“You’ve ruined it,” Jayvee says. He takes it from my hands and refolds.
“You know I didn’t mean to do that, right, Jayvee?”
“This is a Dimetrodon. It was really hard to make. You should be more careful,” he says.
“You’re right. I was just trying to have some fun with you,” I say.
He looks at me suspiciously.
“Really,” I say. “Looks like you’ve fixed it. Good as new.”
He holds it up for me to see. It’s obvious it’s not good as new.
Mom ruffles his hair. “She didn’t mean to wreck it. Now, let’s get this cleaned up.”
Jayvee shoots me another look.
“Sorry,” I say, one more time. This sure has been a sorry-full day.
“Hey, Jayvee, how about if we set up your dinosaurs outside in the grass and rocks, and I’ll take pictures of them?” I suggest.
“Why?”
“Well, if I take close-ups, it’ll look like your origami dinosaurs are life-size. You could make a book of them. Or just hang the pictures up in your room.”
“Okay!” He gathers all the paper quickly, and then he gently places each dinosaur in a decorated shoebox. “Let’s go,” he says.
Jayvee and I arrange his dinosaurs behind our property in the Gold Hills Nature Preserve. A couple of the fallen logs have prehistoric-looking fungi growing on them. The dinosaurs look great in this setting. The light is dappled, and I am getting some great shots. If Jayvee hadn’t forgiven me already, I was sure he would when he saw these pictures.
“Jayvee, can you move that blue dinosaur a bit closer to the fiddlehead ferns?”
“Like this?” he asks.
“Exactly, and maybe bring the pink dinosaur closer to that mint green one?”
“That’s a Pteranodon. It’s supposed to fly. Want me to hold it in the air so it looks like it’s flying?”
“No, that’ll ruin the effect. I wonder if we can string it up and hang it from one of these bushes?” We could use fishing line,” I suggest.
“You’d poke a hole in my dinosaur?” Jayvee asks.
“Just a little one. And if we used fishing line, it’d be hard to see it in the pictures. It would really look like it was flying.”
“I don’t want you poking holes in my dinosaurs. That’s as bad as when you squished my Dimetrodon.” He scowls at me a little.
“Okay, we’ll make do.” I am about to suggest that we could perch and angle it on a log so it looks like it just touched down from flying, when through my viewfinder, I see something white and fluffy. Something that does not look as if it belongs in these woods.
“Jayvee,” I whisper. “Try not to move much, but turn slowly, and tell me what kind of little animal is behind your right shoulder.”
Jayvee’s eyes grow wide, but he does as I ask. Growing up here, Jayvee is as used to animals as I am. So when he sees it, he quietly answers, “It’s a bunny. Not a wild one, looking like that. Fluffy white with blue-blue eyes. It’s gotta be someone’s pet.”
“Not again,” I say. “We should rescue it, buddy. What do you say?”
Jayvee stays in crouched position and says, “I can probably get it if you go wide around me in case it gets scared and tries to run that way.”
I do as he suggests. I circle wide, keeping an eye on the tiny thing. When I’m in position, I tell him, “Go ahead, Jayvee.”
He moves slowly, and then—quickly. He swoops the bunny up before it even knew what was happening. Definitely not a wild rabbit.
“You have some fast hands there, my man,” I say.
Jayvee beams. He holds the bunny firmly but gently. “Let’s take it to Mom.”
“Want me to gather your dinosaurs?” I ask.
“Be careful,” he says. And I am.
Mom examines the bunny thoroughly. Jayvee and I prepare another cage in the critter barn for this new occupant.
“It’s a female lionhead,” Mom says. “Certainly not native. And I’d say only a little over eight weeks old.”
“Lionhead?” Jayvee asks. “How do you know? It doesn’t look like it has a lionhead.”
“It will,” Mom replies. “See this little ruff between its ears? As it gets older that ruff will extend right around its head. It’ll look like a lion’s mane. This will be a very cute rabbit.”
