A month later when Helen brought mother and babies in for their first baby shots, the pups were already more than half as large as their mother. Jenny waddled over to lick my hand with both pups hanging off her like Romulus and Remus from their wolf mother in that Roman statue. She could barely walk.
I caught her looking at them quizzically a time or two, as though wondering if she could have forgotten a close encounter with some kind of giant canine alien that produced these monsters.
"I've supplemented them since they were a week old," Helen said. "And I'm really throwing the food to Jenny. She simply doesn't have enough milk for those critters."
By the time they were six weeks old they were eating solid food as well as supplement. "I'm weaning them early," Helen said. She put them all down on the floor of the examining room. The two pups were already as big as their mother.
As pups do, the two little ones immediately started roughhousing. Jenny looked on patiently until they rolled into her. Instantly she snapped at them. Both pups scurried under the examining table.
"She's definitely socialized them," I laughed. "Dr. Parmenter will be pleased. So will Elvira, the owner."
"I can't bear to send them back." Helen said, scooping up both pups, one in each arm.
"Helen, be sensible. What are you going to do with a pair of Irish wolfhounds?"
"I know, I know. The thing is, I think they're both show quality. All that good beagle milk, I guess."
"Can you afford to buy them?"
"Lord, no. And it wouldn't be even remotely possible if Gladys hadn't delivered more pups than the names on the waiting list. But I've been talking to Elvira. She and I have known one another from dog shows for donkey's years, but you know, different breeds, different class times at the shows. We never really got friendly. Anyway, she's come out to my place a couple of times to visit. We're going into partnership on them. I'll train them, she'll show them, and we'll split the expenses. Then whoever champions out first, she'll get pick of the litter on the first litter."
She leaned over the examining table. Both pups could already stand on the table and put their paws on her shoulders while they licked her and whacked me across the chest with their tails.
While she took jenny out to her truck on her lead, I carried the pups and slid them into their travel cages for the ride home. Jenny hopped into the front seat beside Helen and was fastened into the seat belt of her traveling seat. "Just like a baby, aren't you, good girl?" Helen crooned.
She turned on her ignition and leaned out her window. "I've had to buy bigger cages, and my food bill has gone sky high, not to mention having a pair of bull moose to raise. Next time you ask me for a favor, remind me to say no."
Chapter 16
In which Mr. Poochie gets his comeuppance
Finding a wet nurse for wolfhounds wasn't the only trouble Dr. Parmenter got me in.
At that point the clinic had been open several years, but Morgan, Sarah, Nathan and I were still living in The Hideous House.
Morgan's father had left him a sizeable inheritance, plus trust funds for the children's educations. We decided to use the inheritance as collateral for a construction loan. Morgan arranged a loan for Eli at the same time and the same interest so that we could build her a house south of the clinic at the same time we built our own house north of the clinic. In the meantime, we had invested in a state-of-the-art kennel and boarding area behind the doublewide we were still using for the clinic. I said it was crazy to build from the back to the front, but Morgan said that being able to board animals and have good care facilities to care for animals who were hurt would generate enough income to pay for a good part of the clinic construction.
As usual, he was right.
With the kennels open, we needed a someone to clean and care for the area and the animals. Roy Wilson recommended a kid named Duane Goodpasture. He was kind, good-natured, competent, liked animals, but couldn't function in a complicated world. He learned the job quickly and fit right in.
One early May in the late seventies, Dr. Parmenter called. "Maggie," he said without preamble, "I want a favor." He cleared his throat. "That is the Memphis Zoo wants a favor."
"The zoo? Are you working at the zoo?"
"No indeed. I am, however, on the board of directors. This par ticular chore has fallen to me. I need you to house twenty monkeys for two weeks."
"What?"
"You'll be paid for their care. The zoo will deliver them and pick them up. They'll be there in two hours."
"Whoa! Dr. Parmenter,we can't handle monkeys. We don't have the facilities, for one thing, or the expertise for another."
