Chapter 7 Cam
seven
cam
My phone rang literally three seconds after I got inside the house.
It was Saúl.
“What’s up?” I frowned at the time. First, he didn’t usually call.
Or text, for that matter. Second, he was the one who insisted on me taking breaks.
Lately, the only way for him to let me out of the house when I didn’t have a shift was if I was heading to see Mercury.
I wasn’t riding him yet, but I’d missed being around horses more than I realized, and he seemed to respect that bond, at least. “Do you need me to get something?”
Was I jumping ten steps ahead? Well, yeah. That was how I rolled, but… Seriously, what was it with people calling like that was a perfectly normal thing to do?
It was not.
“How much do you know about dogs?”
“Huh?”
Rule number one of dealing with someone struggling with anxiety: do not make them more confused than they already are.
It didn’t feel nice.
“Someone fucking abandoned a pregnant dog at the entrance. She looks ready to pop, too, and in poor shape.”
And I was guessing he didn’t think we had time or the ability to move her so that a vet who actually specialized in dogs could take her.
I cursed. At least now my heart was beating fast for a different reason, one that was somewhat easier to manage.
“I’m the only option?”
I was heading out the door as I asked, but I needed to think, and I thought best on the move—and while someone was giving me something to pay attention to.
“Sofía’s out, so… yeah.”
Right. She’d had a day in court to testify about the injuries to one of the horses they’d rescued a few years back.
No lie, when she told me, I panicked that would have to be me sooner rather than later, what with the bigger animals' backgrounds, but this wasn’t the time to fret about an undisclosed future.
“What do you mean she’s in poor shape? Breathing? Gum color pale at all? Weakness? Bleeding?”
For the past few weeks, I’d had to fight the ignition in the red truck Saúl had said I could use. Today, someone had to be smiling down at me because the engine started right away.
“I’m not sure. I can see her ribs a bit, but I can’t tell you if it’s—”
“Do I have time to drive her to the vet lair, or should I just stop to grab everything real quick?”
If anyone was asking, Sofía was the one who gave the name to the care facility, not me.
“I don’t know,” Saúl groaned. Not knowing had to be killing him. “I think there’s time, but I’m scared of moving her—that’s why I’m calling instead of dumping her in my truck.”
This place had way too many trucks, but I heard what he was saying.
“I’ll get the basics, and we’ll go from there.”
On the inside, I was trying to remember everything I knew about birthing. It had been ages since we’d had one of the animals pregnant in the zoo, and usually, we had months to get ready for it and brush up on knowledge.
There was the fact that I hadn’t worked with dogs since the end of vet school, but that part didn’t worry me that much. I mean, it was a mammal and a carnivore. And a descendant of wolves, which I did know how to work with, thank you very much.
All these thoughts coursed through my head as I ransacked the vet lair for a first aid kit, blankets, and a stretcher.
I wasn’t too hopeful she’d let me lift her so that I could get her here where I could give her bloodwork and X-rays and everything else that would actually ensure she lived to tell the tale, but… Hey.
Today might be my lucky day, after all.
“Fuck, I can’t give her apples, can I?”
Shit.
I’d forgotten he was still on the phone. I’d left it discarded on the seat of the truck while I ran around grabbing everything. I was going to stay positive and think he hadn’t asked me anything or said anything important while I wasn’t there to listen.
“If she’s that close to whelping, no food. In case she needs surgery, I need her stomach empty. Just wait till I get there.”
I’d worry about what to feed a malnourished dog later. Right now, I was just crossing fingers I wouldn’t have to go with a C-section on my own.
“Keep an eye on her breathing and try to keep her from moving around too much. But, um, don’t get yourself bitten.”
The sanctuary enforced that all the staff be rabies bolstered, but that didn’t mean we wanted to be exposed.
How good was Saúl in an emergency? He looked like the dependable type—fantasies that might be too far from reality aside—but no one really knew how true that was until push came to shove.
Like, no one expected me to be good in an emergency, but I was.
Maybe the opposite stood with him. It would be fine, of course. Valid.
But that would leave this birth as a one-person job, and my limited experience with births always involved a full team assisting, ideally one staff member per puppy.
Shit.
Saúl’s other truck came into sight quickly enough.
One unexpected advantage of living here was that there were no speed limits to respect.
