Dog Whisperer (4 page)

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Authors: Nicholas Edwards

BOOK: Dog Whisperer
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“What do we do?” Emily asked, feeling panicky.
“Go get as much gauze as you can find,” her mother said. “We'll just try to protect it, until we can get him to the vet.”
Emily raced upstairs and grabbed all of the first-aid supplies she could find in the medicine cabinet. She handed them to her mother, who gently spread some layers of gauze over the wounds. Then, she covered him with a thick, dry beach towel.
The dog stayed on his side, shivering and panting. His chest was moving raggedly up and down, and Emily saw her parents exchange uneasy glances. She looked up at the kitchen clock, and saw that it was just past six-thirty.
“How soon can we call Dr. K.?” she asked. Dr. K.—short for Kasanofsky—was their veterinarian.
Her mother frowned, and also checked the clock. “Not for an hour or so at least, I don't think. It's awfully early.”
“Can we take him to a regular hospital, instead? You know, for
people
?” Emily asked. “Right away?”
Her father shook his head. “I'm sorry, I don't think they would let us bring him into the ER. Let me go send Dr. K. an email now, though, in case he checks it before he goes to the office, and wants to call us. I'll see if I can find a twenty-four-hour clinic in Portland or someplace, too.”
It was awful just to sit and watch the dog struggle to breathe, without being able to help. He was still trembling from the cold—and probably shock, too—so her mother spread another towel on top of him.
“Why don't you go get the heating pad,” she suggested. “And then, we'll put it between the towels so he can warm up a little more.”
Emily was happy to have a specific task. It took a couple of minutes, but she found their heating pad up in the linen closet and brought it downstairs.
Her mother set it up as delicately as she could, but the dog still whimpered a little just from having the towels adjusted on top of him. Then, he settled down and resumed the loud, raspy breathing.
“Should I give him some water?” Emily asked.
Her mother shook her head. “We can't be sure that he isn't bleeding internally. Maybe just a little.”
Emily filled a small metal mixing bowl with water and carried it over.
“No, wait,” her mother said quickly. “I'll give it to him.”
She knew the dog wasn't going to bite—
knew
it, deep in her bones—but she cooperatively handed the bowl to her mother.
Her mother carefully set the bowl next to the dog's muzzle, and he wagged his tail once, but didn't lift his head.
“Maybe with, like, a turkey baster?” Emily asked. Did they own a turkey baster? “Or an eyedropper or something?”
“In a little while, we can try that,” her mother said, and went into the pantry to get a can of beef stock. “Or maybe we should start him with some warm broth. I don't think we should do anything more than that, though, until we can get him to the vet.”
It seemed to be taking him forever to come back, but she assumed that her father was doing some quick research on the Internet about how to take care of injured pets, and all of the important steps to take. He was probably already printing out pages of instructions and advice.
Ever since she was little, Emily had always read
lots of books about animals. One thing she had learned was that they sometimes knew and understood things that people didn't. That most animals were naturally
wise
. She wasn't sure if everything she had read was true, but it was all really interesting.
What she sensed from the dog right now was that he wanted to stay very, very still, and conserve his energy. So she sat quietly, too, right next to him, cross-legged on the floor, with her hands folded in her lap.
“Why don't you go upstairs and put on something dry,” her mother said.
Emily looked down and realized that her clothes were dripping so much water that she was now sitting in a puddle. She went up to her room and changed into sweatpants, a pink turtleneck, thick wool socks, and sneakers. She hadn't realized how cold she had gotten from jumping into the ocean, and being out in the rain for so long—and it turned out that her knee was pretty badly bruised, too. She couldn't even
imagine
how cold the dog must be feeling.
Josephine followed her downstairs, and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the dog lying on the floor. Emily would have expected her to hiss and tear out of the room, but she took several tentative
steps in his direction. Then, she sniffed at the towels covering him, sniffed at his muzzle—and tore out of the room.
“Here,” Emily's mother said, and handed her a mug of hot chocolate.
Emily was still cold and accepted it gratefully. “Thank you,” she said, and sat back down on the floor next to the dog.
Her mother had already heated some broth, and Emily held the bowl close to the dog's nose so that he could smell it. He actually cocked one of his ears, and looked alert for the first time. So she moved the bowl to a more comfortable angle, and he drank a little—and spilled even more. Then, he must have gotten tired, because he sighed, and let his head slump down again.
“I wish he had a collar,” her mother said. “Then, we could call his owners and let them know that we found him.”
