Helping Hands (5 page)

Chapter Nine

H
ere comes trouble,” I mutter.

David stands up next to me, with the horses between us. The man walking next to Gus looks to be in his sixties or so—the same age as Gus—but his eyes are clear and his face clean-shaven, and his clothes aren't all rumpled like he slept in them. The expression on his face isn't angry like Gus's, but he doesn't look like the kind of guy who's going to pay attention to what a couple of seventh graders have to say.

“I think you should get your dad,” David says quietly.

“Yeah,” I answer, but to my surprise, Dad is already walking our way.

“Are those the ponies you were talking about?” the new guy asks Gus.

“Hold it right there!” my father calls. “Who are you?” he asks the new guy.

“Name's Karl.” The new guy reaches out to shake my father's hand. “Fellow here is paying me to drive him and his animals back to their camp. Seems like he's had a few beers and he wants to do the responsible thing. Now me, all I drink is coffee. Two spoons of sugar and a little milk.”

“Responsible?” I say. “Him?”

David points to Buster. “This pony needs to see a vet.”

“That's not my business,” Karl says. “I'm just lending a hand. Seems—”

Gus cuts him off. “Stop yapping and load them up.”

Buster whinnies nervously, and Babe tosses her head. Just being around Gus upsets them. I know how they feel; he bothers me, too.

“Just here to do a job, folks,” Karl says. “Pardon me.”

At least Karl knows what he's doing. He gets Babe in the trailer in a flash and doesn't rush Buster up the ramp. Before I know it, they're both in, and Karl is locking up the back gate, David at his side explaining about Buster's sore foot, and the need to soak it with Epsom salts and keep it clean.

Gus looks at my father. “You owe me for today.”

Dad's gaze is steady, his eyes narrow. “You'll get paid this time tomorrow, provided you bring the ponies back and do what we agreed to. The corral stays here. I'll chain it up to make sure it doesn't get stolen.”

“Sounds to me like you're the one stealing it.”

“On the contrary,” Dad says. “You showed up late, you let these boys do the real work, and one of your animals is lame. You better be here right on time tomorrow—with working animals and a better attitude—if you want to get paid.”

Karl climbs in the cab and starts the truck, and David joins Dad and me. Gus looks like he wants to argue, but the look on my dad's face convinces him that would be a bad idea.

“We're not gonna make it to the campground unless you have money for gas,” Karl calls through the open window.

“I got it,” Gus snaps as he gets into the passenger seat. “We'll be back tomorrow,” he says to Dad as Karl shifts the pickup into gear. “Make sure that corral don't walk away.”

“Remember to soak Buster's leg,” I shout as the truck pulls the trailer away.

“Remember to feed your ponies,” David adds. “They're hungry!”

And then they're gone.

“Well,” Dad says, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, “never thought that owning a hardware store would lead to situations like this.”

“You rocked, Mr. Darrow,” David says.

Dad smiles. “At least we kept a drunk driver off the road.”

I know how important that is, but it's hard to be too enthusiastic, knowing that Buster and Babe are stuck with an owner who doesn't care about them and that Buster is injured.

“Why did you make such a big deal about the corral?” I ask. “Aren't the ponies more important?”

“Of course they are,” Dad says. “I was just trying to find a way to make sure he'll show up again. Gus seems to be motivated by money and nothing else.”

Mom appears at the back door. “Honey, I could use some help. And David? Your mom just called and asked me to send you home.” She disappears back inside without waiting for an answer.

“Gotta go, boys,” Dad says.

I look at David. “I thought your dad was going to pick you up,” I say.

“I thought so, too,” David says, his eyes clouded. “Well, sorry I can't stick around to help you clean up, Josh. I'll call you tomorrow night, okay?”

“What about Dr. Gabe?” I ask.

“Just call him,” David says. “Tell him what we did and what happened. Maybe he'll have some advice about tomorrow.”

•  •  •  •  •

After David leaves, I shovel the pony dung to the far corner of the lot, then sweep up the trash and Gus's cigarette butts and throw them into the Dumpster. With each push of the broom, I get angrier about Gus, more worried about Babe and Buster, and more frustrated that I can't figure out how to save them.

Once the parking lot is tidy I help Jules restock the shelves and displays in the store. Looks like everyone in Ambler—heck, everyone in the whole county—bought something at Wrenches & Roses today. Even my hammer display has to be restocked. Mom and Dad are both beaming and talking about how their hard work might be paying off.

It should be a perfect family evening, especially when my parents decide to celebrate a great day by splurging on pizza for dinner. But I can't shake my dark mood. I'm not really old enough to make a difference, like the way Dad got rid of Gus earlier. And I'm too old to be innocent the way Sophie is, drawing pictures and singing her pony song without realizing that Buster and Babe work for a man who might turn them into dog meat one of these days.

I'm so blue I can't even finish my pizza.

When I ask to be excused, my parents look puzzled but give me permission. I drag myself down the hall and flop face-first on my bed.

Two minutes later Jules pounds on my door.

“Get up! Sunita called—we have to go to the clinic right away. It's an emergency!”

Chapter Ten

A
s we jog down Main Street, Jules fills me in.