Mom puts the bunny in the cage that Jayvee and I have prepared. She gives it a little pat on its head, closes the tiny door, and then sighs.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. The bunny’s water bottle is dripping a bit. I tap it.
“We are getting overrun by rabbits,” Mom says.
“But they don’t eat a lot,” Jayvee says. “Do they?” He looks as if he thinks he’s done something wrong.
“No, son, they don’t. And I’m glad you found this little girl and were able to catch her. It’s just that I thought we were going to have an easy post-Easter census. But it’s climbing. One more animal means more work, and there’s only so much time in a day.”
“Do you need us to help out more?” I ask. I fiddle with the bunny’s water bottle to make it stand up straight. The dripping slows. Then stops. Good.
“You kids have school.” Mom rubs her forehead. “Sage is busier than usual with his classes this semester. We’re all just spread a little thin right now.”
“Oh,” Jayvee says. “Do you wish I hadn’t caught this bunny?” Jayvee does not look at Mom. He faces the bunny, but I can see his eyes glancing sideways.
“No, no, no,” she says. “I am very happy you were able to rescue her. And we’re fine here. We always manage.”
Mom looks at me and smiles a funny smile: half smile, half frown. I shrug my shoulders and smile back at her.
Mom ruffles Jayvee’s hair and pulls me into a hug. “I’ve raised such talented animal rescuers. Hey, I think I have a few oatmeal cookies left in the jar. What do you say we polish them off?”
Walking back to the house, Mom and Jayvee trade job title suggestions:
“Rabbit Wrangler.”
“Bunny Buckaroo.”
“Hare Herder . . .”
Meanwhile, I wonder how I can help Mom and our rehab center. There must be some way to get these bunnies adopted.
Chapter Five
On Sunday, Maggie, Sunita, Jules, and I check on the ducklings as soon as we arrive. Maggie and Dr. Mac had already fed and cleaned up after them first thing this morning. The ducklings look better—and bigger—than they did just the day before. What a relief. We can’t stop grinning at one another as we check their water bowl and adjust the heat lamp. Jules peeps sweetly to the healthy-looking ducklings before we move on.
We begin cleaning the exam rooms. They’re right across the hall from each other, so we keep the doors open and talk with one another as we clean. Maggie and I work on the Dolittle Room, and Sunita and Jules handle the Herriot.
“It’s strange having so few of us here today,” Sunita calls from the other room.
Maggie is gloved and restocking supplies in the small cabinet beside me. She says, “I know David has been looking forward to the horse judging for months.”
Sunita asks, “Is he a judge, or is Trickster being judged?”
Maggie closes the cupboard. “No, he and Josh are volunteer ambassadors. They’re supposed to welcome people, get the judges coffee, run paperwork back and forth between the ring and the judges’ booth. And something else. I can’t actually remember everything he told me. Glorified gophers, Gran called them.”
“How about Zoe?” comes Jules’s voice from the Herriot Room.
“I don’t know,” Maggie begins. “She might have gone to the horse show. I haven’t seen her since she walked across the street to David’s house. If she did go, I’m sure she wasn’t planning to muck stalls or do manual work of any kind, though. She was pretty dressed up.”
That makes me smile. Zoe sure knows how to put an outfit together. She brings a lot of Hollywood glam to Ambler, Pennsylvania. But what could she be doing at the horse show? It doesn’t seem like her kind of thing.
It’s a quiet weekend at Dr. Mac’s, which is unusual. But it means it’s going to be a short day even without the boys’ and Zoe’s help. Sunita, Maggie, Jules, and I pet the cats for a while, then head out behind the clinic.
Dr. Mac has boarding kennels out back, where dogs that have recovered sufficiently stay until they’re ready to go home. Plus, we board healthy dogs when their people are on vacation. But this weekend, Dr. Mac has only one dog—the recovering German shepherd, Baron—in the kennel. We take Baron out on the leash for a walk around the outside of the chain-link-fenced kennel runs. He is still wearing the cone around his head, and his legs are bandaged, but he gets around pretty well. He stops and sniffs at every weed, rock, and stick. He tries to get a big stick in the corner of the fencing, but his cone won’t let him get close enough.
