“A standard microchip has between nine and fifteen digits, but this number only has eight. So it’s not a standard microchip.” Dr. Sheffield shook his head. “There was a company a few years ago that went into business with a new design—a programmable microchip. The idea was that people could program the chip with their phone number. But the company used cheap parts. A lot of the microchips didn’t work reliably—like this one—and the company went out of business.”
“But how do you know Baxter’s chip isn’t working right?” I asked.
“Well, look at the number. It’s not a phone number because those are seven digits long or ten with the area code. And it doesn’t look like a street address.” He looked back up at us. “Frankly, I don’t know what this number is.”
“Yeah, I don’t know either,” TJ said.
Dr. Sheffield shrugged. “I’ll go ahead and write it in the chart, but you might consider having this chip removed and a standard chip inserted. It’s a small surgical procedure that most dogs tolerate well.”
“Another time, perhaps,” Professor Reese said. “I don’t want to do anything else to Baxter while he’s not feeling well.”
“Fair enough.” Dr. Sheffield nodded. “All right, let’s take a look at those ears.”
He opened a drawer and pulled out an ear-looker thingy, which he called an otoscope, and when I said I wanted to be a vet, he let me look. It was even cooler than looking through Professor Reese’s spectrometer (though Baxter’s ear canal was so red and oozy that I didn’t think it would be ending up on a poster any time soon).
“Do you want to be a vet, too?” Dr. Sheffield smiled at TJ.
He shook his head. “No way. I’m going to make movies.”
“But he likes gross stuff,” I added, and I stepped back so TJ could take a look.
TJ peered in Baxter’s ear. “Ewww! Awesome!”
“There’s definitely an infection in the right ear,” Dr. Sheffield said. “And the left ear is looking a little inflamed, so I think we better treat both.” He cleaned Baxter’s ears and showed us how to use some ear ointment and gave us a copy of his report with instructions written on it for how to take care of his ears. “Between the infection and the ointment, Baxter’s hearing may be affected for a few days, but he’ll be feeling better in no time.”
We were extra careful walking home to go nice and slow and let Baxter sniff as much as he wanted. When people stopped us to ask if they could pet him, I said temporarily no, because I was afraid they would bang into his ears by mistake, but that if they saw us again in a few days, then yes, of course, absolutely.
But when we crossed the park, Tyler came over from the basketball court. He knelt down and put out his hand for Baxter to sniff.
“Be careful of his ears—” I started to say, but Tyler was already petting him.
Only he was petting Baxter so gently that after a minute, Baxter closed his eyes. “Who’s a good boy?” Tyler said quietly.
Then he stood up. “You want to shoot some hoops?” he asked TJ.
“Yeah!”
“See ya later, Jordie,” Tyler said as they started jogging over to the court.
“Tell Mom I’ll be home in ten minutes!” TJ added.
“Who was that?” Professor Reese asked as we started walking again.
“Oh, that’s just Tyler from my class,” I said. “He’s the one I told you about—the worst kid in . . . in the whole class . . .” Only as I was saying it, it felt kind of funny because he’d just been so gentle with Baxter.
“That’s the boy you were telling me about?” she asked.
“Yeah . . .” But it still felt funny. “I guess he is good with dogs.”
Professor Reese nodded. “Indeed.”
15The Barfing Sock-Snake
When we got home from the vet, I put the ear ointment and the copy of the vet report on the Baxter Station. I pulled more blankets out of the linen closet and made his beds extra smooshy, so they would be nice and soft—because even a magical dog needs extra smoosh when he’s not feeling well.
I tucked Baxter into his bed in the lab and snuggled the blankets around him so he wouldn’t get cold.
“I’ll take good care of him tonight, Jordie.” Professor Reese smiled.
So I gave Baxter the tiniest, carefulest kiss right between his crazy eyebrows, and his kiss back landed on my chin. “Get well soon.”
Then I ran home. I wanted to tell Mom about Baxter and all the ways I’d been dependable—because usually she was the one who thought up great opportunities, but she’d been at work the whole time for this one. If I didn’t tell her, how would she know?
So I described getting Baxter to the vet’s on time and learning how to take care of his ear and then bringing him home and settling him into bed after.
“It sounds like you took great care of him, sweetie,” she said.
By the time I got done telling her everything, TJ was already back and working on his short. I went into his room.
“How was shooting hoops with Tyler?”
TJ shrugged. “Fine.”
Caveman and Zombie Cheerleader were in the middle of a battle. Caveman knocked one pom-pom away with his club, Zombie Cheerleader was bending over to pick it up, and TJ was taking picture after picture to capture it all.
“What’s his movie about?” I asked.
“Whose?” TJ snapped another picture.
“Tyler’s. In Video Club.”
TJ looked up from his camera. “It’s about this dirty sock that slides down off Tyler’s foot and slithers around his room, eating little toys on the floor. The sock gets bigger and bigger, and then it gets so big it barfs all the toys back out. Then it slides back onto Tyler’s foot again.” TJ laughed.
He turned back to the battle, lifting Caveman’s foot a tiny bit, getting it ready to kick Zombie Cheerleader in the butt.
“Oh,” I said.
Tyler’s movie sounded really funny. All through dinner, I thought about the sock slithering around the floor, eating toys and