"You handled monkeys in school and after, Doctor," he said. When he called me Doctor I always knew I was in big trouble. "These monkeys are not diseased, they are simply homeless for a couple of weeks."
"How..."
"Some idiot threw a lighted cigarette into a trash can in the monkey house and started a fire."
I froze. Animals do not mix with fires. Especially caged animals that can't get away.
"There was some minor smoke inhalation, but those monkeys will be kept under observation in the zoo hospital. The monkey house, however, must be repainted inside and out. The monkeys do not react at all well to the odor of new paint. They must be moved and the zoo does not have the space available."
"So you want to send them out here? Dr. Parmenter, I'm afraid..."
"Doctor, I am asking you to take twenty of the creatures. I am taking six, several of the other local vets are taking a dozen or more. It is your civic duty."
"Dr. Parmenter, I don't even live in Memphis."
"It is your local zoo, dammit."
"We can't handle twenty. We don't have the cage space. What kind of monkeys anyway?"
"Spider monkeys. A Colubus or two. A couple of squirrel monkeys. Nothing terribly exotic."
"Nothing like a mandrill? Nothing big and ferocious?"
"Small monkeys. Monkeys with which you had experience during the summer before your senior year."
He knew darned well he'd recommended me for that internship, and that I might not have met Morgan without it. That was playing dirty.
"I'll have to ask Eli."
"Tell her. The monkeys will be there this afternoon."
"A dozen, all right?"
"Good. That's what I'd planned to give you anyway." He went on to describe the monkeys, their reactions to the paint, their needs, and their schedules in detail. Then he hung up.
Old fox. Scare me with twenty to get me to house the number he'd already selected. I went to find Duane, Eli, and our receptionist, Mildred Wilkins, to tell them we'd would be a bit more crowded than we'd expected for the next couple of weeks.
"Apparently the stink of the new paint bothered them," I said.
"How on earth do you tell if a spider monkey, one of God's most hysterical creatures at the best of times, is upset?" Eli asked.
"They aren't eating, and instead of grooming one another the way they normally do, they're attacking one another and pulling out gew-gobs of fur. The staff decided the only way to get rid of the smell is to totally repaint the inside of the building."
"Oh, fresh paint will certainly smell lovely. They'd love that," Eli said.
"Right. So they decided to move the monkeys until the painting was finished and dried so they wouldn't get sick."
"Why on earth would they call you?"
"Dr. Parmenter is on the board of directors at the zoo. Look, food is furnished, transport to and from the zoo is furnished. The keepers will put them in the cages for us and take them out when they go home. We won't even have to look at them except to give them their fresh fruit and monkey chow every day."
"Two weeks?"
"At most. Probably three or four days," said I with my fingers crossed.
"Lord help us."
Mildred was delighted at the prospect of 'cute little monkeys'
Wanda Jean, our new surgical assistant who was fresh out of vet tech
school, was horrified. She'd been around monkeys when she worked as a docent at the zoo as a teenager. "Those things are demons from hell. just wait until they start to throw things at you-and I'm not talking about their food."
Duane was calm as usual. "If all I have to do is hose out the cages and feed them thangs, I can do it."
The zoo van arrived an hour later.
When the keepers opened the rear door, Mildred's dark eyes grew huge. "Jesus and all the saints, listen to those things." One of the keepers jumped out of the van holding a wire carrier in which a large brindle male monkey rode. He clutched the front of his cage, rolled his lips back from vicious incisors, shook his mane, and screamed.
Mildred yelped and ran back into the building. Duane, Eli and I watched until all the monkeys were safely locked in our cages.
Within an hour the monkeys discovered that if they worked carefully with their clever little hands, they could unhook their water dishes from their cages. They spilled the water on the floor, of course, but that hardly mattered when they could create such a pleasant cacophony by banging the empty dishes on the wire and the concrete floor.
"Mildred," I said, "keep everybody-and I do mean everybodyout of that room. If possible, don't even let the clients know we have visiting monkeys. Closed door at all times. Got it?"
