Left Behind (5 page)

“F
ill me in,” Dr. Gabe says, grinning. In the few steps to the exam rooms I manage to tell him about the cat with the needle in her face up front; the two snarling, injured huskies in back; the bleeding man with one of the huskies; the phone call from Mrs. Van Hoven; the new Melissa, now in the Herriot Room; then finally, “And one angry Maggie.”

“Ah, well, one by one, we will attend to all,” Dr. Gabe says. He winks, and I'm pretty sure that wink is about Maggie most of all.

I'm not surprised Maggie is so upset. She often reacts first and thinks later. Besides, we still don't understand what Melissa's arrival means for us.
After all, Dr. Mac hasn't had a second to explain. But more than that, Maggie cares so much about Vet Volunteers. She's the one of us who will probably become a vet herself. (After all, it's not looking so very good for me right now.) And Maggie loves all animals—even the big, scary dogs—and she knows so much about taking care of them. Maggie, most of all, would hate for this program to end.

Both dogs are muzzled when we get to the exam rooms.

“Gabe!” Dr. Mac calls out. “Perfect timing. Can you scrub up and jump in?”

“It'd be my pleasure,” Dr. Gabe says. He washes his hands in the sink beside Dr. Mac. They talk quietly while Dr. Mac checks Elsa's wounds. She uses a long cotton swab to separate sections of fur on the husky's face and ears. It looks like Elsa has stopped bleeding, but in some places her fur is matted with blood. The owner talks and talks to her dog. Mostly just repeating over and over, “Elsa, baby, Elsa, baby.” I find it kind of soothing.

Dr. Gabe pulls on exam gloves and crosses to the door. He says, “I'll check on the other dog—”

“Ariel,” the lady tells him.

“Ariel,” Dr. Gabe repeats. I follow him over to the Herriot Room. Maggie seems to have put her anger aside for now. She's holding a gauze bandage
on the dog's ear and is inspecting Ariel's other wounds as Melissa checks her over. Ariel looks much worse than Elsa.

“Hello, Melissa. What do we have here?” Dr. Gabe asks, standing beside the dog lying on the table.

Melissa says, “She took it bad in the fight. Her ear is torn, and she has some bites along her neck. Nothing too deep, I don't think.”

The dad, Jerry, looks on and rubs his dog's belly. But his hand is bleeding still. In fact, his own blood is seeping into Ariel's fur.

“Sir,” I say, “Ariel is in good hands here. But I think we should take a look at your wounds. We have a first-aid kit. Can I help you with that?”

Dr. Gabe looks up at me and nods his approval. Only then, I realize I probably should have asked him if it was okay to take the owner away. Good thing it was.

Dr. Gabe says, “Maggie, can you help Sunita?”

Maggie nods and walks out with us.

“I think we should clean your hand up in our recovery room. What do you think, Maggie?” I ask.

“Yeah, the bathroom is a little small to work in,” she says. She still sounds mad, but I can tell that she's trying not to think about it and to focus on helping Jerry instead. To be honest, I am, too.

I bring the first-aid kit along to the recovery room. We have two patients in the recovery room—well, three now, counting Jerry. Two of our other canine patients look on, with interest, from their crates. The Jack Russell terrier decides to bark at us until this tires him and he flops down again. The mixed-breed puppy with a plastic cone-shaped shield to keep her from scratching at her eye infection remains quiet on her bed, but she doesn't stop watching us.

“Cute dogs,” Jerry says, looking at them. I have Jerry wash his hands well with soap and water. Then I ask him to sit on the metal stool beside the exam lamp. After he does that, I suggest he raise his injured hand above his heart and give him a big square of gauze to press against it. Both of these things will help stop the bleeding. Once he's all set, Maggie and I wash our hands and pull on gloves. After another minute of pressure, we have Jerry bring his hand down, and I gently lift the gauze. The lighting is good here, so I can really see just how bad his wound is. And bad is the right word. The bite is deep and the wound is jagged.

I press a clean gauze bandage to his hand again to soak up some more blood so that I can continue to examine the bite. Then I remove the gauze again. Beside me, Maggie takes a deep breath. I
look over at her. She doesn't look very good.