Emily hadn't even considered the fact that the dog might have a
home
. She had just automatically assumed that he was a stray. “But, he's so thin,” she said. “I don't think he belongs to anyone.”
And if he
did
have owners, they should have taken much better care of him, and not let him get lost.
Her father came in, with a whole bunch of
printed-out information he had found online, as well as the address of the nearest twenty-four-hour veterinary clinic, which was more than fifty miles away.
“Did you call the Animal Medical Center?” her mother asked.
The Animal Medical Center was a famous animal hospital in New York City—and she and her mother both knew that her father was pretty convinced that New York was always the best place to get correct answers.
“Well—yes,” her father admitted. “They said I should bring him to a vet right away.”
Her mother checked the clock on the wall again. “If we leave now, it's going to take us about an hour to get there. So I think we should wait for Dr. K. to—”
Just then, the telephone rang.
When her father answered, Emily could tell right away that their vet, Dr. K., was on the other end. Her father answered quick questions, listened to a few instructions, and then bent down to look at the dog's mouth.
“Yes,” he said into the receiver. “I'm afraid his gums
are
quite pale.” He listened for another minute, and then held the telephone near the dog's
head—probably so that their vet could hear the way he was breathing. Then, her father lifted the telephone back up to his ear, and listened again. “Yes, right away. Thank you.” He hung up the phone. “Okay, he's going to meet us over there, with a couple of his technicians.”
It took about ten minutes to get the dog safely out to the car. Actually, they had two cars—her mother's Prius, and her father's old Subaru wagon, but her parents had already decided that it would be easier to try and transport the dog in the Subaru, since it was bigger.
Her father lifted one end of the sled, while Emily and her mother carried the other side. They had to walk very slowly, both because the dog was heavy, and because they didn't want to jar him at all. Once they had made it out to the driveway, Emily went ahead to open the door so that her parents could ease the sled onto the backseat.
Her parents agreed to let her sit in the back, to keep the dog company. They were probably still a little worried that she might get bitten, but by now, the dog seemed to be half-conscious and wouldn't be able to bite her, even if he wanted to—which Emily knew he didn't.
Once she had snapped on her seat belt, she put
her hand very lightly on top of the blanket, near the dog's shoulder. He moved his head just enough to rest it on her leg, and she patted him during the entire ride.
When they pulled into the parking lot of Oceanside Animal Hospital, Dr. K. was waiting outside, wearing a white lab coat over a polo shirt and jeans. He was a very tall man, with a beard and glasses, who looked sort of like the medical version of a lumberjack. Two of his assistants were there, too, holding a stretcher. As soon as they saw the car, they all hurried over.
Emily got out, so that Dr. K. could lean into the backseat and perform a very fast examination. He used his stethoscope to check the dog's heart and lungs, and frowned slightly. Then, he lifted the blankets to look the dog over, felt his rib cage and legs, and frowned again.
“Let's get him inside right away,” he said to the two technicians. “The pneumothorax is critical.”
Working together, Dr. K. and his assistants eased the dog and his blankets out of the car and directly onto the stretcher. Then, they rushed into the office, while Emily's father held the door for them.
There was no time to lose!
“We're going to take him into the back and have
a closer look, okay?” Dr. K. said, sounding very urgent. “I'll come out here and talk to you as soon as I know anything.”
Emily was pretty sure that almost twelve was too old to cry in public, but she definitely
felt
like it. “Shouldn't we be in there with him? So he won't be scared?”
Dr. K. shook his head. “No, I'm sorry. It'll be easier right now if you wait out here. But I promise that we're going to do everything we can for him.”
With that, he and the techs and the dog disappeared through the swinging doors into the surgical area.
Emily and her parents stood in the middle of the empty room.
“Well, we're in the right place,” Emily's mother said. “And he's an
excellent
vet, so we know the dog's in good hands.”
Emily nodded, and they sat down in a row of chairs to wait. When her father leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, Emily remembered that
none
of them had gotten much sleep. It wasn't even eight in the morning yet—but she felt as though she had been awake for about a week and a half.
Almost the only times she had ever been to the
vet's office were for Josephine's regular check-ups, the time they had brought her in to be spayed, and once a few months earlier, when she had gotten an upper respiratory infection. After Emily had made up her mind that she wanted to be a veterinarian herself someday, Dr. K. had invited her to spend a couple of afternoons watching the vets and their assistants do routine exams and procedures. It had been very interesting, and she had always hoped that, when she was old enough, she would be able to get some kind of part-time job in the office, working with all of the animals.