She nodded. Her opinion of cute little monkeys had altered drastically in an hour. "They look so cute," she said sadly. "I know they train monkeys to help people with disabilities. I saw it on television."
"You may have also seen a horror movie where the helper monkey takes over the guy's life and murders all his friends," I said. "These guys don't just hurl water dishes and banana peels. The big males can be regular Mickey Mantles with monkey poop."
"Yukk."
By their second day, they had grown bored and had settled down somewhat. Despite my command that none of the clients should be told about the monkeys, everybody who came in had heard about them and wanted to see them. Mildred had her hands full keeping them from 'just taking a little peek'
She did fairly well until the morning of the third day. She scurried into my office and dosed the door. "Mr. Poochie Gamble's out there. He wants to see the monkeys."
"He can't."
"Are you kidding? You try saying no to Mr. Poochie."
The door behind her opened and Mr. Poochie stuck his snow-white head inside. As the largest breeder of Santa Gertrudis cattle in north Mississippi and a big client of the clinic, Mr. Poochie usually got the red carpet treatment as a matter of course.
"Hey, Maggie," he said. "Hear tell y'all got some monkeys. I come by to see 'em."
"Now, Mr. Poochie, we're not letting anyone in the room with the monkey cages. They are very easily upset. You wouldn't want to upset them, would you?"
Mildred slid around him and fled back to her office.
"Honey, if the IRS don't never say no to of Poochie, you don't think I'd let a pretty little thing like you get away with it, now do you?" His smile was brilliant, but there was a hint of crocodile in those white teeth.
I came around the desk. "Mr. Poochie, you know I can't let you in there and not let every other Tom, Dick, and Harry in as well. Why, if one of those monkeys was to get out, they might eat you alive. I can't afford to have you sue me. The insurance company would cancel my liability insurance in a heartbeat."
"Sweet thing, if of Poochie can handle one of them big of bulls, ain't no problem handling a tee-ninesy little monkey. I ain't gonna sue you, no matter what happens." He leaned over and called down the hall to Mildred, "You hear that? Whatever happens is on my head."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Poochie," Mildred said.
"Come on, Miss Maggie, let me in there."
"All right. I'll let you in and shut the door on you. Look to your heart's content, although you better be quick at ducking. You will not, and I mean this, not so much as crack the door of one of those cages."
"Anything you say, sweet thing."
"If even one of those monsters gets out, you're on your own. I won't lift a finger to rescue you."
Mr. Poochie merely grinned and patted me on the butt.
I let him into the monkey room with a dire warning of consequences. He waved me off.
I went to the reception area. I'd be willing to bet Mr. Poochie would try to open one of those cages. I prayed he wouldn't be successful.
"How come a grown man is called Poochie?" Mildred asked. "Does he have a real name?"
"I have no idea. He's older than Methuselah, and I've never heard a soul call him anything but Mr. Poochie."
"Maggie, help!" Mr. Poochie ran out the doorto the monkey room and slammed it behind him. He wiped his face with an immaculate linen handkerchief. "One of those imps of Satan is running around loose trying to open all the other cages."
"I warned you not to open the cages."
"I just cracked one door a teensy little bit, swear to God. Honey, either I ain't as fast as I think I am or them monkeys is faster than a rat snake chasing after a bullfrog. You got to get him back in his cage."
"No, I don't. You let him out, you put him back. I'm not about to get bitten over your foolishness."
"How the hell am I gonna do that?"
"Come on." I went into the storeroom and brought him a capture net plus a couple of towels. "Enjoy yourself."
I kept my ear to the door listening for human screams. I planned to help him, but he deserved a little punishment first. Mr. Poochie used words even his mother wouldn't have understood. The monkeys went insane.
After five minutes when I was ready to give him a hand, I heard a cage door slam. By the time he staggered out I was halfway down the hall.
"You come right on back here, young lady," he gasped and wiped his face with an immaculate linen handkerchief.