“Poor boy, do you want that stick?” Jules asks. Baron barks. He knows exactly what Jules is asking him. Jules tries to give the stick to him. But again, his cone makes it impossible for him to put it in his mouth.
“Try breaking it in half,” Maggie suggests. You can always count on Maggie for solutions. Jules breaks the stick over her knee and gives the smaller half to the dog. Success. The shepherd carries it in his mouth for the rest of his walk.
When we get to the far side of the kennel runs, Baron drops his stick and barks like crazy. In the corner, where two of the chain-link fences come together, a rabbit is stuck.
“Oh no, get Baron out of here,” Maggie urges Jules. Jules immediately pulls Baron’s leash and trots back the way we came.
“I’ll get gloves and a towel,” Sunita says, running after them.
Maggie and I creep up and bend down to get a closer look at the rabbit. At first, it’s hard to tell how it is stuck.
“Its back legs are tangled in the right corner of that fence, see? And I think its head is stuck in the bottom of the other fence,” Maggie says, pointing to show me.
“I wonder how it managed to get stuck in both,” I say. “Where was it going? What direction did it start from?”
“The big question now is how do we get it out of there without hurting it?” she asks.
The rabbit isn’t bleeding. In fact, it doesn’t actually look hurt, just stuck. But it’s breathing fast and its eyes are wide and wild-looking.
“It’s scared,” I say. “It might bite.”
“What if we untangle the back legs from the one fence first,” Maggie suggests.
“O-kay,” I say, unsure of how we’re going to do this.
“Then we can put a towel over her head and pull her back through the other fence,” Maggie says.
“Her ears might get caught if we pull her through backward,” I say.
Maggie sighs, “I hate to pull her whole body through forward when it’s only her head that’s stuck.” She sighs again. “But I see what you mean about her ears.”
Sunita is back with gloves and towels. “Jules is locking Baron in his cage. She’ll be back soon.”
“Maybe we can bend the fencing up from the ground to make a really big hole, and then you can safely pull her backward,” I suggest. “It looks—what’s the word—pliable? I think two of us can bend and hold it while you get the rabbit out from beneath it.”
We agree that we will try this. All of us put on the heavy work gloves that Sunita brought. Light, latex exam gloves would not protect us from a rabbit’s razor-sharp front teeth.
Maggie drapes the rabbit in the towel and holds her firmly. I untangle the back legs from the first fence. Then Sunita and I get on opposite sides of Maggie and the rabbit. We pull the fencing toward us from the bottom as Maggie gently pushes the bunny’s head down toward the ground. We don’t want the bending fence to cut her. Bending the fence is harder than we thought it would be. Sunita grunts. I take a big breath. My biceps are killing me.
“Higher,” Maggie whispers.
I look across to Sunita. She nods and we ease the fence up just a little more. Maggie slides the towel-wrapped rabbit back through the hole, and it’s free. But then, Maggie lets go of the rabbit, and it races alongside the fence and then cuts toward the woods.
“You shouldn’t have let it go!” I yell. “It could have spinal damage or other injuries!”
“I didn’t mean to,” Maggie says. “It twisted away from me. The towel bunched up, and she wriggled out!”
“Well, it couldn’t have spinal injuries and run that fast,” Sunita says. “I’m sure it will be okay.” She’s right. We did our best. We rescued the rabbit.
“We have a fence to fix,” I say. “I’m pretty good at that.” After we get pliers and a hammer, we fix the fence and go back to cleaning the exam rooms. What was supposed to be a quick walk with Baron to stretch all our legs turned into an hour’s interruption and one rescued rabbit. Not bad for a potty break, I suppose.
All four of us are nearly done with the exam rooms. We just have to mop both rooms and then head to clean the recovery room. Dr. Mac is cleaning the operating room today, so we can skip it.
“We need a plan for the ducklings,” I say to everyone.
Jules calls out from the Herriot Room, “I thought your family was taking them for now!”