But this time was different. Now, they were here with an injured dog who she
already
loved—and he might be too badly hurt to survive.
They sat in the waiting room for what seemed like a
long
time. A
really
long time. Since the office wasn't officially open yet, it was very quiet. The overhead lights were off, which made Emily feel very sleepy, but she
forced
herself to stay awake. Her mother held her hand, which normally might have made her feel a little babyish, but under the circumstances, she didn't mind at all.
Right before nine o'clock, the office manager and one of the receptionists arrived, and were surprised to find people already there. As they turned on the office computers and began to set up for the day's appointments, an elderly woman showed up with a black-and-white cat who needed his yearly shots, and a stocky red-haired man with a booming voice came in with a small rust-colored poodle.
The other clients seemed to be nice, but it was hard to wait for what might be bad news in front of strangers. Emily sat very straight in her chair the
whole time, shaking her head when her mother offered her a magazine, and shaking it again when her father suggested going out to get some doughnuts and milk—or anything else that she might like for breakfast.
Finally, Dr. Kasanofsky came out through the swinging doors. He had changed into green surgical scrubs and looked very solemn. Normally, he always had a big smile on his face, so it was alarming to see his expression so serious. He nodded hello to the woman with the cat and the man with the poodle, and then turned to Emily and her parents.
“Why don't we go step into another room to talk for a minute?” he suggested.
Just hearing that was enough to make Emily's stomach sink. But she pushed herself to her feet, as her parents stood up, too.
“Would you like to be in there with us, or would you rather have me talk to your parents alone, first?” Dr. Kasanofsky asked.
“In there, please,” Emily said, without hesitating.
Dr. Kasanofsky glanced at her parents, who nodded reluctantly.
He motioned for them to follow him into an exam room. Emily swallowed, knowing that he must
have bad news, if he wanted to speak to them privately. But she took a deep breath and followed her parents into the small room. It was maybe dumb, but she had expected that the dog would be in there on the examination table, waiting for them—only, he wasn't.
Once they were inside, Dr. Kasanofsky quietly closed the door.
“Well,” he said, and Emily could see that he looked tired—or maybe just
sad
. “We're doing everything we can, but I'm afraid he is not in very good shape. He has several broken ribs, and one of them punctured his lung, although we were able to get it re-inflated. His left foreleg has a compound fracture, and one of his hips was displaced, too. We're giving him lots of fluids, to try and make up for the blood loss and the dehydration, but I'm very concerned about his kidney function. We have him stabilized, for now, but there's still some internal bleeding, and I'm going to have to do more surgery to locate the source. But, if the damage is as extensive as I suspect it might be, I'm not sure that would be anything more than a temporary fix.”
Emily wasn't completely sure what all of that meant—other than the fact that it sounded really
bad. “He's, um, he's really thin,” she said, mostly because she couldn't think of anything else to say.
Dr. Kasanofsky nodded. “I think he must have been out there on his own for quite some time, because he's very weak and malnourished. That would make it much harder for him to fight off any infections, and I also may be hearing the beginning of some pneumonia setting in. He's, well—it's really not a good prognosis.” He sighed. “I'm sorry that I don't have better news.”
It was very, very quiet in the room for a minute, and Emily had to blink hard, over and over, to keep from crying.
“Do you think we should—” Emily's father stopped in mid-sentence. “I mean, it sounds as though we may have a very difficult decision to make.”
Dr. Kasanofsky let out his breath, and looked sadder than ever. “Yes,” he said unhappily. “I'm afraid you do.”
Emily stared at her father accusingly when she realized that he was talking about putting the dog to
sleep
. “We can't do that, Dad!” she said. “It would be—we have to
save
him. Why do you just want to give up?”
“It's not giving up,” her father said. “But, he's terribly sick, and it doesn't sound as though we should put him through any more of this.”
To her, that sounded a whole lot like giving up. Besides, he wasn't sick, he was
injured
, which was different. And he could get well. She was sure he could get better, if they would just give him time to do it.
Her mother put her arm around her. “I know it's very hard, Emily, but we have to think about what's best for him, no matter how sad it will make
us
.”
Why did her parents always have to be so
reasonable
? Emily wanted to yell at her—at
all
of them—but she just ducked underneath her mother's arm and focused down at the floor, instead. She shouldn't have come into the room with them, if they weren't even going to let her be part of the decision. Her parents always
said
that they wanted to hear her opinion, but sometimes it seemed like they only meant it if she agreed with them.