“Take a seat, Maggie,” I say, pushing another rolling stool over to her. I can't imagine she would faint, but she kind of looks like she might. The Jack Russell barks and barks.

“Sir, you're going to need stitches. Are you up to date on your tetanus shot and are your dogs up to date on their rabies vaccine?”

He laughs. “Are you going to stitch me up? Is this one-stop shopping?” And even though he's laughing, he doesn't look so good, either. I step to the side of the room to grab folding chairs for both him and Maggie. All of a sudden, the high, wheeled stools seem like a really bad idea. I'm not used to seeing Maggie like this. We've all dealt with plenty of injuries at the clinic. What's the difference to her between animal injuries and human ones? It's a good thing I'm here to attend to Jerry. I don't think Maggie would be able to. The Jack Russell quiets himself and lies back down.

“You wouldn't want me to stitch you up,” I tease Jerry. “They won't even let me do any stitching around here. But both my parents are doctors, and I think you need to go to urgent care soon.” I raise his hand up again because he's dropped it into his lap. Maggie looks on and nods.

“Urgent care, huh? This is a great holiday weekend
for the family,” he says, looking at his hand more carefully.

“We can put some butterfly bandages on you to hold everything together until you can get those stitches,” I suggest.

Now Jerry looks like he's going to be sick. I place the wastebasket beside him, give him another square of fresh gauze to layer onto the soaked gauze, and raise his hand a little higher. Then I get the butterfly bandages opened and ready. Butterfly bandages are wider on each end than they are in the middle—like butterfly wings. I place one wide side on his cut and gently pull it to close the wound on the other side. I use several bandages on his wounds and then give him a few more pieces of clean, dry gauze to press onto all of it.

I tell him, “I'm going to see what's going on out there and see if we can make a plan for getting you taken care of. Keep that hand raised. It's best if you can apply pressure with your other hand. I'll be right back, okay?”

He nods yes. So does Maggie.

In the Herriot Room, Dr. Gabe is putting some stitches in Ariel's torn ear. It looks like they have sedated Ariel a little.

In the Dolittle Room, Dr. Mac is finishing up on Elsa. Elsa's owner is frowning as Dr. Mac talks to her.

“You and your husband have some hard choices to make,” Dr. Mac says. “You have littermates. It's not uncommon for siblings to bond so closely that they don't socialize properly. If they're showing this kind of behavior now, they are unlikely to just stop fighting. You need to consider letting someone adopt one of those dogs—”

“But it's never been this bad,” Junie interrupts. “Sure, they tussle and fight. But this is the first time they've really injured each other. You can check with our vet. Really!”

“I don't doubt you,” Dr. Mac says. “What I'm trying to say is that this won't get better. It's likely to get much worse. You have young children and dogs that bite. Dogs can be rehabilitated, but you need to give this careful consideration. Who should have these dogs? One bit your husband—”

“Well, he shouldn't have tried to break them up,” Junie says. “He should have stayed out of their way.”

“Elsa also tried to bite one of my volunteers while we were muzzling her. What if it had been one of your daughters who had jumped in to try to stop their fighting, or was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time? Your dogs could do some serious injury.” Dr. Mac is not backing down. I know that look. She means business. She's firm.

“Um . . .” I interrupt.

“Yes, Sunita?” Dr. Mac says. She looks tired but determined.

“I wanted to tell you that Jerry needs to go to urgent care or to an emergency room to get some stitches in his hand.”

Junie says, “Oh, I'm sure he'll be all right. Jerry is one tough cookie.” She forces a smile.

“I'm pretty sure he needs stitches. I think he should go to urgent care now. His hand is still bleeding quite a bit, and that wound is not going to close up neatly. It's more than puncture wounds from the teeth. He has tears. He absolutely needs professional attention.” I can be firm, too.

Dr. Mac's eyes are wide. “Thank you, Sunita.” Then she turns to Junie. “Is there anyone who can help you out today? Any family nearby?”

