I walk down the length of stalls to check out the other horses. Some stalls are empty; probably some of the horses are being ridden or are out in pasture. The remaining horses each look at me as I pass. They look enormous. The last stall at the end looks to be an empty one, so I start to turn back. That’s when I hear a banging on the stall door. Maybe there’s a baby horse in there? A colt? I think they’re usually kept alongside their mothers, so this is odd. I follow the noise back to the last stall, peek in, and look down. It’s a little darker down here, but it’s still easy enough to see fresh straw on the floor, plenty of hay in the hayrack, and something that is not a colt right beside the stall door. It’s a lamb. Or maybe a youngish sheep? I’m not sure when they’re not called lambs anymore. This one is fairly small but not exactly a baby. It’s as tall as a golden retriever, but there’s something about the face that tells me it’s still pretty young. So they have sheep here, too?
“Ah, I see you’ve found my mistake,” Mrs. Van Hoven says, coming up behind me.
“Your mistake?” I ask.
“Sylvester. One of my young riders left her 4-H lamb with me when she and her family moved away. It was a donation in exchange for a couple of months’ overdue boarding fees. I thought my grandchildren would enjoy him. But with their school schedules they hardly have time to come over. Frankly, they’re more interested in riding when they are here.” Mrs. Van Hoven shook her head. She seemed sad. The lamb seemed sad, too.
“So you don’t have any other sheep?” I ask.
“Just the one,” Mrs. Van Hoven replies.
Dr. Gabe and Maggie join us. “How old is she? Or he?” Maggie asks.
“He. Sylvester. Nearly a year old,” Mrs. Van Hoven answers.
“Does he get lonely?” I ask. Dr. Gabe is frowning.
Mrs. Van Hoven’s face reddens. “I imagine he does,” she says. “Most of my riders stop by and chat with him—he’s such a friendly boy. And twice a day we turn him loose in the riding ring, so he gets his exercise. Still, I know this can’t be a good life for him. But with everything I have to do to run this place, I haven’t found the time to figure out what’s best for him.”
I remember something I learned from a school trip to a farm back in fourth grade. “Sheep are flock animals,” I say. “I think he needs other sheep.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Sunita,” Mrs. Van Hoven says. “I never should have accepted him. Maybe I’ll get another so he has company. I have plenty of room. In fact, my most eastern pasture would be perfect for sheep.” She turns to Dr. Gabe and asks, “Do you know anyone who might have a lamb or two to sell?”
Dr. Gabe nods. “I call on a few farmers who raise sheep. I can get you some names.”
“I’d really appreciate it, Dr. Gabe. I wish I hadn’t gotten myself into this.” Mrs. Van Hoven walks us out to Dr. Gabe’s truck.
Maggie is quiet as we load the truck and wave good-bye. She doesn’t say anything until we leave the long driveway and pull out onto the road.
“I can’t believe she would neglect a poor animal like that,” she finally says over the pop song playing on the radio.
“Hold on there, Maggie,” Dr. Gabe says, turning the radio down. “She hasn’t been neglecting Sylvester. That is a healthy looking yearling lamb.” He drums his thumbs against the steering wheel and glances at us.
“But how can any animal person think that keeping a lamb alone is a good thing? Sunita and I don’t know much about sheep, but at least we know that they belong in a flock.” Maggie’s face is red as she gestures with her hands and stares out the windshield.
There probably isn’t anyone in the world who cares for animals as much as Maggie does, but I can’t help thinking that she’s being unfair to Mrs. Van Hoven. “She said how she ended up with Sylvester. It’s not really her fault,” I suggest.
“Of course it’s her fault. She should have said no to that kid who tried to give Sylvester to her. It’s irresponsible. We need to do something about this.”
Dr. Gabe snaps off the radio. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Maggie. Let’s not make this a bigger deal than it needs to be. It’s a shame. But I think it’s more of a kindhearted mistake.”
“That’s exactly what she said to me,” I say. “She said I’d found her mistake. I think she really does feel bad about it. I know I would.”
But Maggie is not backing down. “Don’t you think it’s cruel to keep a lamb alone in a stall?”
