Spring Tide (11 page)

As she reached a barbed wire fence, she caught sight of him hunkered down beside two beautiful brown horses methodically eating dry grass. He lunged toward one of them and barked at its back legs, then tore around in a circle and came back to his original position. He was trying to play. The horse tossed its head and swished its tail, then returned to pulling up grass. Stef didn’t know much about horses, but she didn’t think it was likely they’d feel like playing with a dog. Deuce had probably never seen a horse before, but assumed, as he did with all animals, they were potential friends. Despite their size, he didn’t seem the least bit frightened of them.

“Deuce!” she hollered, standing next to the fence. “Come here, boy!”

He looked her way, his tongue hanging out, his eyes gleaming with excitement, and ignored her, then ran at the horse again.

“Deuce!” she yelled in a firmer tone, then realized he wasn’t about to obey her. This was just too much fun. She’d have to go after him. She examined the fence to see how to pass through it. Going under seemed to be the safest bet. She put down the net and bucket and got down on the ground, on her back. She held the lowest row of wire up with her hand and wriggled under and clear of it.

As she got to her feet, she located Deuce barking at the heels of one of the horses. Then her heart leapt into her throat as the horse’s leg shot out behind it. Its hoof connected with its target. Deuce let out a terrifying yelp and tumbled backward in a cloud of dirt. Stef took off running. The angry horse turned to face Deuce, rearing up over him. He lay in the dirt, immobile. Dead or alive, Stef didn’t know. She knew she couldn’t reach them in time to prevent the horse from mauling her dog if that’s what he was planning. She reached for her knife, but let go of it immediately, realizing that was no option. The horse came down, its front hooves inches from Deuce’s head. As the horse reared again, Deuce shook himself and attempted to stand. He was alive! Stef yelled loudly to get the horse’s attention, then she picked up a large dirt clod and hurled it at the horse, hitting him on the flank. He turned and ran. The other horse followed.

Yelping in rhythm with his footfalls, Deuce came running, seriously limping, one side of his head covered in blood. Stef knelt down to receive him, holding him tight against her, feeling the shivering of his shoulders in her arms. He whimpered quietly, his bloody head buried against her chest.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “So, so sorry. It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. You’re safe now.”

Jackie had finished giving Precious, a well-loved and well-fed Persian cat, her shots when she heard a commotion from the reception area, the muffled sound of tense conversation. She finished with Precious and scratched behind her ears, fearing the scene out front. By now she knew that excited voices like that usually heralded an emergency. “Please, not another pet to put down,” she whispered with eyes closed.

She picked up Precious and held her against her white smock, then hurried to the waiting area to find Niko speaking in his calmative tone to a woman with a golden retriever on a leash. The dog had dried blood on his snout, around his mouth, and on the fur of his neck. He also had mud caked on his flanks. The woman, whom Jackie instantly recognized as Stef, was in a similar condition, dirt all over her clothes and blood across the front of her shirt. The two of them presented an alarming scene.

“He needs to see a vet right away,” Stef insisted.

“No problem,” Niko said. “Just let me get some information.”

Stef was clearly distraught, looking completely different without all the attitude. At first glance, Deuce didn’t appear to be hurt too badly. He was alert and standing, tail swishing slowly from side to side.

“What happened?” Jackie asked, stepping out from the hallway.

Stef glanced at her and did a double take. “You?”

“What happened?” Jackie repeated firmly.

Looking impatient, Stef said, “He got kicked by a horse.”

Jackie handed Precious to Niko, then knelt before Deuce to observe his wounds. He had a cut across the top of his snout and a deep gash in his lower jaw which was open and raw, but no longer bleeding.

Speaking to Niko, Stef said, “Look, when can we see the vet?”

Jackie glanced up at Niko, who knit his eyebrows together in confusion. Then he jerked his head toward Jackie with a look of “Duh!”

Stef stared at Jackie, clearly stunned into silence.

Jackie turned her attention back to Deuce, keeping her smile to herself. “Hey, there, boy,” she said gently, visually examining his eyes. She looked up to ask Stef, “How many times was he kicked?”

“Uh,” Stef said haltingly, but much calmer than before, “once, I think, but things got a little crazy there. I’m not sure. He was limping, so there’s something else wrong. He could have internal injuries. He seems to be in pain when he walks.”

“How long ago did this happen?” Jackie asked.

“Maybe an hour.”

Jackie patted Deuce’s head and stood to face Stef. She seemed to have gotten over her surprise at finding Jackie here and searched her face for information. “He’ll need some stitches. Any drug allergies? I’d like to give him Telazol.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a sedative and will help with the pain. He’ll be woozy after, for an hour or two.”

“As far as I know, he has no drug allergies.”

“What about you? Are you okay?”

Stef looked momentarily confused, then glanced down at her bloody shirt. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. This is his.”  She seemed significantly calmer than she had a moment ago.

“How did it happen?”

“He was trying to play with some horses. Pissed them off, I guess. I should have been watching him better.”

Jackie took the leash from Stef’s hand. “Niko will do the paperwork while I take care of Deuce.”

“I’d like to come in,” Stef said.

“I’d prefer you didn’t. I’ve got a full schedule of appointments this afternoon and need this to run as smoothly as possible. He seems calm. Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of him. You can wait out here or come back later to get him.”

Stef’s body slumped in resignation. “I’ll wait.”

Jackie realized her manner was cool, but foremost in her mind was how Stef had rejected her attempts at friendship and made a fool of her.

