Fight for Life Read Free Page A

week,” she says. “It was easy. Make sure you know the steps of making a new law. We had to write an essay on that.”
    “Great.” I turn the page and try to read.
    Laws start with ideas. State representatives (another big word) vote on the new law. Blah, blah, blah. Every sentence has a word I trip over. I should look up the words I don’t know, but that doesn’t work either, because the definitions have words I don’t understand. I read really slowly to begin with—throw in super-long words and I’ll never finish.
    My eyelids are drooping. I think I need a break. Brenna is on her fourth cage already. I close the book and sit up.
    “Brenna, are you sure you haven’t done this before?” I ask.
    “Well, I did have to clean my crow’s cage when he was really sick and lived inside the house,” she says.
    “What was wrong with him?”
    Brenna spreads clean newspaper on a tray and slides it into a cage. “Jeez. You studied for two seconds. No wonder Dr. Mac asked me to come.”
    “I know this stuff. We saw a movie on it. Wait, you didn’t spray it enough. Without the disinfectant, the inside of the cage can get moldy, really gross. And the germs could infect another animal. When a patient is in the recovery room, we want them to get better, not sick.” I stand up. “Let me show you how to do it.”
    Brenna frowns and holds the disinfectant bottle out of my reach. “You already showed me. I don’t want your grandmother coming in here and seeing you doing all the work.”
    “Just give it to me.”
    “No way.”
    We glare at each other like two stubborn mules. She sprays the tray and wipes it clean with a paper towel. “There. Is that good enough?”
    “Yeah, I guess so. Make sure you scrub the corners—that’s important.” I think I may have met my match. I hand her fresh newspaper. “The crow. Tell me how you got Poe.”
    “I saw him get shot. I was walking in a field looking for red-shouldered hawks. I heard a gun go off and I hit the ground. Something fell near me. It was Poe.”
    “Somebody shot him? That’s so sick.”
    “I jumped up hollering and they took off. They were kids, not much older than you and me, using a pellet gun. I took my jacket off, wrapped it around Poe, and carried him home. Dad drove me here. That was last fall. I thought we were going to be able to set him free, but his wing is wrecked. Before we knew it, he was one of the family.”
    “Your parents let you keep him?”
    “It was my parents’ idea.”
    “I’d like to meet them.”
    “They’re pretty cool,” she says as she closes the last cage. “All clean. Now what should I do?”
    “It’s definitely time to check the puppies.”
    We sit on the floor across from each other, with the puppies in the warm pen between us. Dinky is still breathing quickly, so I count the number of breaths per minute. One... two ... three... He’s OK. It’s the same rate as earlier.
    “Can I pet them?” Brenna asks quietly.
    “Not yet,” I say quickly. “We shouldn’t disturb them too much while they’re on an I.V. See how the fluid is dripping slowly?” I point out the way the fluid drops into Dinky’s tube.
    “Is that bad or good?” Brenna asks.
    “It’s good in this case. It means he needs less fluid. He’s getting better.”
    “How do you know about all this stuff?”
    “Gran taught me. I grew up here.”
    The phone rings once, then stops. Gran must have picked it up.
    “You live with Dr. Mac?” Brenna asks.
    “Yep. My parents died in a car crash when I was a baby.”
    “Oh. That’s awful. I’m really sorry.”
    “It’s OK. Gran’s a good mom and a good dad—not to mention a terrific grandmother. This is the only home I remember.”
    Brenna leans closer to Dinky. “Maggie, this one’s shaking. Is that bad or good?”
    I lightly rest my hand on his back. “Bad. He’s probably cold. Puppies this small get cold easily. Believe it or not, it can kill them, especially if they’re already sick and