Read Online Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 01 - Headaches Can Be Murder by Marilyn Rausch, Mary Donlon - Free Book Online
Authors: Marilyn Rausch, Mary Donlon
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grim-faced.
Finally Iver said, “Lots of talk about safety issues and violating government regulations and cooking the books. All I know is that the workers are getting pretty riled up.”
Mabel frowned at him.
Jane put down her fork and suddenly turned her ear toward the kitchen, stood and left the table. The four of them gathered around Honey’s box staring down at the first little puppy. Dinner was forgotten for the next hour as Jane assisted Honey in the delivery of the next two pups. As each pup was delivered, Mabel placed it near Honey’s head. Honey dutifully licked the membrane off each pup.
Chip paced around the kitchen like an expectant father.
“Should Honey be cleaning them that way?” he asked Jane. “Yuck, she’s chewing on the umbilical cord.”
“That’s perfectly normal. She’s doing a great job. Usually, birth in a dog can take hours. The average is maybe half an hour between pups.”
Two more pups popped out with barely ten minutes between them. Jane took one, turned it upside down and swung it between her legs.
“Is the pup, okay? It looks like a drowned rat.” Chip was feeling overwhelmed by the whole birthing process.
“He looked a little slow moving. This is a good way to clean fluid out of a newborn’s lungs so he can start breathing. He’s fine now.”
Two more puppies came out, both strong, active and eager to nurse.
Not much happened for the next fifteen minutes. Jane felt Honey’s abdomen. “One more, I believe,” reported Jane. “I have to warn you, Chip, the runt may be stillborn.”
The last pup was finally expelled and lay motionless on the blanket. Chip knelt beside Jane and picked up the still pup. He cleared the mouth with his pinky finger, blew a puff of air into its face and began to gently massage its body. The pup, limp at first, began to wiggle and mew.
“Oh, my God, look at that. He’s breathing and moving,” said Chip. He felt a lump forming in the back of his throat and a rush of instant love for this little creature.
Jane turned her gaze to Chip. Her eyes were shining, and she flashed him an angelic smile. “Nice going, Dad. He may just make it. I’m impressed. Ever thought of giving up writing and becoming a vet?”
“I quit medical school. I never intended to be a writer.” He shrugged. “I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. And, I sure as hell never expected to be the owner of a mother dog and eight puppies.”
“How’d you know what to do?”
“I don’t know. Must be my Boy Scout training kicking into gear after all these years. I got a Lifesaving Badge, and of course, I’ve had CPR training. I just figured the same principles must work for dogs as they do for humans.”
“I wouldn’t figure you for a Boy Scout.”
“Well, I imagine being a Boy Scout in Baltimore is not the same as being one in Iowa. We just helped little old ladies cross busy streets and sold Christmas wreaths.”
Dinner was reheated and eaten with gusto. The table conversation consisted of a rousing discussion of puppy names from the cute to the goofy to the highly creative.
“I don’t see anything wrong with regular dog names like Rover and Rex,” offered Iver. “Can’t give a golden retriever a silly name.”
“I was thinking about the names of famous singers … Dolly, Garth, Clint, Madonna, Elvis,” suggested Mabel. “Oh, and Cher for one of the girls.”
“What about the names of world leaders? Castro, Evita, Putin, Gandhi, Obama.”
“Obama would be fine, but Castro? Please, Chip, no dictators or despots.” Chip was enjoying the naming process.
Pumpkin pie and coffee were consumed in the afterglow of a good meal and fine friends bound together by the marvel of birth.
The day’s adrenaline trumped the turkey’s tryptophan. It was 2:00 a.m. and Chip’s mind flip-flopped from puppies to Dr. Goodman and from AgriDynamics to NeuroDynamics. His storyline and his life were increasingly difficult to
Finally Iver said, “Lots of talk about safety issues and violating government regulations and cooking the books. All I know is that the workers are getting pretty riled up.”
Mabel frowned at him.
Jane put down her fork and suddenly turned her ear toward the kitchen, stood and left the table. The four of them gathered around Honey’s box staring down at the first little puppy. Dinner was forgotten for the next hour as Jane assisted Honey in the delivery of the next two pups. As each pup was delivered, Mabel placed it near Honey’s head. Honey dutifully licked the membrane off each pup.
Chip paced around the kitchen like an expectant father.
“Should Honey be cleaning them that way?” he asked Jane. “Yuck, she’s chewing on the umbilical cord.”
“That’s perfectly normal. She’s doing a great job. Usually, birth in a dog can take hours. The average is maybe half an hour between pups.”
Two more pups popped out with barely ten minutes between them. Jane took one, turned it upside down and swung it between her legs.
“Is the pup, okay? It looks like a drowned rat.” Chip was feeling overwhelmed by the whole birthing process.
“He looked a little slow moving. This is a good way to clean fluid out of a newborn’s lungs so he can start breathing. He’s fine now.”
Two more puppies came out, both strong, active and eager to nurse.
Not much happened for the next fifteen minutes. Jane felt Honey’s abdomen. “One more, I believe,” reported Jane. “I have to warn you, Chip, the runt may be stillborn.”
The last pup was finally expelled and lay motionless on the blanket. Chip knelt beside Jane and picked up the still pup. He cleared the mouth with his pinky finger, blew a puff of air into its face and began to gently massage its body. The pup, limp at first, began to wiggle and mew.
“Oh, my God, look at that. He’s breathing and moving,” said Chip. He felt a lump forming in the back of his throat and a rush of instant love for this little creature.
Jane turned her gaze to Chip. Her eyes were shining, and she flashed him an angelic smile. “Nice going, Dad. He may just make it. I’m impressed. Ever thought of giving up writing and becoming a vet?”
“I quit medical school. I never intended to be a writer.” He shrugged. “I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. And, I sure as hell never expected to be the owner of a mother dog and eight puppies.”
“How’d you know what to do?”
“I don’t know. Must be my Boy Scout training kicking into gear after all these years. I got a Lifesaving Badge, and of course, I’ve had CPR training. I just figured the same principles must work for dogs as they do for humans.”
“I wouldn’t figure you for a Boy Scout.”
“Well, I imagine being a Boy Scout in Baltimore is not the same as being one in Iowa. We just helped little old ladies cross busy streets and sold Christmas wreaths.”
Dinner was reheated and eaten with gusto. The table conversation consisted of a rousing discussion of puppy names from the cute to the goofy to the highly creative.
“I don’t see anything wrong with regular dog names like Rover and Rex,” offered Iver. “Can’t give a golden retriever a silly name.”
“I was thinking about the names of famous singers … Dolly, Garth, Clint, Madonna, Elvis,” suggested Mabel. “Oh, and Cher for one of the girls.”
“What about the names of world leaders? Castro, Evita, Putin, Gandhi, Obama.”
“Obama would be fine, but Castro? Please, Chip, no dictators or despots.” Chip was enjoying the naming process.
Pumpkin pie and coffee were consumed in the afterglow of a good meal and fine friends bound together by the marvel of birth.
The day’s adrenaline trumped the turkey’s tryptophan. It was 2:00 a.m. and Chip’s mind flip-flopped from puppies to Dr. Goodman and from AgriDynamics to NeuroDynamics. His storyline and his life were increasingly difficult to
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