Fight for Life Read online

  Lois, our last receptionist, quit last week. She was the third one this year, and it’s only March. Gran used to take care of all the paperwork by herself. But the clinic has gotten busier and she needs help. So far we haven’t had any luck finding a receptionist who is not allergic to fur or afraid of birds.

  The receptionist’s desk is a nightmare. It’s flooded with files and sticky notes. It looks like my desk upstairs. Oh no—don’t go there, Maggie. Desk means homework. Stay focused on the pups.

  I rummage through a desk drawer looking for the blank charts.

  “Hello?” someone calls from the waiting room.

  Chapter Four

  A girl wearing a faded green “Save the Whales” sweatshirt leans over the reception counter. Her dark hair is pulled back in a long ponytail, and her earrings are shaped like howling wolves.

  Boy, is she tall. I recognize her from school, and I’ve seen her here at the clinic before.

  “Hi,” I say. “Aren’t you the girl with the pet crow?”

  “That’s me. Brenna Lake, reporting for duty. Dr. Mac told me I could start volunteering today. What do you need me to do first?”

  A pile of folders slides off the desk and hits the floor. She’s working here? Gran didn’t tell me about this. There has to be some mistake.

  “Um, I’m not sure. Let me get Gran.”

  Gran pokes her head in. “Maggie, I need those charts—oh, Brenna, you made it!” She walks around the desk. “Maggie, do you remember Brenna?”

  “Yeah. She brought a crow in last fall. His name was Poe, right?”

  “His full name is Edgar Allan Poe Crow, but we call him Poe. You have a good memory,” Brenna says with a smile. She sticks her hands into the pockets of her jeans. She’s wearing an old pair of boots, the kind that lace up the front. We look at each other, not quite sure what we should say next.

  “Brenna’s going to be working with us,” Gran says. “She called last week with a question about Poe.” Gran looks at the messy desk. “The day Lois quit.”

  I’m confused. “She’s going to be our receptionist?”

  “Not exactly,” Gran says. She opens a file drawer and pulls out the blank charts she needs. “I had been thinking about bringing in a volunteer for a while. With Brenna around, you’ll have more time for your homework.”

  Uh-oh. The H-word. Homework. I have a bad feeling about this.

  “Brenna will help you with your clinic chores after school,” Gran continues. “She can start right now. The cages need cleaning, and she can keep an eye on our newest patients. I’ve just moved them into the recovery room.”

  “But that’s my job,” I say. I can’t believe Gran is bringing in someone with no experience to do it. I’ve been ambushed. This just isn’t going to work, I can already see that.

  Gran closes the file drawer and looks at me with a stern eye. “I want you to do your homework in the kitchen, Maggie. There are fewer distractions there.”

  I pick up the fallen files. I have to be smart about this. Temper tantrums don’t work with my grandmother. She just ignores them.

  “Now, Gran,” I start. “I don’t have that much homework. Besides, it’s not fair to make Brenna do everything. Not on her first day.”

  “You’re making excuses to get out of studying.”

  “I’m just worried about Brenna and the dogs. And you. You can’t be everywhere at once, can you, Gran?”

  The bells on the door jingle as another patient comes in. It’s Mr. Asher, carrying Yertle, the turtle whose shell is too soft.

  “I’ll be right with you,” Gran tells him.

  “How about this? I’ll do my homework in the recovery room. That way I can keep an eye on the puppies and answer Brenna’s questions. What do you think?”

  Brenna straightens a pile of business cards on the counter. “If you don’t mind, Dr. MacKenzie, I’d like to have Maggie show me around a bit. It’s my first day, and I have a lot of questions.”

  Gran looks at each of us. Brenna grins. I try on my most innocent expression.

  “All right,” she says. “Just for today. And you’ll have to show me your homework after dinner.”

  Yes!

  “Come on, Brenna. Follow me to the recovery room.” I lift a section of the counter to let her into the back of the clinic.

  Shelby, Inky, and Dinky are sleeping in a puppy pen on the floor of the recovery room. They look like little black commas curled around one another. A heat lamp shines over them, and their I.V. bags hang on a stand next to the pen.