She led Deuce into the back, to an exam room where she checked him over thoroughly. He remained passive throughout, licking her hand once when she reached in to press the stethoscope to his chest.

“Gave your owner quite a scare, didn’t you?” she asked quietly. “She doesn’t seem nearly so tough and sure of herself today. Nothing like a pet in trouble to unhinge somebody, is there?”

***

Stef sat in the reception room and filled out a form giving her name and address and some details of Deuce’s history. She didn’t know everything. She wasn’t sure of his age, but she guessed as close as she could. The letterhead at the top of the form read Delta Veterinary Hospital, Jacqueline Townsend, DVM, Stillwater Bay, CA.

A woman sat near her holding a cat crate in her lap. Inside was a white ball of fur with two green eyes peeking through the wire grate. A birdcage stood near the reception desk with a blue parakeet inside, clinging to the side of the cage and pecking at a tiny bell.

There was no one at the reception desk. Jackie had asked for Niko’s help with Deuce. Before leaving, he had put a placard on the counter that said, “Back in a few minutes. Sit! Stay!”

After ten minutes, he returned and removed the sign. Niko was a pale young man of about twenty, slight and thin with black hair parted in the middle and falling down to his shoulders, and a long, straight nose. Stef got up to hand him her completed form across a counter containing pamphlets about heartworm and feline gingivitis. At one end of the counter sat a plastic jar full of jerky strips. Ida’s World-Famous Beef Jerky.

“How’s it going?” she asked Niko.

“Fine. Don’t worry. Dr. Townsend’s the best.”

He smiled that smile that meant, “Just sit down and be patient and don’t ask any more questions because I’m not going to tell you anything anyway.”

She went to the restroom where she cleaned the dirt and blood off her face, hands and arms. The rest could wait until later. She looked at herself in the mirror and ran her hand through her hair, moving it away from her face. Her eyes, she thought, looked haunted. She closed them briefly and tried to shake off the feeling of impending doom. He’ll be okay, she told herself. Jackie didn’t seem too worried. But maybe she was trying not to alarm Stef. This was her job, after all.

Stef had called her landlord in a panic and asked for the nearest vet, and, surprise, the vet had turned out to be Jackie. It was shocking and embarrassing after the way she’d treated her.

She waited impatiently, watching the clock on the wall as Niko carried the green-eyed cat to the back, then returned without it. For forty minutes there was no sign of Jackie until she finally emerged from the hallway with the cat in its crate and set it on the counter.

“All ready to go, Michelle,” she said to the cat’s owner.

Stef stood up in anticipation of some news. Jackie approached,
her expression passive, her manner professional and distant.

“It’s not too bad,” she reported. “No broken bones. Some bruises. Nothing serious. I closed the wound on his lip. You’ll want to give him soft food for a few days. I’ll send an antibiotic home with you to prevent infection. Give him five hundred milligrams every day for ten days, till it’s gone. Any sign of oozing or swelling, bring him in. You can take a cone home in case he tries to scratch the wound. Niko will show you how to put it on. If he leaves the sutures alone, he doesn’t have to wear it.”

Stef nodded at each instruction.

“Niko will make you an appointment to remove the sutures.” Jackie held her gaze, her expression noncommittal, making Stef uncomfortable.

“I didn’t know you were a vet,” she blurted.

“You didn’t ask,” Jackie said evenly, “anything.”

Jackie was so different today. So impersonal. During their earlier meetings, Stef would have described her as nearly “perky.” Certainly eager and friendly. Nothing even close to that today. The best that could be said for her manner was that she was courteous. Was it just the setting? Or was she still angry? She certainly had every right to be, after the way she’d been treated.

“Thank you…doctor,” Stef said as humbly and sincerely as she could.

She thought she detected a tiny smile before Jackie left the waiting room.

As usual on Saturdays, Rosa’s Brazilian Churrascaria sat parked on the edge of the lot in front of the bait shop. The familiar food truck was painted in brilliant colors with parrots, palm trees, a profusion of tropical ferns and flowers and a buxom Latina woman in a low-cut blouse. She had voluminous blue-black hair decorated with an oversized magenta orchid, large, alluring eyes, extravagant eyelashes, scarlet, shimmering lips, and a look that suggested she was selling more than
arroz com feijão
. Jackie’s brother Ben, Rosa’s husband, had painted the truck. The spicy Rosa on the truck resembled to some extent his wife, though the real woman was less like a professional samba dancer and more like the young working woman and new mother that she was. Jackie had never seen her wearing such a blouse or a flower in her hair. If she ever did put on such a costume, Jackie imagined, it was possible she’d look like the Rosa Ben had created with his paintbrush.

The food truck was highly successful, so much so that Ben no longer worked another job, but worked full time in support of the restaurant. The food served on the truck was all authentic Brazilian cuisine, all cooked by Rosa as taught to her by her Brazilian-born mother and aunt. The churrascaria had become a popular fixture in Stillwater Bay, and it didn’t bother the locals a bit that it was the only restaurant in town that didn’t serve crawdads in one form or another. Even during the crawdad festival, Rosa’s truck delivered the same menu as always: grilled meats with Brazilian spices and sides, as authentic as any served in a home in Rio De Janeiro, Rosa claimed.

Jackie parked and walked over to the truck counter where Ben greeted her with a familiar smile. His round, clean-shaven face was red from the heat inside the truck, his brown hair slicked back from his forehead like a forties gangster. He leaned his bare arms on the stainless steel counter and said, “Looking for lunch?”