“Cruel is a strong word, Maggie,” Dr. Gabe says.
“I guess,” Maggie agrees.
Dr. Gabe continues, “I think it’s not ideal. I think it’s a shame. But I know Mrs. Van Hoven, and I know that this lamb—like all of the animals at her farm—has been well cared for. We’ll see what we can do to help. See if we can help her find another.”
Dr. Gabe continues drumming on the steering wheel, Maggie continues to fume, and I think about the entire stable call. I missed my opportunity to work with Tinker because I didn’t speak up, and it might be a long time until I get another chance. Poor Sylvester, it seems like things have just happened to him. He’s kind of like me. Instead of making things happen, maybe I’ve been just letting things happen to me.
Chapter Three
Maggie and I decide to cut through the clinic on our way to the house. Dr. Mac steps out of the recovery area, smiles, and nods to us. Then she calls over to Dr. Gabe at the reception desk, “Got a minute?”
“Sure thing,” he says, stepping into the room with her. Dr. Mac closes the recovery room door behind them.
“That’s odd,” Maggie says. She starts for the door.
“I think your grandmother wants to have a private conversation with Dr. Gabe,” I suggest.
Maggie stops, frowning. “Do you think he’s telling her what I said about Mrs. Van Hoven? Do you think he’s telling her I got upset?”
“She asked to talk to him, not the other way around. I think they’re probably talking about a case. Besides, Dr. Gabe has seen you angry before—we all have. I don’t think this is a very big deal.”
Maggie shrugs. “Yeah, I bet you’re right. And I wasn’t angry. I’m just keenly interested in Sylvester.”
“Right, keeeeenly interested,” I say, stressing the double e’s like Maggie did.
Maggie laughs at my imitation. “Come on, want to get a snack?”
“Yes!” I say. I follow Maggie into the house, thinking that this would be a great time to tell her my news. But before we close the connecting door, we hear, “Hey, guys!”
We turn and see Brenna coming in through the clinic door. Maggie waves her over. Brenna clutches her ever-present camera in one hand and a big envelope in the other.
“What’s up, Brenna? Can you stay?” Maggie is instantly brighter.
“Hey, Maggie. Hey, Sunita, I brought my cross-country packet. Wanna check it out with me?” Brenna moves ahead of us to Dr. Mac’s kitchen. She settles herself at the table as Maggie pokes through the refrigerator.
“Zoe made some snacks and meals for us to eat while she’s gone,” Maggie says, pulling a plastic-wrapped container from the door and sniffing it. “Most of it looks okay. Though I’m sure it’s all pretty healthy, knowing her.”
Brenna hops up and goes to the refrigerator, too. “Zoe is a great cook. You just don’t appreciate her enough.”
Brenna is right. Since Zoe moved back, Maggie and Dr. Mac’s eating habits are much better. I know they eat more fruit now and hardly ever have fast food anymore. Though I know Dr. Mac and Maggie still like pizza delivery. Zoe is the one who does most of the cooking and all of the food planning. The food at my house is often spicier than what my friends eat. After Zoe tasted my mother’s kati roll she begged my mother to teach her how to make it. My mother says Zoe’s kati roll is now finer than her own. I think Zoe will be a famous chef when she grows up.
“Ooh, what about this?” Brenna
asks, uncovering a colorful glass bowl.
Maggie shrugs. “Sure,” she says. Brenna brings the bowl of cut-up watermelon, strawberries, and blueberries to the table. Maggie spoons out servings of the mixed fruit for each of us and then perches on her knees on a kitchen chair. “It’s too bad we don’t have any whipped cream,” she says. “Not only would that make this a perfect Fourth of July snack with the red, white, and blue, but it would taste better, too.”
We laugh, and then Brenna says, “So I’ve decided I want to run cross-country this fall. I was thinking you might want to, too.” Brenna looks at Maggie and then adds, “Oh, and you, too, Sunita. Have you ever thought about cross-country?”
“I’m not really sure what that is,” I say.
“I don’t know, Brenna. I’m planning to play basketball,” Maggie says, readjusting herself on her knees. “If I make the team.”