  “When a patient is recovering from surgery or from being real sick, they live in here,” I explain to Brenna. “Gran is strict about keeping everything in the clinic spotless. Let me show you how to clean the cages.”

  A double-decker row of cages stands against the back wall. I open the first door and talk her through the steps of taking out the dirty newspapers that line the bottom, disinfecting and wiping the inside, then laying down clean newspaper.

  Brenna catches on quickly. Too quickly. She cleans the second cage almost as fast as I did the first. Who knows what job of mine Gran will give her next? I’m going to have to have a talk with Gran.

  “I can do the rest,” she says. “You better get started on your homework.”

  I really don’t like the way this is working out.

  “Are you sure?” I ask. “Let me walk you through one more.”

  “Go on, Maggie. I don’t want Dr. Mac to be angry on my first day here,” Brenna explains.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I sigh. I’m going to talk to Gran tonight.

  I drag out my backpack and flop on the floor with my humongous social studies book. “I have a test on government tomorrow. I’m supposed to memorize gigantic words like legislation and subcommittee.”

  Brenna takes dirty newspaper out of a cage and dumps it in a trash bag. “We had that test last week,” she says. “It was easy. Make sure you know the steps of making a new law. We had to write an essay on that.”

  “Great.” I turn the page and try to read.

  Laws start with ideas. State representatives (another big word) vote on the new law. Blah, blah, blah. Every sentence has a word I trip over. I should look up the words I don’t know, but that doesn’t work either, because the definitions have words I don’t understand. I read really slowly to begin with—throw in super-long words and I’ll never finish.

  My eyelids are drooping. I think I need a break. Brenna is on her fourth cage already. I close the book and sit up.

  “Brenna, are you sure you haven’t done this before?” I ask.

  “Well, I did have to clean my crow’s cage when he was really sick and lived inside the house,” she says.

  “What was wrong with him?”

  Brenna spreads clean newspaper on a tray and slides it into a cage. “Jeez. You studied for two seconds. No wonder Dr. Mac asked me to come.”

  “I know this stuff. We saw a movie on it. Wait, you didn’t spray it enough. Without the disinfectant, the inside of the cage can get moldy, really gross. And the germs could infect another animal. When a patient is in the recovery room, we want them to get better, not sick.” I stand up. “Let me show you how to do it.”

  Brenna frowns and holds the disinfectant bottle out of my reach. “You already showed me. I don’t want your grandmother coming in here and seeing you doing all the work.”

  “Just give it to me.”

  “No way.”

  We glare at each other like two stubborn mules. She sprays the tray and wipes it clean with a paper towel. “There. Is that good enough?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Make sure you scrub the corners—that’s important.” I think I may have met my match. I hand her fresh newspaper. “The crow. Tell me how you got Poe.”

  “I saw him get shot. I was walking in a field looking for red-shouldered hawks. I heard a gun go off and I hit the ground. Something fell near me. It was Poe.”

  “Somebody shot him? That’s so sick.”

  �
�I jumped up hollering and they took off. They were kids, not much older than you and me, using a pellet gun. I took my jacket off, wrapped it around Poe, and carried him home. Dad drove me here. That was last fall. I thought we were going to be able to set him free, but his wing is wrecked. Before we knew it, he was one of the family.”

  “Your parents let you keep him?”

  “It was my parents’ idea.”

  “I’d like to meet them.”

  “They’re pretty cool,” she says as she closes the last cage. “All clean. Now what should I do?”

  “It’s definitely time to check the puppies.”

  We sit on the floor across from each other, with the puppies in the warm pen between us. Dinky is still breathing quickly, so I count the number of breaths per minute. One... two ... three... He’s OK. It’s the same rate as earlier.

  “Can I pet them?” Brenna asks quietly.

  “Not yet,” I say quickly. “We shouldn’t disturb them too much while they’re on an I.V. See how the fluid is dripping slowly?” I point out the way the fluid drops into Dinky’s tube.

  “Is that bad or good?” Brenna asks.

  “It’s good in this case. It means he needs less fluid. He’s getting better.”

