Page 17 of Coiled Tight
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 asthe 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 rubbedher 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 thatwasn’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.
Golden, the poor thing, collaborated as much as she could, which meant I was hopping on the bed of the truck two minutes later, and we were speeding off to the vet lair one second after that.
“Good girl,” I whispered while rubbing her neck, keeping her lying down. I’d moved her to lie on top of one of the blankets I’d carried, and she’d nuzzled the fabric right away, even with the discomfort from the truck hitting uneven terrain. “You’re the best girl, aren’t you?”
