Page 12 of Animal Instincts
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The sharp, insistent ring on the bell jolted Oliver out of his nap. He swung his head from side to side, disorientated and foggy. In front of him, the computer had gone into sleep mode, just as he had. He’d made a start, but not the dent he’d hoped.
The door bell kept ringing, whoever it was keeping their finger on the button. That meant only one thing: an emergency. Rushing to the front door, he slung it open — and stumbled back a step.
“You need to treat my dog. He’s got glass in the pads of his front paws. I got the bigger pieces out, but there are still smaller shards deep inside.”
Joss, from Harbour Coffee. Joss, who’d landed a cake in his lap. Joss, who’d for a moment made his day both brighter and lighter. Joss, who was staring at him with wide and worried eyes.
“My dog, he needs your help.”
“Yes, yes of course, bring him through.”
Joss rushed inside, hugging a small, wiry haired black and white dog to his chest, its front paws loosely wrapped in bandages which showed signs of blood seeping through. A dachshund and terrier mix, Oliver guessed as he eyed the dog, which shivered and whimpered in Joss’ arms.
“Right, are you okay to hold him while I take a look?” Oliver asked, as soon as they were in the consulting room.
“Yes.” Joss’ voice shook almost as much as the little dog he hugged close.
Oliver shot a glance up at Joss.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
Joss was ashen faced, but he nodded and held the dog steady and with care, balancing the dog’s legs out straight across one of his arms so as Oliver could get a good look at the damage.
Oliver pulled on his head torch, and a pair of latex gloves.
“Oh, that looks sore, little fella,” Oliver murmured as he unwound the bandages. The dog’s paws were wet with blood, oozing from jagged lacerations, and he squinted at the damage.
“There are a number of shards, which I’ll have to pick out. It’s going to hurt, and he’ll struggle, so you need to keep a tight hold on him. He’s likely to try and bite, so for all our protection I think it best if I muzzle him.”
Joss shook his head hard. Oliver clenched his jaw. Was he going to have to struggle with the owner as well?
“It’s safer for all, and—”
“No, you won’t need to muzzle him. He hasn’t got any teeth. You might get a bit of a gumming, but that’s as bad as it gets. You’ll be a good boy, won’t you Bingo? It’ll all be over soon and then you can have a special treat for being a brave little soldier.”
Joss kissed Bingo on top of his head, before rubbing his cheek over the dog’s fur, and Bingo, though still shaking and whining, seemed to calm a little as he snuggled closer into Joss’ chest.
Joss looked up, and gave Oliver a self-conscious smile as his face flushed, but he held Bingo’s paws out, all the time talking to the little dog and keeping him as calm as possible.
Taking one of Bingo’s paws in one hand, with the other Oliver proceeded to prize out the shards of glass. The dog jerked and howled, but Joss’ words of encouragement, light kisses on the top of his furry head, and promises of treats, seemed to be enough to stop Bingo from fighting too hard to escape.
“How did this happen?” Oliver pulled a long, thin sliver of glass from the mangled pad, and dropped it into a metal bowl.
“We’d just come in from a walk, and he ran into the kitchen looking for something to eat but he skidded, head butted the table leg, and dislodged a glass vase of flowers. It shattered and he ended up treading it in before I could do anything. He’s, erm, a bit clumsy.”
Oliver looked up. Joss was studiously avoiding meeting his eyes; scarlet faced, he looked anywhere but at Oliver, who said nothing as he resumed clearing Bingo’s paw pad of any remaining glass.
With one paw sorted, Oliver made short work of the other. There was less glass to deal with, and Bingo had stopped trying to jerk his stocky little body away, calmed by Joss’ gentle whispers.
With the wounds cleaned, and wrapped in fresh bandages which were then covered with little socks — the cuts hadn’t been too deep and so weren’t in need of stitches — Oliver tore off his gloves and threw them into his clinical waste bin.
“All done. He’ll be sore for a few days, but the cuts are mainly superficial. I don’t expect there to be any complications, but if he becomes unwell in any shape or form over the next day or two, bring him back in. If you follow me, we can sort out the fee. How would you like to pay for Bingo’s treatment? Card or cash?”
“Erm, cash? But can I pay you on the twentieth?” Joss burst out. “I know it’s not ideal, but I don’t get paid for another two weeks.” Joss shuffled from side to side, hugging Bingo to his chest, who seemed already to be on his way to recovery, wriggling to try and swipe his pink tongue across Joss’ chin.
“My terms are payment within seven days.”