  “How do you know about all this stuff?”

  “Gran taught me. I grew up here.”

  The phone rings once, then stops. Gran must have picked it up.

  “You live with Dr. Mac?” Brenna asks.

  “Yep. My parents died in a car crash when I was a baby.”

  “Oh. That’s awful. I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s OK. Gran’s a good mom and a good dad—not to mention a terrific grandmother. This is the only home I remember.”

  Brenna leans closer to Dinky. “Maggie, this one’s shaking. Is that bad or good?”

  I lightly rest my hand on his back. “Bad. He’s probably cold. Puppies this small get cold easily. Believe it or not, it can kill them, especially if they’re already sick and malnourished. We need to keep him warm because he’s probably using all his energy to fight off the infection.” I pull a small blanket out of the cupboard. “This will help.”

  As I tuck the blanket around him, Dinky opens his tiny mouth and yawns, then snuggles his face against the palm of my hand. “Wow,” Brenna says. “No wonder you’re behind on your homework. You get to hang out with little critters like this!”

  Gran comes through the door wearing her serious vet face—no smile, just sheer concentration.

  Brenna jumps to her feet. “Hi, Dr. MacKenzie. Maggie was just teaching me about the I.V. stuff. The cages are all clean.”

  “Relax, relax,” Gran says. “Anyone can clean cages. A veterinary clinic needs people who love animals. I wish I had more like you and Maggie.”

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “A litter of sick puppies is on the way in,” she says as she rubs her neck.

  “Yikes. A whole litter? Is Dr. Gabe coming?” I ask.

  “He’s out vaccinating the Wilsons’ goats,” she explains. “I’ll try to find another vet or a vet technician to come in.”

  “What’s wrong with the puppies?” I ask.

  Gran pauses. “Who knows? It sounds like they’re malnourished and wormy. I’ll need some extra eyes and hands. I can’t watch seven puppies at once.” She holds the phone between her ear and shoulder and looks for a phone number in the directory. “You two can help. Wash up.”

  Chapter Five

  Gran hangs up the phone. “Bad news. Everyone is busy,” she says. “Gabe is dealing with an emergency at the Wilsons’ barn, so he’ll be late. We’re on our own.”

  “Do you really need another vet?” Brenna asks. “Maybe we just need a couple more people to help watch the puppies.”

  Gran nods. “You’re right. But I need them now.” She takes the phone book back out of the drawer and flips it open.

  “Who are you calling?” I ask.

  “David. David Hutchinson from across the street. He’s been pestering me about volunteering.”

  “Please, Gran, I’m begging you. Not David!”

  Gran points at a number on the page and dials the phone. “It’s time to give him a chance. He has grown up a bit.”

  “But . . . he’s a goofball. He’s a klutz—”

  “He’s enthusiastic. And he’s close.”

  Two minutes later, David gallops into the clinic as if he had been waiting for the call. His bangs flop in front of his eyes. He’s wearing a hockey jersey, the same pair of jeans he has worn every day for the past year, and sneakers. Untied, of course.

  “Hey, what’s up, Dr. Mac? Finally decided you couldn’t live without me? Or is it Maggie who needs my help?”

  David steps toward me. My hands curl into fists.

  “Maybe not!” He backs away.

  “This is Brenna Lake,” Gran says. “She’s helping out, too.”

  “David and I are in the same class,” Brenna says with a sigh. “We did a science project together. He almost set the table on fire.”

  “It was a small explosion,” David explains. “I had it all under control. Did you finish the homework?” he asks Brenna.

  “I did it on the bus,” she answers. “Do you have to pay for the broken microscope?”

  “You broke a microscope?” I ask. Typical. David can’t walk to the bus stop without causing damage. Gran is nuts to let him in here. What is she thinking?

  “OK, everyone, you can chitchat later. Put these on.” Gran hands us scrub tops.

  “Hey, cool!” David says. “These are just like the ones real docs wear.”

  “David, you need to wash your hands, and yes, you have to use soap. And scrub your nails,” Gran says.

  The bells on the front door jingle. Brenna jumps up and David spins around.