“My mother,” Junie says. She looks like she's just lost a fight. She seems tired now that she isn't trying to convince Dr. Mac and me what's best for her dogs. I, on the other hand, feel like I have more energy than I have had all day. I feel like I can handle the next big dog that walks through our doors.

“Maybe you can call her to take your daughters home?” Dr. Mac suggests. “And you can take your husband to urgent care? I'd like to keep both dogs
here overnight. We can get them settled down, and Dr. Gabe can check on Ariel's healing. How about that?”

Junie agrees to everything Dr. Mac suggests. Soon, her mother has come for the little girls, with promises of ice cream cones on the way home, while Jerry and Junie head to urgent care.

“Thank you, Sunita,” Jerry says at the door, injured hand still in the air. “Bet you'll be a fine doctor when you grow up.”

T
hings begin to calm down after that. Dr. Mac, Melissa, and Dr. Gabe find overnight spots for Elsa and Ariel: Elsa in the last available spot in the boarding kennel and Ariel in a recovery room crate. Dr. Mac wants to keep them far enough apart so that they can't easily smell each other, which will just keep them alert and stressed. Both dogs will be okay, but everyone here is concerned about what the family will eventually decide. Will they split up the dogs and stop all the fighting? And if they do, which little girl will be brokenhearted? Or will they keep both dogs and make sure they're always separated? It doesn't seem like there are any easy answers.

Dr. Mac calls Katie-cat and her owner into the Dolittle Room. I'm still a bit worried that Dr. Mac is angry with me for not helping with the dogs, so I let Maggie help Dr. Mac with this patient while Brenna cleans and sanitizes the Herriot Room and I tackle some more of the paperwork piled up on the desk. Dr. Gabe takes Melissa back to the kennels to show her how we take care of the boarding animals. I look at the clock. It's four. This day is flying by, but there's still time for me to get some paperwork done before it's time for dinner.

I sort the papers on the desk into different piles for Dr. Mac: bills that need to be paid; payments that have come in; offers, catalogs, and advertisements from vet supply companies; informational journals; and patient files. The patient files I can handle myself. Dr. Gabe and Dr. Mac update them as soon as the exam or treatment is over. I just need to file them in their correct alphabetical order. I keep telling Dr. Mac that she should switch over to a computerized system, but the truth is, I don't really mind filing the old-school way. In fact, it's one of my favorite jobs as a Vet Volunteer. I love making things organized. My father even teases me that I like making “order out of chaos” even more than I like spending time with friends.
That's not true, of course, but there is something particularly satisfying about taking a mountain of jumbled paper and turning it into a job well done.

I know what gets recycled immediately—usually the advertisements, but never the pizza coupons. I know what the most important mail in the pile is. I keep that in a special spot so Dr. Mac can take care of it right away. Later in the week, I'll help Dr. Mac track the payments and bills on the computer. The program we use is easy. I should know—I helped her set it up in the first place. But right now, putting things in the correct inbox is enough.

As I sort, I think about Sylvester, the lamb. I'm glad Mrs. Van Hoven called. It means she's serious about finding another lamb. Still, it seems like something is not quite right about her idea. I try to puzzle it out. Something just feels wrong about it, but I don't know exactly what. I think I'll talk to Dr. Gabe later and see if he thinks so, too.

When Katie-cat and her owner leave—with an antibiotic and a cat-sized cone collar to keep Katie-cat from scratching at her healing face—Dr. Mac asks Brenna, Maggie, and me to meet her in the recovery room.

This time, both the Jack Russell and the puppy are napping. Dr. Mac sets up three folding chairs. Brenna and I each sit down in one. Maggie climbs
up on a high stool instead and swivels back and forth. Dr. Mac eyes her but doesn't ask her to stop.

“Girls, this was not the way I intended for you to meet Melissa,” Dr. Mac says with a big sigh. “She was supposed to start next week, and I was going to formally introduce her to all of the Vet Volunteers together before then. Fortunately, she stopped by today, or we would have been in real trouble with those huskies.”

“We could have handled them fine without her,” Maggie says. “We've had lots of emergencies before. We've always done okay.”

