Teacher's Pet by Laurie Halse Anderson Page A

principal and school nurse sprint toward us from the school. An ambulance siren wails in the distance. Word spreads fast.
    â€œMaggie, get me the big red equipment box and the small orange one in the back of the van. And I’ll need two blankets.”
    I dash back to the van, opening the sliding door, and gather what Gran needs. By the time I return, the school nurse is talking quietly to Mr. Carlson while she checks his vital signs. He seems dazed.
    â€œHere,” I say as I set the supplies next to Gran. She is studying Scout but hasn’t touched him yet. “Can I help?”
    â€œHang on,” Gran says. “I need to muzzle Scout before we do anything else. She flips open the large medical kit and takes out a bandage roll. She quickly loops some bandage around Scout’s long nose.
    â€œHe won’t bite you!” I protest.
    Gran ties the bandage in a knot behind Scout’s head. “Any dog can bite if he’s in pain or frightened, Maggie. You know that.”
    The ambulance pulls up, and a police car parks behind it. Two medics start to examine and talk to Mr. Carlson. The police officer walks over to the driver of the Mercedes, whose cell phone has mysteriously disappeared.
    â€œTake down Scout’s vitals,” Gran instructs as she tosses me a pad of paper and pen. She feels for the dog’s pulse under his hind leg.
    â€œHeart rate, one-forty.”
    She uses a stethoscope to listen to his lungs. “Respiratory rate, forty-five.”
    The numbers aren’t great, but he’s alive.
    Gran peeks at Scout’s gums, pressing them with her fingertip and seeing how long it takes for the blood to refill. She feels the bones in his legs, his ribs, and his spine.
    â€œWe have to get him to the clinic, stat,” Gran says. “I don’t think he’s broken anything, but there might be internal bleeding.”
    Internal bleeding is bad. If we can’t find the source and fix it, he could bleed to death.
    Gran spreads one of the blankets on the street next to Scout. “When I say three, help me move him.”
    I put my hands under Scout’s hips.
    â€œOne, two, three! ”
    Gran and I lift at the same time and move Scout to the blanket. Gran quickly covers him with the second blanket. His body temperature is dropping because shock is setting in. When an animal goes into shock, his blood pressure drops. If the shock is severe, like after being hit by a car, it can kill.
    The ambulance attendants are fitting a big collar around Mr. Carlson’s neck. He tells them he’s fine and that he doesn’t want to go to the hospital, but they think he needs to be checked out.
    â€œBut, Scout,” he protests. “I can’t leave him.”
    â€œIt’s OK, Mr. Carlson,” I say over my shoulder. “It’s Maggie. Gran is going to take him back to the clinic. She needs to check him out, too, just like you.”
    The attendants help my teacher sit up, then stand. He looks very pale, and there is a giant lump on his forehead. As the medics help him into the ambulance, Gran gets two men who are standing on the sidewalk to help carry Scout to the van. They lay the dog on the floor between the seats. “Can I sit with him?” I ask Gran as I get into the van.
    â€œBuckle your seat belt, and don’t touch that muzzle,” she says. She gets in the driver’s seat and turns the key in the ignition. “And pray we don’t hit any red lights.”

Chapter Twelve
    I t takes only ten minutes to get to the clinic, but it feels like forever. Scout’s condition is getting worse. He’s breathing in short, shallow pants. Gran said not to touch him, so I don’t know what his pulse rate is. It could be racing or dropping. I’m trying to stay positive—he’s awake, he’s alive. We’ll save him. We’ve got to save him.
    Finally, we’re home.
    Gran turns into the driveway of the clinic, the