Brenna puts her spoon down. “You’ll make it. But basketball is a winter sport. Cross-country is in the fall. It would be really good conditioning. You’d be in great shape by the time tryouts began for basketball.” Brenna pulls papers out of the manila envelope. “These are the two permission slips and these are the exercises and runs they suggest you do before the season starts,” Brenna says.
Maggie and Brenna look through the paperwork.
“How is cross-country different than track?” I ask.
“Oh, sorry, Sunita. I didn’t answer you, did I?” Brenna passes me the sheet in her hand. “Cross-country is racing on a course instead of a track. Sometimes the course goes through woods and fields and alongside streams and over hills. It’s a team sport, but you get individual times, too. My brother Sage has run cross-country for years. I’ve gone to a lot of his meets. I can’t say it’s that interesting for spectators because you really don’t see the runners for long. But Sage loves doing it. I’m pretty sure I will, too. What do you say, Maggie? Give it a try?”
Maggie is reading one of the sheets. “The runners are called ‘harriers’?”
Brenna shrugs. “I’m pretty sure I’ve heard that. But mostly they’re just called runners.”
“Yeah, well, good. ’Cause I’m not doing any sport that would make me a harrier.” Maggie smirks.
Brenna bats at the sheet that Maggie holds and asks again, “So? Give it a try? Train with me this summer?”
“Maybe,” Maggie says. “I’ll think about it.”
Brenna doesn’t ask me again, even though I never did answer her. Even though I’m not sure that I would even like running, it seems like Brenna and Maggie have left me behind somehow.
Dr. Mac comes in about an hour later. “Will you stay for supper, Brenna? Sunita is staying with us, and Zoe left us well stocked with good meals.”
“I’d like to. Let me call my folks and see if it’s okay with them,” Brenna says, reaching into her pocket for her phone.
“Ask if you can stay overnight, too!” Maggie adds. She looks at her grandmother, who nods a yes.
I like Brenna Lake a lot. She’s smart and fun to be with. She cares so much about the environment and about animals. She’s also an amazing photographer. But I thought it was going to be just Maggie and me tonight. I was looking forward to not having to share her or compete for her attention.
Brenna hangs up her phone and says, “No problem! I can stay. This will be fun!”
I instantly feel guilty. It will be fun. Of course it will.
After we eat dinner, we find Zoe’s sleeping bag for Brenna to use. Dr. Mac gives her a new toothbrush, and Maggie finds a pair of shorts and a T-shirt for Brenna to sleep in.
Dr. Mac says, “It will be handy to have you girls here tonight. I can use the help double-checking all our kenneled dogs.”
“Oh, of course,” Brenna says. “My folks are doing the same thing with all our critters at the rehab center.”
Brenna’s family runs a wildlife rehabilitation center. At any time they could have recuperating skunks or raccoons, orphaned does or porcupines. They could even have ducklings and rabbits.
“How often do the wild animals freak?” Maggie asks.
“Actually, they’re not usually as bad as our own dogs,” Brenna says. “Mom and Dad just make sure they won’t hurt themselves if they do get scared. But usually the wildlife don’t seem to notice.”
“Unlike here,” Dr. Mac says. “Let’s do a quick check and then leave you girls to your fun.”
We follow Dr. Mac to the boarding kennels, where we take care of dogs whose families are on vacation or who need extended recovery time. Because of the holiday, the kennels are nearly full with the potential fireworks freakers and all the pets whose owners have gone away.
“I’ve already fed everyone and let them out for some exercise.” Dr. Mac says. “Now we just need to secure them for the night.”
Usually, most of the healthy dogs are allowed to go from their kennel out to their fenced run anytime they’d like. It keeps them calmer and healthier to come and go as they wish. But tonight isn’t safe. A worried dog can hurt itself trying to run away in fear, so it’s better to keep them enclosed in a smaller space. One by one, we go through the kennel securing all the doors to keep them safely locked in tonight.
I was afraid of thunderstorms and fireworks when I was little. My brother, Harshil, is still afraid of both. I think it’s even harder for him because Jasmine, his twin, is not. Sometimes she even teases him about it. I wonder what it will be like for him being with all the cousins in New Jersey this holiday weekend. I’m sure they’ll see fireworks one night. I hope they don’t give him a hard time.