“It's true,” Dr. Mac says. “In the past, we've managed. But I'm sure you've all seen how busy we are getting, too busy for Dr. Gabe and me to handle with just our wonderful volunteers.”

Maggie makes a huffing sound as she continues to swivel. Dr. Mac ignores it. But it's awkward. Again, I wish I wasn't here right now. I wish Dr. Mac and Maggie could work this out without us around. Or at least without me around. Brenna doesn't look as uncomfortable as I feel.

“As some of you may have heard, Dr. Foster is retiring,” Dr. Mac says.

Brenna shoots Maggie a look at the word retire. She told us he had to sell his practice. I guess, in a sense, he is retiring.

“In fact, Melissa is coming to us from Dr. Foster's office. She'll continue to work for Dr. Foster for the next few months—just a couple days a week—until he closes his practice. Then she'll come to work for us full-time. Until then, she'll be here three days a week.”

Dr. Mac continues, “We will very likely be taking on many of his patient families. I wouldn't be surprised if we need to hire an additional vet and another vet tech besides Melissa.”

Maggie stops swiveling.

Dr. Mac looks at Brenna, then Maggie, and finally at me before she says, “All of you are busier now than you used to be. You are involved in clubs at school and in sports, and that's just going to increase as you move toward high school. None of you has the time to give that you used to. And that is just fine. More than fine, actually. You're doing exactly what you should be doing at your age—checking out all sorts of possibilities.”

Brenna shifts in her chair. I can tell she knows that Dr. Mac is absolutely right about this. I can't tell what Maggie is thinking. She still seems angry in the way she holds her shoulders and the way she swivels that chair. And me? What do I think? I know we're busier than ever at the clinic. Brenna is probably the busiest person I know. She has so
many interests: the wildlife rehab center, photography, sports, the environment. All of Brenna's interests seem to involve teams or clubs. Maggie has basketball—and maybe now cross-country—besides the clinic. David has a lot going on at school, and he also has his horses and all their competitions. Josh and Jules are a year younger than the rest of us, but they're just as busy helping out at their parents' hardware store when they're not at school or here at the clinic. But I don't feel like I'm that busy. I have my family, school, and this clinic. Everyone else seems to be doing new things, adding activities, and leaving the clinic—or maybe leaving me—behind a little.

Dr. Mac goes on, “I want to assure you that I would love to keep all of our Vet Volunteers. We need you now more than ever, and we hope you'll all continue to spend time here. But we'll understand if, at some point, you don't have time for us. That will be okay, too.”

Maggie lets out an exasperated breath, almost as if she's offended by what Dr. Mac is suggesting.

Dr. Mac continues. “I'm sorry I upset you three today. Once again, I apologize for that. I was going to explain about Melissa coming during dinner tonight. A nice, calm discussion.”

Dr. Mac looks over at Maggie. It's almost as if
Dr. Mac is daring Maggie to be calm during this discussion. It isn't happening. Maggie starts in right away.

“She doesn't even know what we can do,” Maggie says. “She thinks we just stand around and watch. You should have seen her working on Ariel. It was as if I wasn't even there!”

Dr. Mac stands up tall. “This will be a time of transition. Melissa has never worked with young volunteers before. Dr. Gabe and I will need to train her so she understands what you volunteers are allowed to do and what you are capable of. This will take some time. It will take some patience. From all of us.”

Brenna leans forward in her chair and says, “Okay then. When is she coming in next?”

“She'll be here tomorrow, too. Dr. Gabe and I decided she might as well start since she's already jumped in and helped us out. I think you're going to like her. She's a nice person and a capable vet tech. We'll all be glad she came, I'm certain of that.”

For the first time ever, I wonder if Dr. Mac is slowing down. Is she old? She's never seemed old before. But she is a grandmother, after all. Having a vet tech or two and maybe another vet working here is probably going to change things. Maybe it
will seem more like a business and less like “our place.” The clinic has always been where we do important work and learn interesting things, but it's also been our “hang-out,” our “club house.” With more people working here, and some of the Vet Volunteers busy with other activities, I understand why it has to change. But it makes me a little sad, all the same. Because where exactly will that leave me?