“Yes,” she agreed, “and the house.”
She gave me the name of Ronnie’s personal veterinarian, and I promised to make the appointment and be responsible for getting the patient there and back. After hanging up the phone, I studied on our conversation. I could not bring myself to think that Helen would deliberately mistreat Thurlow’s dog, but it is a fact that some people do not connect with animals at all, while others think more of their pets than they do of people. To them, a pet has human feelings and attributes, but to others, like Helen, a pet is just something else to clean up after.
Chapter 11
After talking with the receptionist at the veterinarian’s office, I should’ve known that things would go downhill from then on. But, I thought, in for a penny, in for a pound, although a pound was not the most uplifting thing to be thinking of under the circumstances.
The veterinarian had a cancellation exactly one hour from the time I called—his first opening for a week, take it or leave it. Lloyd would not be home from school until much later, so I wouldn’t have his help. There was only one person to whom I could turn.
“Lillian?”
“Yes’m?”
“I don’t know how I let myself get into these situations, but Helen has asked me to take Ronnie to the vet. You know how sick he looked when we saw him, and apparently Thurlow hasn’t been doing well, either. Unfortunately, I happened to ask if there was anything we could do to help, and she asked if we could take him to the doctor.”
“Mr. Thurlow or Mr. Ronnie?”
“Oh, Ronnie, of course. He has an appointment in forty-five minutes, so would you mind going with me? It shouldn’t take long, and Ronnie’s accustomed to riding in a car. I don’t foresee any problems at all.”
“Do I have to ride in the backseat with him?”
“Certainly not. Besides, he’ll take up the whole seat himself. There’ll be no room in the back for anybody else.”
“Well,” Lillian said, drying her hands with a Bounty towel. “You can’t handle that ole dog by yourself, so I reckon I better go, too. You gonna need some help.”
“Thank you, Lillian. We’re both doing a good deed—although I’d just as soon not do it. But let’s go get him.”
Lillian found an old blanket which we spread out over the leather backseat of my car and down across the foot well.
“Ronnie will fit just fine on the seat,” I said, thankful that I didn’t have a cloth interior that would soak up odors.
I drove to Thurlow’s house and turned into the drive, stopping in front of the garage. No one came out to help us, but Helen had already told me that she would be in conference with the kitchen designer. She was sure that Ronnie would be no trouble.
And he wasn’t. In fact, his ears perked up as soon as Lillian and I unhooked the gate of his pen. He came right to me and sniffed to confirm who I was, but to be on the safe side, we snapped a leash onto his collar and walked him to the car. The trouble came with getting him in. He didn’t seem to have any control over his hindquarters. His front part was willing, but his back part wasn’t, and he hung there, half in and half out. Lillian and I had to lift his back end and shove him in. With a great sigh, Ronnie spread himself out over the backseat, rested his head between his front paws, and waited to be driven to his destination, wherever it was.
On our way to the vet’s office, Lillian looked back at Ronnie, then whispered, “I don’t want him to hear me, Miss Julia, but he don’t look too good to me.”
“To me, either,” I whispered back, then, realizing how inane that was, spoke up. “That’s why I don’t really mind doing this. Thurlow’s in an even worse state, so somebody has to help out.”
Dr. Marsh, the veterinarian, was a small man, not much larger than Lloyd, who was small for his age. I declare, the man looked as if he should be shaking pom-poms at a pep rally, yet he seemed to know what he was doing. He didn’t turn a hair when he saw the size of Ronnie—which was about that of a yearling calf—because the office was well equipped to handle large animals. There was an examining table that was similar to one of those automobile hoists that lift a car so a mechanic can stand under it.
Ronnie obediently stepped onto the lowered table, then looked around as the table buzzed him up until his head almost touched the ceiling. Thus Dr. Marsh, much like a mechanic, could easily reach under and palpate Ronnie’s nether parts.
“Uh-huh, yes. Oh, yes, uh-huh. Okay, that’s it,” Dr. Marsh said, talking as much to himself as to those of us who watched. Then, lowering Ronnie to waist level, the doctor—who I thought must’ve been a dog whisperer—told Ronnie to lie down and Ronnie did.
After further probing, listening, and palpating, Dr. Marsh looked up at us and said, “No wonder this poor dog looks so miserable. He is miserable. Both ears are heavily infected, and that’s affecting his appetite and his general well-being. Now I’ll show you how to administer his medicine. Which one will be doing it?”
I looked at Lillian, and she looked at me. Finally, I manned up and acquiesced to learning how to do it. Dr. Marsh motioned me to come near the table. He lifted one ear flap, from which emanated a noxious odor, and pointed to the swelling and redness inside the ear. “You really should check a dog’s ears occasionally and not let them get this bad.”
I jerked back, realizing that the doctor was mistaking me for Ronnie’s owner. I quickly set him straight as to whom he should chastize for animal neglect, and it certainly wasn’t