“Tomorrow morning is likely to be extra messy,” Dr. Mac says, interrupting my thoughts.
“Why?” I ask, latching the last lock.
“Because some of these dogs may pee or poop if they’re frightened,” Dr. Mac replies. “And some of them are just used to letting themselves out anytime they have the urge to go. So don’t stay up too late, girls. I’ll need your help in the morning.”
“No problem,” Brenna says.
I nod. If we can get to them early enough, chances are there will be fewer “accidents” to take care of. But either way, cleaning up after the animals is a part of the job. All of the Vet Volunteers are used to it—even if none of us likes it.
As we’re heading back into the house, Dr. Mac asks, “Did you girls want me to drive you to see the fireworks tonight?”
We look at one another. I love fireworks these days, but I was really looking forward to a quieter night tonight. Still, I don’t know what Maggie and Brenna want to do, so I don’t say anything.
Maggie says, “You know, we can usually see most of the fireworks from the backyard. If they’re setting them off from the same place, anyway.”
“I believe they are,” Dr. Mac says. “I can drive you over tomorrow night if you don’t have a good view tonight. Is that what you want to do?”
We all agree that this is a good idea. So we’ll go out when it’s dark and the fireworks start. In the meantime, we can talk about my news.
But before I have a chance to say anything, Brenna cuts in, “Hey, what if we slept out tonight? Dr. Mac, do you still have your three-man tent?”
“I think so. Check the back shelf of the garage,” Dr. Mac says. “It’s fine with me.”
Brenna and Maggie race to the garage, and I follow slowly behind. I hate sleeping outside. Tent or no tent. I can never get comfortable, and I really don’t like all the bugs. I know I should say something and let them know how I feel, but I don’t want to sound like a baby. They seem so excited, so I just keep it to myself.
Chapter Four
Whoever used the tent last did a sloppy job of putting it away, so it takes a while to get everything untangled. But Maggie and Brenna are good at remembering how it’s supposed to look and pretty quickly we have a wrinkly, musty tent all set up. We decided to put it in the grass
behind the house. We’re away from the street and the parking lot, but still close enough that we can run into the house easily if we have to use the bathroom. It’s also a good spot from which to watch the fireworks.
“This will be great!” Brenna says. They’re both so happy, so I try to be, too.
“Wish we’d thought of it earlier. It could have been airing out,” Maggie says, wrinkling her nose.
Brenna pulls out her camera and snaps a picture of Maggie beside the tent.
“The light is perfect,” Brenna says. She motions me to stand beside Maggie and takes a few more shots. “Oh, Sunita, the slant of light is giving your gorgeous hair an amazing sheen of purple. Trust me, it looks great.”
She turns the camera so we can see the pictures, shielding the screen with her hand. Even so, there is a glare that makes it too hard for me to see what she sees. But I don’t say anything.
“Sweet,” Maggie says. Then she makes a goofy face, and Brenna takes a shot.
“You must be channeling your inner David. He usually poses like that.” Brenna laughs.
“Let’s get our gear,” Maggie says, and we head back inside.
As we gather our stuff Brenna says, “Let’s not take the flashlights out. The fireworks and the stars can be our light tonight.”
“Fun,” Maggie says. “And we should try not to use our phones, either. It’ll be like we’re in the woods instead of just the backyard.”
This means we can’t use my new notepad to make the special list. Should I tell them my news or wait to tell just Maggie tomorrow night? I guess I won’t mention the documentary I brought. Maybe we can watch it tomorrow night when it’s just Maggie and me. I’m disappointed, but I remember to text my folks to say good night. They reply, and then I put my phone on top of the DVD and follow Maggie and Brenna back out to the tent.
We’re able to lie on our backs with our heads outside the tent and see most of the fireworks. Maggie is in the middle, and Brenna and I are on either side of her. As the bursts of light and color explode in the sky, we comment on which ones we like best. Brenna and I laugh when Maggie says that her favorites are the ones that make a sound like someone screaming. That’s so Maggie.
Left Behind Page 2
