?” asks the woman. Her huge green eyes look frightened.
“Yes,” I say, glancing at the dog. It’s a bony greyhound the color of gingerbread, whimpering and shivering. “Your dog looks cold. You’d better come in, not that it’s much warmer in here.”
“Thanks.” She stamps her snowy boots on the floor mat. “My name’s Roselyn.”
Gran hurries into the waiting room. “Hi, girls. Sorry, I was tied up on a phone call.” Gran rubs her arms. “Brrr…That storm is really chilling everything down quickly, isn’t it?”
“Snow’s about a foot deep already,” Roselyn says.
Gran leans over the greyhound for a better look. “Hello, what’s the matter today?”
“Dog’s got a bad leg,” Roselyn says. She looks uncomfortable.
“I see.” Gran spots the crooked bandage around the dog’s leg. “Bring her right in.” She motions Roselyn into the Dolittle exam room.
I can’t help until I disinfect my hands, so I go to the sink and turn on the faucet. The water is cold and stays that way. It won’t heat up. How could we be out of hot water? Suddenly, I realize why everyone’s so cold. “Gran, the heat is off!”
“Oh, drat, I knew we should have bought a new boiler last year,” Gran sighs. “Maggie, could you set out heat lamps for the kittens and the boarders?”
Sunita walks in with the meds order form on a clipboard. “Hi, Dr. Mac. We’re running low on some meds.”
“Sunita, glad you’re here,” Gran says. “Could you help Maggie with the heat lamps? Taryn, please call David Hutchinson and the boiler repairman. Sunita, show her where their numbers are on the Rolodex.” As she gives orders, Gran removes the bandage and feels gently up and down the greyhound’s swollen leg. The dog yelps as Gran probes with her fingers. “How long has she been like this?”
Roselyn shakes her head. “Not sure. The dog’s not really mine. Maybe a week?”
Gran frowns. “I need to take some X-rays. You girls hurry with those lamps!”
I’m itching to help with the greyhound, but the lamps come first. The animals, especially the kittens, mustn’t get chilled.
Laurie Halse Anderson, Masks #11
(Series: Vet Volunteers # 11)
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