Read Online The Weirdo by Theodore Taylor - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Theodore Taylor
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swallowed and stuck his tongue out.
Chip thought about the moments before he himself had gone under the plastic surgeon's knifeâthe feeling of floating. Sounds became remote. Vision became blurred. He felt a sudden kinship with the bear, as if he were inside it.
Telford talked on quietly, watching the animal closely. "Some researchers put them on their chests, spread out, chins on the ground. The side works better for me. Roll them either way."
The bear swayed, then sank slowly down, winding up on his belly.
"There he goes," Telford said, as the head dropped to the sand.
"Okay, Chip, let's go to work," he said, simultaneously loosening the noose from the limp paw. Then he rolled the bear over onto his left side.
"Come on up close. He's out, I promise."
Chip stepped over to the big body hesitantly.
"Kneel down and hold his eyelids open. This is ophthalmic ointment so his eyes won't dry out from the drugs. I promise you he's on Cloud Ten."
Chip knelt down, knees touching the bear's warm back, gingerly opening an eyelid, barely breathing.
"That's it."
Several squirts in each eye, and then Telford placed a rag over the bear's face to shield it from light.
"Now we'll do the ears. Let's get the right one first. Hold it up for me."
He punched a tiny hole in it, then secured the yellow ID tag labeled 1-88.
"And in case the tags come off, we'll tattoo inside his mouth. What I want you to do is fold the upper lip up while I brush ink on, then give him the number."
Chip laughed nervously at the thought of opening the bear's mouth.
Telford checked the tattoo device, a small hand-held, three-digit contraption, then said, "Okay, peel his lip up."
Chip lifted the rag. The big canines were less than half an inch away from his bent fingers as the purple ink was brushed on; the device's needles inserted the numbers in a few seconds.
"Now, the tough job. We've got to weigh this acorneater," said Telford.
Chip had noticed four dog collars in his backpack! Soon one was around each ankle of the slumbering black. Then the tripod, with the scale hanging from it, was rigged over 1-88. They attached wires to the collars, and then Telford said, "Let's heave him up."
With his right arm, Chip helped pull on the lifting tackle, raising the black a few inches off the ground. The scale registered 320. Lowering away, Chip grinned over at Telford. "Glad I've been doing weights the past two years. This guy's a load!"
"Yeah."
Chip looked at his watch. Forty minutes had passed, and the bear showed no signs of awakening.
Handing over a notebook, Telford said, "I'll read off some measurements. Just jot them." Paw length, paw width, ear length, claw lengths, belly girth.
It wasn't one of those phony stand-around Columbus, Ohio, jobs that were given to anyone who wasn't all there in body parts. It was physical, glory be!
Telford then quickly took the bear's temperature with a rectal thermometer, calling out, "Ninety-eight."
Next he drew off blood from a femoral vein, saying, "This'll tell us about his nutrition." The blood went into a cooler. Finally, Telford extracted a premolar.
Still on his knees beside the" bear, Telford said, "Okay, let's wrap this up. Bring me the collar."
Made of durable nylon webbing, the collar was resting on the canvas "operating square." Chip brought it over. The tiny transmitter and lithium battery were encased in waterproof material; the battery had a life of twenty-four to thirty-six months. The antenna was protected between two layers of the belting material.
On the collar was a small plastic plate that offered a reward to anyone who found the collar and returned it to NC State. The ear tags had the same message, requesting details on where and when found.
"Some of them will get killed by cars, poachers, or farmers, or maybe die of disease. Sometimes they kill each other. Big males sometimes kill cubs. Unfortunately, the Indians were wrongâthey don't live forever. Twenty-five years is about it,
Chip thought about the moments before he himself had gone under the plastic surgeon's knifeâthe feeling of floating. Sounds became remote. Vision became blurred. He felt a sudden kinship with the bear, as if he were inside it.
Telford talked on quietly, watching the animal closely. "Some researchers put them on their chests, spread out, chins on the ground. The side works better for me. Roll them either way."
The bear swayed, then sank slowly down, winding up on his belly.
"There he goes," Telford said, as the head dropped to the sand.
"Okay, Chip, let's go to work," he said, simultaneously loosening the noose from the limp paw. Then he rolled the bear over onto his left side.
"Come on up close. He's out, I promise."
Chip stepped over to the big body hesitantly.
"Kneel down and hold his eyelids open. This is ophthalmic ointment so his eyes won't dry out from the drugs. I promise you he's on Cloud Ten."
Chip knelt down, knees touching the bear's warm back, gingerly opening an eyelid, barely breathing.
"That's it."
Several squirts in each eye, and then Telford placed a rag over the bear's face to shield it from light.
"Now we'll do the ears. Let's get the right one first. Hold it up for me."
He punched a tiny hole in it, then secured the yellow ID tag labeled 1-88.
"And in case the tags come off, we'll tattoo inside his mouth. What I want you to do is fold the upper lip up while I brush ink on, then give him the number."
Chip laughed nervously at the thought of opening the bear's mouth.
Telford checked the tattoo device, a small hand-held, three-digit contraption, then said, "Okay, peel his lip up."
Chip lifted the rag. The big canines were less than half an inch away from his bent fingers as the purple ink was brushed on; the device's needles inserted the numbers in a few seconds.
"Now, the tough job. We've got to weigh this acorneater," said Telford.
Chip had noticed four dog collars in his backpack! Soon one was around each ankle of the slumbering black. Then the tripod, with the scale hanging from it, was rigged over 1-88. They attached wires to the collars, and then Telford said, "Let's heave him up."
With his right arm, Chip helped pull on the lifting tackle, raising the black a few inches off the ground. The scale registered 320. Lowering away, Chip grinned over at Telford. "Glad I've been doing weights the past two years. This guy's a load!"
"Yeah."
Chip looked at his watch. Forty minutes had passed, and the bear showed no signs of awakening.
Handing over a notebook, Telford said, "I'll read off some measurements. Just jot them." Paw length, paw width, ear length, claw lengths, belly girth.
It wasn't one of those phony stand-around Columbus, Ohio, jobs that were given to anyone who wasn't all there in body parts. It was physical, glory be!
Telford then quickly took the bear's temperature with a rectal thermometer, calling out, "Ninety-eight."
Next he drew off blood from a femoral vein, saying, "This'll tell us about his nutrition." The blood went into a cooler. Finally, Telford extracted a premolar.
Still on his knees beside the" bear, Telford said, "Okay, let's wrap this up. Bring me the collar."
Made of durable nylon webbing, the collar was resting on the canvas "operating square." Chip brought it over. The tiny transmitter and lithium battery were encased in waterproof material; the battery had a life of twenty-four to thirty-six months. The antenna was protected between two layers of the belting material.
On the collar was a small plastic plate that offered a reward to anyone who found the collar and returned it to NC State. The ear tags had the same message, requesting details on where and when found.
"Some of them will get killed by cars, poachers, or farmers, or maybe die of disease. Sometimes they kill each other. Big males sometimes kill cubs. Unfortunately, the Indians were wrongâthey don't live forever. Twenty-five years is about it,
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