  It’s not the lady with the litter of sick puppies. It’s Sunita Patel, her arms loaded down with books she borrowed from Gran.

  Sunita is one of the quietest kids in Ambler, Pennsylvania. She’s about my size, with chocolate brown eyes and long black hair. Her parents are from India. They’re both doctors—human doctors. Anyway, she’s wearing a typical Sunita outfit: loafers, khakis, and a purple turtleneck. She looks good in purple because her skin is a beautiful light brown color, like milky tea. If I wear purple, I look like I’m going to barf.

  “Hello, Dr. MacKenzie?” she says with a shy smile. “I just came to return the books you lent me. Thanks. Sorry for interrupting.” She puts the books on the counter and then turns to leave.

  “Stay, Sunita,” Gran says. “I’m collecting volunteers, and we could use your help.” She explains to her what we’re all waiting for.

  “I don’t know,” Sunita says. “I’m not sure I’ll be much help.”

  “C’mon. It’ll be fun. And you’ll get to wear one of these,” David says, tugging on his scrub top.

  “It’s not supposed to be fun,” Brenna argues. “It’s serious.”

  I jump in. “Gran needs our help. Will you stay, Sunita? Please?”

  She nods and smiles. “All right. But I have to be home in time for dinner.” She sits on one of the plastic chairs. “What do you want me to do?”

  “I need your eyes,” Gran says. “I need everyone’s eyes,” she repeats, louder.

  The rest of us take a seat. Gran has center stage.

  “There are seven puppies coming in. I can’t examine seven at once,” she explains. “I’ll decide who is the sickest, who I have to treat first. All of you need to keep an eye on the other pups. If you notice any change—if they breathe faster or slower, if they shake or stop shaking, if they drool, if their eyelids flutter—tell me immediately. Are you up to it?”

  David looks serious for a change. Sunita is alert. Brenna’s knee bounces up and down. I’m up to it—I was born ready to take care of animals like this. We all nod.

  Brenna turns to the window. “They’re here!”

  Chapter Six

  A woman carries two large picnic baskets
into the clinic. Gran hustles her straight back to the Dolittle Room. The woman sets the baskets on the table, and we all crowd around for a look. Gran opens the baskets. Inside are six tiny collies only a few weeks old, plus a mutt—a mixed-breed.

  Gran gently pulls up the skin of one of the pups. It falls back into place too slowly. “Looks like they’re dehydrated,” explains Gran. “Let’s get each pup a bed. Maggie, fill some surgical gloves with warm water so we can rest the pups on them. Brenna, roll that O2 canister over here.”

  “Maggie!” Brenna whispers. “What’s O2?”

  “Oxygen. Let me show you.” I roll the small canister of oxygen to Gran. “We’ll need a small mask since we’re dealing with puppies here.” I hook up a mask to the tubing. “See? It’s easy.”

  “For you, maybe.”

  “Here, help me with the beds,” I say to Brenna, David, and Sunita. I show them how to fill surgical gloves with warm water, tie them off, and line them up on the counter. Then we cover them with towels.

  “Ready, Gran,” I shout.

  “All right!” Gran says briskly. “I’ll take a puppy out of the basket, look it over quickly, and hand it to Maggie. Maggie will bring it over to you. Then you stand guard over the pups. Here we go.”

  Gran takes one of the larger pups out and hands it to me. He’s shaking, just like Dinky did earlier. I carefully carry him to Brenna and set him on his warm bed. He lets out a weak whimper. Brenna stands close to the counter, her hands on either side of the puppy, protecting him and making sure he doesn’t crawl away.

  “Next!” calls Gran.

  I take the next patient, the mutt, to David, then return for another one.

  As Gran hands over the pups, the owner tells us what she knows. “I found them crowded into a dirty cage at the farmer’s market yesterday,” she says. “They didn’t have any food or water, and they were filthy. Whenever they whined, the owner yelled at them and rattled the cage until they stopped.”

  It’s the same guy who sold Shelby, Inky, and Dinky. I just know it.

  “Let me guess,” Gran says. “He didn’t give you any health information, no papers, no nothing.”