End of the Race Read Free

and from around the infected areas. Gently, I hold the dog’s head down when she triesto lick her wounds. “Stay calm, now,” I whisper.
    Gran swabs the uninjured left foreleg with antiseptic and inserts a catheter for the I.V. “She’s one sick dog. We need to treat the infection immediately and try to reduce her fever with fluids.”
    I stroke the greyhound’s copper-colored head gently. “Hang on, girl.”
    “Sunita, we need an antibiotic drip,” Gran says.
    Sunita brings over a bag of antibiotics. Gran inserts the meds into the I.V. and hangs the bag on the I.V. pole. Next, she injects the dog with a painkiller.
    The greyhound jumps and whimpers. I stroke her softly. “What’s her name?” I ask.
    “Gingerbread.” Roselyn’s face reddens as if she’s on the verge of tears. “Will she make it?”
    “Time will tell. Sunita, will you please show Roselyn into the waiting room? Families of the animals are generally not allowed in the room during procedures,” Gran explains gently.
    “I understand.” Roselyn wipes her eyes on her shirtsleeve as Sunita leads her out.
    Gran retrieves the X-rays and clips them onto the light box. “Hmmm…this poor girl’s had quite a tumble. Shehas two stress fractures of the right radius. Another few centimeters and this would have been a compound fracture. That means she’s broken the bone in her right front leg in two places—but not all the way through.” Gran points with her pencil to the places on the film.
    Sunita returns, and we all examine the film more closely. “I see it, three inches below the joint,” Sunita says. “Was Gingerbread hit by a car?”
    “Probably not,” Gran replies. “These injuries are not typical of a car accident. They look like stress fractures—the kind of injury that comes from running very fast and falling.”
    I look down at Gingerbread. Her soft brown eyes gaze into mine.
Were you running? Did you fall? I wish you could tell us what happened.
She licks my hand.
    Taryn pops her head in. “Dr. Mac, can I help?”
    Oh, brother, she shouldn’t be in here.
    “Taryn, you’re being a great help at the receptionist desk. Just stay there and keep answering the phone,” Gran says.
    “Will do, Dr. Mac,” Taryn chirps on her way out.
    “If it wasa fall, Gingerbread really scraped herself in the process,” Gran notes as she swabs out the lacerations with orange iodine antiseptic. It’s a good thing Gran didn’t ask for Taryn’s help—Taryn would surely freak over all the pus and blood in here. Working in a veterinary clinic takes some getting used to.
    “I hate to put this dog under with that fever, but those lacerations look ugly and will be very painful to clean up,” says Gran. “I’ll probably have to remove some dead skin. I’ll wait to suture the cuts until after the infection and swelling are gone.” Gran prepares an injection of creamy white liquid.
    “What’s that, Dr. Mac?” Sunita asks.
    “It’s propofol,” Gran replies. “It’s an ultrashort-acting anesthetic that I always use on greyhounds. They’re very sensitive to anesthetics.”
    Slowly, Gran gives the propofol injection to relax the dog. Gingerbread’s muscles go limp. I stroke her to help calm her down.
    Wait a minute. This dog is way more than relaxed—her chest isn’t moving at all! “Gran—she’s not breathing!” My stomach twists. I can’t catch my breath, either.
    Gran quickly checks the color of Gingerbread’s gums. “Sunita, bring the anesthetic machine and an endotracheal tube. Hurry.” Sunita. runs back with the tube, and Gran slides it down the dog’s windpipe. She connects it to the anesthetic machine and gives Gingerbread several breaths of oxygen.
    I watch Gingerbread’s chest. “She’s breathing, Gran, but just barely.” Tears prick my eyes.
Hang in there, Gingerbread.
I listen again. “The breaths are coming faster.”
    Gran exhales and shakes her head in relief. “She’s pulling out of it, but this girl’s too