“It's Ranger,” she says.

“Another porcupine?” I ask, horrified.

“I don't think so, but Sunita said it's life-threatening. Mr. Fedor is bringing him to the clinic right now. Dr. Gabe just got off the turnpike.”

“What about David or Brenna? They should be there; they've seen way more of this stuff than we have.”

“Sunita didn't say, she just told us to hurry.”

When we arrive, Sunita is unlocking the clinic's front door, and Mr. Fedor is struggling to lift Ranger—his eighty-pound mutt—out of the backseat of his car.

“Mr. Fedor,” Jules starts.

“We can help you,” I finish.

With the door now wide open, Sunita runs back to lend a hand. We each grab an edge of Ranger's blanket and together we all carry the big dog inside.

“He didn't eat much yesterday,” Mr. Fedor says. “I thought his mouth was sore from the porcupine quills. He wouldn't eat this morning and slept most of the day, but that made sense to me because of the painkillers.” He pauses as we maneuver through the door and into the clinic's waiting room.

“Dolittle Room,” Sunita says quietly.

Mr. Fedor continues his story as we make our way down the hall. “Then this afternoon he vomited and had diarrhea. Now he can't even walk.”

We make our way into the examination room.

“On three, ready?” Sunita asks. “One, two . . . three.”

We lift the dog onto the stainless steel table. Ranger whimpers, and Mr. Fedor's eyes fill with tears. Jules shoots me a look over the dog's stretched-out body. Ranger is panting, but he's lying totally still. Not a good sign.

Sunita disappears for an instant and returns with Ranger's file, a clipboard, and a pen. She's the cat expert of the Vet Volunteers, but she can deal with pretty much anything.

“Dr. Gabe should be here any second,” she says to Mr. Fedor. “If you can answer a few questions for me, he'll be able to take care of Ranger even faster when he gets here. When was the last time he drank anything?”

Mr. Fedor frowns and keeps stroking Ranger's silky head. “He's had water a couple times today. The last time must have been a little after two, when I came in from mowing the lawn.”

Sunita makes a note. “When was the last time he ate?”

“Yesterday, just before dinner, maybe four thirty,” he says. “I soaked his dog food in water and a little beef broth.”

“Nothing at all since then?” Sunita asks. “No treats? No leftovers?”

He looks up. “Do leashes count?”

“Excuse me?” Sunita asks.

“I don't know when he did it.” Mr. Fedor pulls a well-chewed strand of leather out of his pocket. “Could have been last week for all I know, but I found this under the kitchen table this afternoon. It's missing at least a foot, plus the metal chain.”

Somehow Sunita keeps her feelings off her face. “The more information we have the better,” she says.

“You don't think it's inside him, do you?” Jules asks.

“Dr. Mac has told a lot of stories about the strange things that pets eat,” Sunita says. “Sometimes it passes right through them, and sometimes it requires surgery. My cat Mittens ate some yarn once, and Dr. Mac had to operate to remove it. But don't worry,” she quickly adds, “Mittens came through the surgery and was her old self in days.”

The bell on the front door jingles, and an instant later, Dr. Gabe rushes into the room. “Hello, hello,” he says pleasantly. “I see our good friend Ranger is back for a return engagement.”

He quickly takes Ranger's vital signs—his temperature, pulse, and rate of breathing. Sunita writes all the numbers down and repeats Mr. Fedor's information as Dr. Gabe feels Ranger's belly and checks his gums. Ranger whimpers but is so lethargic he doesn't struggle or squirm.

“Is he going to be okay?” Mr. Fedor asks anxiously.

Dr. Gabe steps over to the sink, rolls up his sleeves, and starts scrubbing his hands with antiseptic soap and a brush. “He's a little dehydrated, and he's in shock. First thing is to get some fluids into him; then I'll X-ray his stomach and digestive tract. That should show us what we're dealing with. Jules, will you please take Mr. Fedor into the waiting room?”

“I'd rather stay with Ranger,” Mr. Fedor says. “I can help keep him calm.”

“I know you can,” Dr. Gabe says kindly. “It's obvious how much you two love each other. But there's a small chance I might need to operate quickly. The best thing you can do for Ranger is to hold him in your heart and wait for him out there.”

He glances at Jules, and she springs into action.

“Come on, Mr. Fedor.” She lightly touches his elbow. “I'll show you the most comfortable chair. Can I make you some tea?”

Mr. Fedor looks forlornly at Ranger. “Bye, buddy,” he says as he leans in to kiss the dog's head. “I'll see you soon.”

Ranger's tail thumps weakly on the table. Mr. Fedor sniffs loudly and follows my sister out the door.

“Sunita, I need an IV bag.” Dr. Gabe is already shaving a patch of fur off Ranger's foreleg. “Do you want to stay for this, Josh?”

I nod before I think too much about what he's saying.

Dr. Gabe rubs antiseptic on the shaved patch of leg. “Scrub up.”

Sunita joins me at the sink after she hands Dr. Gabe the IV solution, both of us watching him over our shoulders as we scrub our hands with stiff brushes. He inserts a needle into Ranger's leg and gets the IV fluid flowing before I remember that needles make me queasy. There's no time for that today.