“We are. But I mean something bigger. Something long-range.”
“Like what?” Maggie asks.
Jules and Sunita stop what they were doing and stand in our doorway.
“Every year my parents complain about the post-Easter abandonments,” I say.
“Gran, too,” Maggie adds.
“So I’ve been thinking, we need to do something now. Not wait till next year.”
Sunita steps into the Dolittle Room. “What can we do now?” she asks.
I look at my friends. “We need to find out who is selling these ducklings, chicks, and bunnies for Easter.”
Maggie stops counting gauze squares and looks up at me. “Good idea,” she says. “But how?”
“We can divide it up and ask around. We’ve done this before. A couple of us can take the feed store. And the pet store. Jules, your folks aren’t selling any animals at the hardware store, are they?”
“No. Why would you think that?”
“Some hardware stores do. I researched last night. Feed stores, tractor-supply stores, and hardware stores sometimes sell baby chicks to people who want to start a small flock of chickens. Some of those stores sell ducklings and bunnies at Easter, too.”
Sunita’s jaw drops. She closes it. “I had no idea,” she says. “We need to get them to stop.”
“But how?” Maggie asks. “People have the right to raise chickens if they want. Ducks, too.”
“First, we can try to figure out who is selling them. Then we can tell the store owners what happens to many of these animals. Maybe we can get them to screen their customers. Find out who intends to actually raise the animals responsibly and who was thinking of a cute pet for a day. Or . . . well, I don’t know. We’ll think of something. But we do this this week, okay?” Sunita, Jules, and Maggie all nod.
Jules says, “Josh and I can check out the pet store. It’s not far from us.”
Sunita adds, “I’ll join you. Maybe we should stop into the animal shelter and find out what they know. It might help us get a sense of how many abandoned pets we’re all dealing with.”
“Good idea. Maggie, do you want to go with me to the tractor supply and the feed store? We can get David to help. He has friends at both places, too.”
“Sure. And Zoe, too. Right?” Maggie asks.
“Right,” I say. “Zoe can charm them into telling us everything we want to know.”
Sunita laughs.
“What if we d
id little presentations about this to our science classes?” I suggest.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Jules says. “It’s hard doing that kind of thing in front of your whole class. And I wouldn’t know what to say.”
“We could write it together. Maybe make a poster. It wouldn’t be like giving a speech. It would just be sharing a few facts with kids you already know.” I’m feeling even stronger about this.
“Come on, Jules. What if we prepare something short as a group. We can each make a poster, and the presentation won’t take long. Five minutes. Tops.” I look at Sunita and Maggie. They don’t look thrilled, but they shrug and nod yes.
“I’ll post it on the blog, too,” I add.
Jules still doesn’t look convinced. “You like public speaking,” she says to me. “You’re good at it.”
“I got good at it by doing it. You can do it, too, Jules. You can,” I urge.
“But why do this with our classmates? They probably didn’t buy any baby bunnies or ducklings,” Jules asks.
“Education,” I say. “If we can reach our classmates now, that’s a whole lot of people who won’t be so irresponsible in the future. Besides, they’ll tell other people. It’ll be a revolution!” I may be taking this a little far. But this seems to convince Jules.
She nods. Done.
“How about as soon as we’re done cleaning, we make up a little sheet? Maybe ten bullet points, something simple? Then we can make copies for all of us and be ready for Monday.” Everyone nods. Good.
“Wait until the rest of them hear what you’ve roped us all into, Brenna,” Maggie says. “We should get back to work so we have time to work on the presentation.”
We do just that. Working quickly, we finish cleaning the exam rooms. Jules brings the hot, soapy mop bucket to our door. “Want me to get your room? I’m in a mopping mood,” she says.
Maggie laughs and waves Jules in. “Wouldn’t want to crush your mood. Go for it.”
That’s when Zoe arrives.
“Where are the boys?” Maggie asks.
“How should I know?’ Zoe answers.
“Weren’t you with them at the horse show?”
Treading Water Page 4