"Yessir?" I turned a bland face toward him.
"Here's your dad-blighted net and your consamed towels. That's no monkey, that's a miniature gorilla." He stalked past me, then came back shaking his finger at me. "If you ever let me do something that dad-blasted stupid again in this lifetime, I swear I'll take my bid-ness elsewhere." He thought a minute. "And after I die, I'll come back to haunt you, see if I don't. My family is notorious haunters."
"Yessir, Mr. Poochie." I managed to keep the grin off my face until he grinned first.
"Oh, hell, I got to go home and get the monkey stink off me." He walked out without another word.
From then on, I never had a minute's trouble with him. If he started getting fractious, I only had to mention monkeys and he'd quiet right down.
Chapter 17
In which Sarah displays her gift
By the time my daughter Sarah turned seven in 19811 knew that she was one of those rare people with an almost spiritual ability to communicate with animals. Considering that she had precious little patience with the foibles of human beings, I found her talent surprising.
She'd complain when she had to ride along on one of my calls, but if she went with me to Patsy Dalrymple's place to worm all Patsy's horses, I'd find Sarah in the pasture rubbing noses with one of Patsy's skittish young foals when I was done. They nibbled Sarah's fingers and blew in Sarah's nose as if she were simply another small horse on its hind legs.
Morgan had built me my house-a simple two story Georgian, but a palace compared to The Hideous House. Eli had moved into her new cottage, and the clinic was housed in its first permanent building.
One glorious April morning, I walked out onto the patio behind our new house to check on the pink azaleas I had planted before I walked across to the clinic for morning surgery.
I nearly jumped out of my skin as a yellow streak flew across the lawn twenty feet away to disappear into the trees. At first I thought it must be a bobcat, but bobcats don't have long, furry yellow tails. Theoretically, there were no panthers or cougars or mountain lions remaining in Fayette County. I knew that was untrue, however, because I nearly ran over one on a misty morning in the Wolf River bottoms. This animal, however, wasn't
large enough to be what the old farmers around here called 'a painter.'
I never expected to see the yellow critter again, but the following morning it streaked across my field of vision the same way. I didn't get a good look at it for at least a month. Then one afternoon in early May when the weather was still cool enough to sit outside and the mosquitoes weren't yet large enough to carry off small children, I fell asleep on my patio chaise longue after a God-awful day handling one emergency after another.
I woke suddenly feeling somebody was watching me. Thirty feet away the biggest, ugliest yellow cat I had ever seen glared at me.
That glare said I was the interloper.
We stared at one another for what seemed like hours. I must admit I looked away first. When I looked back this thing, whatever it was, it stalked off straight down the middle of the pasture toward the back of the property.
Asa general rule, cats do not walk down the center of any open stretch. They skirt. They slink. They skitter. Occasionally they run like hell. This guy sauntered off as cocky as an African lion. He must have weighed thirty pounds at least, but he didn't look fat. He looked like a heavyweight boxer in training for a title bout. His skull probably weighed as much as the average house cat. But he wasn't a bobcat or a lynx. He had plenty of tail and no tufts in his ears.
I called a buddy in the Fish and Wildlife Service and described the cat.
Kent broke out laughing before I'd even finished detailing the faint tabby markings on the yellow coat.
"Dr. Maggie, you have got yourself a bona fide Tennessee Feral Cat. You're damned lucky to have seen one at all. They're extremely rare. "
"I never heard of a Tennessee Feral Cat. You're putting me on, right?"
"Not at all."
"What you're saying is that this cat is the second or third generation of some escaped alley cats."
"I mean nothing of the sort. The Tennessee Feral Cat is a real breed. If you go down to the Pink Palace Museum in Memphis, you can see a stuffed one-pretty ratty and probably eightyyears old. They originated from English tabbies that mated with local wild felines and evolved. Any wild cat tends to revert to that solid yellow with tabby points after three or four generations. These have been around a lot longer than that. They're pretty shy."
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