Trapped Read Free Page B

needs a name. I can’t just keep calling him “boy.” We don’t usually name the animals we rehab, but this case is different. “Chico,” I say softly. That means boy in Spanish. The dog’s left eyelid twitches. “Chico,” I repeat. “That’s your name. Listen, Chico, we’re going to do everything we can to help you. Dr. Mac is the best vet in the world.”
    I shout to Dad through the little window between the pickup bed and the cab. “How long do you think he was in that trap?” I ask.
    I see Dad’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He looks tired, sad. There are little bits of sawdust in his beard. “Almost too long,” he shouts back, shaking his head. “It looks like he may have tried to chew off his own foot to escape.”
    I hear Sage swear again. This time Dad shoots him a look. “That’s enough,” he says.
    â€œEnough?” Sage asks. “What, so I’m supposed to sit here politely while some idiot is torturing animals?” He folds his arms across his chest. “OK,” he says. “I’ll keep my mouth shut. Actions speak louder than words, anyway.”
    Dad looks over at him. “What exactly do you mean by that, Sage?” he asks.
    Sage just shakes his head, refusing to speak.
    â€œSage.” There’s a warning in Dad’s voice.
    Sage looks out the window, his mouth set in that hard line.
    I turn back to Chico. “It’s gonna be OK,” I tell him again. “We’ll take care of you.”
    Maggie runs out as soon as we pull into the clinic parking lot. “What’s going on?” she asks. Sunita, David, and Zoe are right behind her.
    â€œIt’s a dog,” I explain. “He got caught in a trap.”
    I hear gasps, then questions, but I’m too distracted to tell them any more. Dad and Sage are guiding the litter out of the truck.
    â€œOh, man,” Maggie groans when she sees Chico. “That dog is in trouble.” She runs into the clinic to let her grandmother know that we’re here.
    Zoe holds the door for us. Sunita and David just watch the litter go by, shaking their heads.
    â€œThat’s awful,” Sunita says. “Aren’t those traps illegal?”
    We follow Maggie past the reception area and beyond the two exam rooms, right into the operating room. Dr. Mac has prepped the stainless steel table by disinfecting it and putting down a warm pad covered with an old towel. The pad, called a water blanket, is heated with hot water and helps stabilize animals who might be going into shock.
    Dr. Mac asks Maggie, Sunita, and David to go back to their regular Sunday jobs, cleaning the reception area and the exam rooms. “Brenna, you can stay in here and help,” she tells me.
    Dad and Sage gently lift Chico off the litter and onto the table. He doesn’t even seem to notice or care where he is.
    Frowning as she gazes down at the injured dog, Dr. Mac runs a hand through her short gray hair. “I guess I won’t need to sedate him,” she says.
    â€œHe’s pretty out of it,” Dad agrees.
    â€œBut let’s get a real muzzle on him, just to be safe,” Dr. Mac continues. Then she looks at me. “You found him?” she asks.
    I nod.
    â€œWe’ll do everything we can,” she tells me.
    â€œI know,” I say. “That’s what I’ve been telling him. I’ve been calling him Chico.”
    â€œChico?” she asks. She looks at him again and pushes up her sleeves. “OK, Chico,” she says. “Let’s get a temperature, pulse, and respirations.” She works quickly and efficiently, touching Chico gently. She reels off the numbers, and I scribble them down on a clinic record sheet.
    Dr. Mac runs her hands all over Chico’s body, checking for injuries. “Hmmm, he’s definitely malnourished,” she says, as she feels his ribs. She takes a gentle pinch of his skin,