Read Online Connections by Jacqueline Wein - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jacqueline Wein
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cat? Anybody who would talk to a cat is crazy, don’t you think? That’s a good boy; take it easy.” She kissed the top of his head and tried to intimidate the cat woman by staring at her. Then she giggled softly. “What would people think about my explaining to my dog about the nutty woman talking to her cat? Eh, Fibber, don’t you think that’s funny? Well, it won’t be long now, and then we’ll go home and have a nice nap.”
It was incredible how they knew. But they all did. As soon as Eileen started walking toward 74 th and York, Fibber pulled back and tried to turn around. No matter how she varied the route—one block over, one block down, two over, three down—he could tell. Other times, when she walked in that direction, he was perfectly content to trot along with her, safe and happy. How he could tell that on this particular day, on this particular walk, they were on their way to the vet’s, she didn’t know. Even the first time, before animals had a chance to get poked or jabbed or prodded, they were all scared. It seemed to Eileen, from all her waiting-room observations, that the bigger the dogs, the more petrified they acted. There was a Doberman mix in the neighborhood who bullied every other dog he met on the street. She had seen him in Dr. Pomalee’s waiting room once, hiding under the bench, whimpering like a sissy.
Eileen was always apprehensive coming here, anticipating being told the end was near (as if Fibber would change from his playful, still frisky self to advanced senility overnight) or that he had some dread disease. Eileen had nightmares about that. She knew she would be able to cope with her own illness a lot better than with his. In her case, she’d be able to understand; she’d be able to treat whatever it was or at least hope. If it were Fibber, the only solution might be to put him to sleep. She couldn’t even think about that; she could only pray that if the time came, God would give her enough strength to do what was best for him. Her main concern was with who would take care of Fibber if she became incapacitated. Danny was a good, sweet, devoted nephew, but he would never love Fibber the way he needed to be loved. The way he was used to being loved. Danny’s idea of a dog was a four-legged thing you had to feed and walk and occasionally pet, in exchange for an automatic household alarm system.
She was glad the receptionist interrupted her rambling worries by calling her turn. Fibber was practically comatose, once she got him up on the table. A young attendant had to help her lift him, because he was trying so desperately to get out of the room.
Dr. Pomalee was abrupt. The only reason Eileen went to him was that he was kind to the patients themselves, and he was within walking distance. “Still giving him the aminophylline?” he asked from under Fibber’s tail.
Eileen winced out loud as he squeezed the anal glands to check them. It evidently didn’t hurt the dog as much as it hurt her, because he gave only a half-hearted yelp compared to her loud gasp.
“Yes, Doctor.” She covered the dog with her body to hold him down, while the doctor walked around to the head of the table. “Do you think there’s any change?”
“Let’s see.” He picked up the folder with her name on it. And Fibber’s. Fibber McGee Hargan. Like a school record. Or report card. “We did a cardiogram last October. There’s no way to tell without doing another one, but I don’t think it’s necessary right now. I think we’ll wait ’til it’s a year.”
Eileen wondered if she should insist. Even though it was expensive, you couldn’t take a chance when it came to health. She’d never forgive herself if anything happened to Fibber because she didn’t give him the test. That’s why she came for checkups regularly, every six months. Her doctor would be pleased if she treated her own body so conscientiously.
“Sounds good. Very good.” He pulled the stethoscope out of his ears and
It was incredible how they knew. But they all did. As soon as Eileen started walking toward 74 th and York, Fibber pulled back and tried to turn around. No matter how she varied the route—one block over, one block down, two over, three down—he could tell. Other times, when she walked in that direction, he was perfectly content to trot along with her, safe and happy. How he could tell that on this particular day, on this particular walk, they were on their way to the vet’s, she didn’t know. Even the first time, before animals had a chance to get poked or jabbed or prodded, they were all scared. It seemed to Eileen, from all her waiting-room observations, that the bigger the dogs, the more petrified they acted. There was a Doberman mix in the neighborhood who bullied every other dog he met on the street. She had seen him in Dr. Pomalee’s waiting room once, hiding under the bench, whimpering like a sissy.
Eileen was always apprehensive coming here, anticipating being told the end was near (as if Fibber would change from his playful, still frisky self to advanced senility overnight) or that he had some dread disease. Eileen had nightmares about that. She knew she would be able to cope with her own illness a lot better than with his. In her case, she’d be able to understand; she’d be able to treat whatever it was or at least hope. If it were Fibber, the only solution might be to put him to sleep. She couldn’t even think about that; she could only pray that if the time came, God would give her enough strength to do what was best for him. Her main concern was with who would take care of Fibber if she became incapacitated. Danny was a good, sweet, devoted nephew, but he would never love Fibber the way he needed to be loved. The way he was used to being loved. Danny’s idea of a dog was a four-legged thing you had to feed and walk and occasionally pet, in exchange for an automatic household alarm system.
She was glad the receptionist interrupted her rambling worries by calling her turn. Fibber was practically comatose, once she got him up on the table. A young attendant had to help her lift him, because he was trying so desperately to get out of the room.
Dr. Pomalee was abrupt. The only reason Eileen went to him was that he was kind to the patients themselves, and he was within walking distance. “Still giving him the aminophylline?” he asked from under Fibber’s tail.
Eileen winced out loud as he squeezed the anal glands to check them. It evidently didn’t hurt the dog as much as it hurt her, because he gave only a half-hearted yelp compared to her loud gasp.
“Yes, Doctor.” She covered the dog with her body to hold him down, while the doctor walked around to the head of the table. “Do you think there’s any change?”
“Let’s see.” He picked up the folder with her name on it. And Fibber’s. Fibber McGee Hargan. Like a school record. Or report card. “We did a cardiogram last October. There’s no way to tell without doing another one, but I don’t think it’s necessary right now. I think we’ll wait ’til it’s a year.”
Eileen wondered if she should insist. Even though it was expensive, you couldn’t take a chance when it came to health. She’d never forgive herself if anything happened to Fibber because she didn’t give him the test. That’s why she came for checkups regularly, every six months. Her doctor would be pleased if she treated her own body so conscientiously.
“Sounds good. Very good.” He pulled the stethoscope out of his ears and
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