Orwell's Luck Read Free Page A

diseases.
    I cradled Orwell in my arms, being careful to situate myself so that his lifeless legs would rest gently against my thighs. My father leafed distractedly through the pages of a fashion magazine. Then it was our turn.
    The veterinarian appeared to be surprised by the purpose of our visit. "Wild rabbits don't have much of a chance," he said.
    At my father's insistence, the veterinarian took X-rays anyway. They looked like the amateur snapshots that some people take where they accidentally cut off their subjects' heads. You could see Orwell's bones from his shoulders down. There was a top view. There was a side view. But nobody bothered to get a picture of his face, his best feature.
    The X-rays proved to be evidence of nothing more than the fact that some creatures have extremely small bones. The good news was that none of them appeared to be broken.
    "It could be spinal cord injury," the veterinarian speculated.
    "Does that mean he'll recover?" I asked.
    "Well," he answered unconvincingly, "sometimes they do."
    He gave Orwell a cortisone shot. He gave him an antibiotic shot. He gave him shots for all the diseases and conditions that make life hard for the bedridden patient. In less than half an hour, the charges he ran up were equal to the cost of a major household appliance.
    "Keep doing what you're doing," he said. "And hope for the best."
    This was probably good advice, but I didn't think it was worth that much money. As my father signed the check with his usual illegible scribble, I was discouraged by the veterinarian's cheery confession. "Thanks for coming in," he said. "I've never had a wild rabbit before."
    At school that day, all I could think about was Orwell. Nothing had changed. Nothing except that no one could say for certain what was wrong. But Orwell could not move his back legs. The running part, the kicking part, the getaway part was useless and nobody could tell me why.
    That night I couldn't sleep. I got up every hour or so and visited Orwell. I fed him fresh vegetables from my ungloved hand. I stroked him. I talked to him. He looked at me and every once in a while feigned a useless struggle to run away. I cleaned up after him. The new bathroom had begun to smell faintly like Family Pet Care.
    The food tube worked exceptionally well. At the veterinarian's suggestion, I had switched from dog food mush to rabbit food mush. Orwell swallowed it right down and clamped his teeth on the plastic tube, hungry for more. I let him have as much as he wanted.
    "Hang in there, Orwell," I said. "You still have a chance." I didn't know if this was true. I hoped it wouldn't hurt to say it.
    I became angry with the newspaper truck driver. Animal killer! Maimer! Agent of evil! Orwell was just another "whup-thup" sound to him, like a fat newspaper hitting a concrete driveway. That's the kind of thing I was thinking.
    During the night my father came to see me. "Get some sleep," he insisted. "I'll take over."
    I didn't go right away. We took turns watching, touching, hoping.
    "If they're not broken," I asked, "why can't he move them?"
    "Luck of the draw," my father replied.
    Was it just bad luck? I wondered. Or was something else involved? Something that actually caused certain days to be good days and certain days to be bad days, like the stars that rule my daily horoscope.
    Maybe I was misinterpreting the message in the newspaper. It hadn't been especially clear anyway. I decided I'd better study tomorrow's horoscope more carefully.
    As I turned to leave, Orwell looked at me. He raised his head as best he could, and stared at me with those big brown rabbit eyes. I picked him up. I held him to my chest, his lifeless legs dangling, his tiny rabbit heart beating softly against mine.

Deductive reasoning
    I woke up Wednesday with two big problems on my mind. The first was school, which, after so much time off for creative loafing and lifesaving, was an unwelcome change of pace. The other problem, of course, was Orwell.
    I