Her father came over to try and give her a hug, and she shook her head, stepping out of the way. At this particular moment, she didn't
want
either of them to be nice to her. In fact, she pretty much just wanted to be left alone.
There was a folding chair in the corner, near
the small refrigerator where the vets stored medication—and sometimes sodas—and she went over and sat down in it. The chair was angled so that she was facing away from all of them—which was totally fine with her.
Nobody said anything for a moment.
Her mother was the first one to break the silence. “Dr. K., is treating him any further the right thing to do?”
Dr. Kasanofsky sighed. “To be honest, I'm not sure. I'd like to give him every possible chance, but it may not be—” He sighed again. “This is a very difficult situation. His injuries are so severe that I'm not sure he can recover, and there's a good chance that he'll be permanently impaired if he does. And that's if we get lucky, and there are no other complications. At best, he would have a very long recuperation, and he might not ever be able to walk comfortably.”
All of that was probably true, but then, why had the dog seemed
so alive
? So happy to be rescued? “But, he worked so hard,” Emily said quietly, still sitting in the folding chair. “All by himself. You know, to make sure that someone would find him. That means he wants us to try and save him.”
Dr. Kasanofsky nodded. “Yes, I think you're
probably right, Emily. That's what makes these decisions so complicated—
we just don't know
a lot of the time.”
That was a good answer, because it made her feel as though her opinion was going to be taken seriously. She
didn't
want the dog to be in pain, or to do anything that would make it harder for him—but, just letting him go felt all wrong. So she turned around in her chair to look at Dr. Kasanofsky directly.
“What would you do if he was your dog?” she asked.
“I really don't know.” Dr. Kasanofsky folded his arms and leaned back against the wall to think about that. “His prognosis is very poor—but he's also clearly quite young. And the fact that he's survived this long tells me that he's unusually strong and determined.” He paused. “It's not a decision I can make for the three of you, but I can tell you that he's as comfortable as we can make him right now. So I think we could just watch him very closely for the rest of the day, and see how he responds. Then, we can talk again.”
Emily was definitely in favor of that, and fortunately, her parents agreed, too.
So they went back to the waiting room and sat,
and sat, and sat some more. Other clients came in and out for appointments, and it was noisy, as cats complained inside their carriers and dogs barked at each other.
After a while, her father left to go pick up some lunch for all of them. Emily was beginning to feel really claustrophobic in the waiting room, so she decided to go outside for a while and get some fresh air. She never would have guessed that sitting and doing nothing could be so completely tiring.
Like most places in Bailey's Cove, the animal hospital was right by the ocean and had its own little dock. Sometimes—especially when the snow was so deep that it was difficult to drive—Dr. K. and his assistants would pay house calls, by
boat
.
It was still raining, and so chilly that it felt more like late fall than summer. She had left her slicker in the waiting room, but getting wet seemed more appealing than going back inside.
Emily walked across the parking lot, and then down the neat gravel path to the dock. Her knee was still kind of stiff, but it didn't hurt that much, and she only limped a little. There were a bunch of big rock formations along the side of the path, and she decided to climb up on top of one of them. The
granite was so wet that her sneakers slipped a little, but she was able to pull herself up without too much trouble.
Then, she sat there, staring out at the ocean. This part of town was in a protected cove, so even during storms, the water was usually pretty calm. Today, it looked dark grey, and tiny waves slapped gently against the dock every so often. Because of the weather, there didn't seem to be any pleasure boats out, which was really unusual in August. A few stray seagulls swooped around, looking for food, and she saw a loon, too. Other than that, it looked like a quiet autumn day.
Sitting alone on the rock was private, and so she let herself cry a little. She knew Dr. K. and his assistants were trying to do everything they could to save the dog, but it didn't sound as though it was going to work.
Neither of her parents was really into the idea of pets, especially her father, but they had always had at least one cat, because Emily had been crazy about animals as far back as she could remember. She loved Josephine, who they had had for about five years, and couldn't imagine life without her. But she had
always
wanted a dog, too. It was almost exactly a month until her birthday, and after she
had nagged them pretty much nonstop for the past year or two, her parents had promised her that they would talk seriously about going over to the animal shelter and picking one out.
But, she wanted
this
dog. It was maybe stupid to feel so attached to an animal she had only known for a couple of hours, but she did. She felt—connected. Every time he had looked at her with those sad, deep brown eyes, it had seemed as though he somehow knew everything that she was thinking and feeling.
She couldn't stand the thought of losing this dog—but, right now, there wasn't anything she could do to help him.
All she could do was hope.

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