We just drove slowly when we were close to the habitats, but that was common sense, and thankfully, the ride from the facilities to the front gate was a pretty straightforward one that didn’t intersect with any.
I grabbed one of the blankets and the first aid kit as soon as I hopped out of the truck and headed toward his. I imagined Saúl and the dog were behind it, and every instinct was telling me to run, but level-headed me said that running would only spook the dog.
The poor thing had to be terrified. Between being about to give birth, the unfamiliar place and person, and the fact that she had to be sensing the apex predators we had roaming their habitats freely, I’d bet on anything that her heartbeat was through the roof.
As expected, when the two of them came to view, she was panting heavily and wild-eyed.
And she was alert enough that she noticed me before the man did, or before I could alert to the fact that I was approaching.
Her ears flicked back, but her mouth stayed the same, no teeth bared.
She didn’t look in good shape. Definitely malnourished. Might need an X-ray for her tail, and maybe one of her hind legs.
I could see scars beneath matted fur, but those looked old enough that they shouldn’t be a problem right now. The leg might, though. And the ripple of contractions tightening her belly said yes, she definitely was in labor.
I didn’t have enough here for a C-section. The first-aid kit had some sedatives and basic supplies, but no sterile surgical pack.
Shit.
This was not going to be good.
“It’s okay, pretty girl.”
The second he saw me, Saúl slumped against the wheel well of the truck. “Why do I have to be around for all the births?”
Hysterical laughter sprouted out of me. I felt bad—mostly—but the sight of a man nearing his forties whining in the middle of a crisis about his perceived luck?
Too pure for this world.
That said, I was lucky the shrill sound didn’t make the dog move in the opposite direction. That might not have been my gift with animals, but just the fact that she was injured and exhausted.
“I’m going to call you Golden.” She wasn’t a Golden Retriever, no, but her eyes oddly resembled the color, and I just didn’t want to keep thinking of her as the dog. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Golden?”
Golden cocked her head to the side, or tried to. Was something wrong with her spine, too?
Fuck. When was the last time I’d done a neuro exam?
She moved toward me, though. There definitely was a broken bone in her hind leg, but it was a good sign that she had the energy and the openness to humans.
I reached out slowly, and when she seemed calm, I rubbed her chest, gave her a few scratches, and relaxed a bit as she accepted my hands. It wouldn’t be the first time a dog in pain didn’t, and I wouldn’t have blamed her.
Anyways.
Back to Saúl, I told him, “Come pet her and keep her quiet while I examine her.”
I checked her gums—nice and pink despite her injuries and distress. A skin pinch showed she was dehydrated. Pulse was okay, though. Careful palpation of her neck gave me nothing, but I found the problem when I rubbed one ear and she yelped in response. An ear infection, not neck trauma.
Her heart went fast but steady. I counted breaths and examined the rest of her body gently. The last thing I needed was to provoke any sudden movement.
“You poor thing.” I cooed. Did I even bother taking her temperature?
It might be best to wait. She was clearly not doing well, and I didn’t need a temperature to tell me as much.
If she survived, I’d check it then. If she didn’t…
Nope, not thinking of that, but a temperature reading wouldn’t be the thing that saved her.
“Do you think she trusts you?” I asked Saúl.
I really needed her in our lair, dammit.
He grunted. “I think she trusts anyone who isn’t going to beat her bloody.”
I grimaced. Good on him for noticing the scars too, but that wasn’t a visual I needed. Well, I had the confirmation that Saúl wasn’t good at this type of crisis.
“Let’s see if we can get her on the stretcher without stressing her out too much then.” And put a muzzle on her, because good girls could also bite when they were in pain. “If you can drive my truck, I can ride on the bed with her.”
Saúl clapped his hands on his thighs. “You’re the boss.”
Correction: Saúl wasn’t good at an animal-related crisis unless he had directions to follow.
I could give directions.
Mostly.
The poor dog only breathed a bit heavier as I looped rolled gauze around her mouth and behind her ears as a makeshift muzzle. She grew more agitated with the stretcher, but it would be less traumatic than just lifting her mid-air or having her hop on the truck with her leg the way it was.
And that was what I could see. Who the fuck knew how those pups were doing inside her?
I didn’t want to think the worst, but given her state? We might be helping her through some stillbirths.
Shit.
I hated this.
I was definitely going to take a day off after today. A real one.