Page 24 of Run, Run Rudolph
“Yeah, maybe,” she said, her tone suggesting she was humouring me.
I reached out to touch the caribou’s scraped back leg, and Tamara froze. I did, too. “What?”
She glanced upward, then quickly down, when I started to follow her gaze. “Is it okay if Haden touches you?” she whispered to the caribou.
Her bleeding heart. Seriously. “Tamara.”
“He’s a veterinarian,” she said to the animal.
I blinked hard. Had the animal just nodded? I turned to Tamara. What was going on here?
She caught my eye, her lips forming a small pout. “Quit looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you think I’m a cracked softie.”
I tried to erase any trace of expression from my face, certain my brain had been playing a trick on me over the head-nod thing.
“Consent is very important,” she said, drawing herself up. “Even with animals.”
I swallowed my chuckle. “Yes. Yes, it is.” To distract myself from how cute she was about this potentially dangerous animal, I began to work on the caribou, checking out his back leg, and watching for other injuries. Out of habit, I talked softly to the animal while I worked. I had been trained to speak while approaching the animal to avoid startling it, but had learned it was often more soothing to my patients if I spoke during the entire check-up, helping it track me.
I kept one hand on the deer while I worked, very aware that he could suddenly turn on me. But I was even more aware that I might look like a softie with all my chit-chat—something Tamara may not let me live down, since I’d once laughed at her for that very same thing.
But, again, I didn’t dress up my cat.
Or bring home injured wildlife. Clearly, I took them to my clinic.
“Have you noticed any bleeding?” I asked.
“Hmm?” Tamara struggled to look up from my hands, and I glanced at them in case something was out of the ordinary. Just my regular old hands with slightly chapped knuckles thanks to being out in December’s dry cold, helping animals.
“What? No.” She peeked up at me. “You’re talking to him.”
“Yes.”
“But I mean…talking. A lot. Not just to let him know you’re there, and going to touch him.”
She remembered that day when we’d worked on my dad’s Clydesdales, too. I wondered if the memory held the same fondness that it did for me.
That had been the last time we’d helped an animal together, other than the awkward moment when she’d brought Boots in for his first appointment after she’d taken in the stray tomcat.
My dad still had that Clydesdale, and whenever I worked on him, or any horse’s shoes, I thought of Tamara and that day. While we reshoed, she’d chatted to the horse the whole time, and he’d rewarded her with a quick nuzzle when we were done. I’d never seen him do that before. Or follow anyone like he did whenever Tamara showed up.
“A woman I know taught me it’s better to talk to them the entire time.”
“She did?” Her voice was slightly breathless, and I dared to dart a glance her way, holding her gaze for a long steady beat.
“Yeah.”
“And so now you talk to your patients the whole time?”
“Pretty much.” I cleared my throat, feeling the weight of her stare. “They seem to appreciate it.” And a calm animal was much easier and safer to work on, and the outcome and experience was better for all involved.
“What do you tell them?”
“Whatever they need to hear.”