“This will hydrate Ranger and, I hope, stabilize him a bit,” Dr. Gabe explains. He unlocks a cabinet and fills two syringes from bottles inside it, then injects the fluid in the syringes into the IV line. “This first one is a sedative and the other is an antibiotic, because this big guy is fighting one heck of an infection.”

He flicks the brakes off the wheels of the exam table with the toe of his shoe. “I'm going to run him down for X-rays. You two stay here until I call.”

“Are you sure you don't need help holding him down?” Sunita inquires.

Dr. Gabe looks grim. “No, he's just lost consciousness, so I can handle it on my own.”

He's halfway down the hall before I can speak.

“Does he always move that fast?” I ask.

“Only in emergencies,” Sunita says with a serious face.

“What happens next?”

“It depends on what the X-ray shows. If Ranger really ate that leash, Dr. Gabe will have to open him up to get it out of there.”

My stomach flops. “Surgery?”

“It's the only way in a case like this.”

“I'm not really a Vet Volunteer, you know. I don't know what to do.”

“It's okay, Josh,” Sunita says with a kind smile. “Dr. Gabe's the one who went to four years of college and six years of vet school. I'm allowed to hand him instruments, but that's because I've seen a lot of this, plus my parents are doctors. If you want to watch because you're interested, you can. If you don't want to watch, you don't have to. No pressure either way.”

The intercom crackles. “You guys want to see these films?” Dr. Gabe asks.

In just a few minutes, Dr. Gabe has the X-rays mounted on a light board. It's easy to see the outlines of Ranger's spine, ribs, and hips. Dr. Gabe points to the glowing white links of the metal collar he swallowed and the dark, snakelike shadow that is the leash.

“Isn't it a little weird for a dog to eat something like that?” I ask.

“Not at all. I know vets who have removed dentures, spoons, toy dinosaurs . . . you name it, some dog somewhere has swallowed it.” He flicks on the overhead lights. “The good news is that Ranger is young and strong. It doesn't look as if the leash and chain damaged his esophagus or stomach, and Mr. Fedor brought him here before the leash moved on too far. The bad news is that I have to remove the leash before it causes more damage. Something like this can absolutely kill a dog.”

We follow him as he wheels Ranger to the operating room. “I assume you'll lend a hand, Sunita,” Dr. Gabe says. “Do you want to watch, Josh?”

I've seen Dr. Mac and Dr. Gabe examine lots of pets in the past couple of months. I've even watched them stitch up a few. And of course I've helped take care of loads of animals postsurgery. But I've never actually seen surgery itself. To be honest, I'm not sure that I want to, but my mouth opens up and somehow I say, “Sure. That would be great.”

Everything happens very, very fast.

We put on shoe coverings and surgical scrubs over our clothes, then we scrub our hands again and put on latex gloves and face masks, all to reduce the chance of exposing Ranger to germs. Dr. Gabe gets a surgical tray and a sterilized surgical kit ready.

“Will you be using an endoscope?” Sunita asks.

“What's that?” I ask.

“It's a thin tube with a camera on the end,” Dr. Gabe explains. “It's inserted into the patient's mouth and down the esophagus so we can see whatever the animal swallowed and remove it. But what Ranger has in his belly is too big to be removed with an endoscope. Surgery is his best bet.”

Dr. Gabe asks me to move a light so he can see better, then he intubates Ranger by inserting a tube down his esophagus. Sunita helps by holding Ranger's mouth open. “Ranger will get oxygen and anesthesia through this tube,” Dr. Gabe says. “And now I'll connect this plastic clip to his tongue. See? It has a light sensor to monitor his oxygen and blood. These other small clips connect to the pulse oximeter. That's a monitoring machine we use to track his pulse rate.” Dr. Gabe checks the readings that are shown on the screen next to the operating table, then he shaves Ranger's belly and applies a sterile cloth with a portion cut out where he intends to operate. I move around a couple of times, trying to find a place to stand where I won't be in the way but where I have a clear view of what's going on. It's hard to believe that an hour ago I was sitting at our kitchen table eating a slice of double-pepperoni, double-cheese pizza.

Sunita hands the doctor a bottle of antiseptic that he uses to clean and sterilize the bare skin of Ranger's abdomen. Then he picks up a scalpel, a knife with a shiny blade that flashes in the bright overhead light, and it suddenly hits me what I'm about to see.

My stomach flops and flops again. I break out in a cold sweat, and my ears start ringing. I get a funny taste in my mouth, and it feels like the floor is moving a little.

Dr. Gabe looks at me over the top of his mask. “Josh? You feel okay?”

“Uh-oh.” Sunita grabs my arm. “You don't look so good.”

“I don't feel too good, either,” I admit.

“No worries,” Dr. Gabe says. “Happens to everyone. But Dr. Mac has a rule—no puking in the operating room. Ever. You cool with that?”

I try to nod, but it makes me feel dizzier.

“Take him out, Sunita. Get his head low and feet high.”

Sunita puts her arm around me and helps me to the door.

“Sorry,” I croak.

“Don't worry about it, Josh,” Dr. Gabe says. “We'll talk later.”