Teacher's Pet by Laurie Halse Anderson Page B

wheels of the van squealing. She blares the horn to alert Dr. Gabe, who comes running. I slide the side door open as Gran cuts the engine. She dashes around the side of the van.
    â€œHe’s still breathing,” I say.
    Gran quickly takes his pulse. “His heartbeat is fast and thready. Let’s get him inside.”
    Dr. Gabe peers into the van. “What do we have here?” he asks.
    Gran climbs into the van and grabs one end of the blanket on which Scout is lying. “Get the other end,” she instructs. “I’ll fill you in while we carry him.”
    Yikes! I’ve never seen Gran in such a hurry with a patient.
    Dr. Gabe grips the other end of the blanket. “One, two, three!” he says. Gran shuffles forward, bent over, and Dr. Gabe steps backward. They carefully maneuver Scout out of the van and carry him across the parking lot.
    â€œTwo-year-old healthy male shepherd, hit by a car,” Gran says. “Shocky, probable internal bleeding. The car wasn’t moving too fast, but it threw him to the ground. Possible head injuries.”
    I run ahead and hold the door open as the two vets rush their patient into the clinic. When a dog is hit by a car, every second counts.
    They carry Scout through the door and straight back to the operating room. As they lay him on the table, Scout’s eyes open, then close.
    No!
    Gran listens to his chest with her stethoscope. “Heart is getting weaker.”
    Dr. Gabe peels back Scout’s upper lip to look at his gums.
    â€œVery pale,” he says grimly. He presses a finger against the gum, then releases the pressure. “Capillary refill time is slow,” Dr. Gabe reports. “He probably has internal bleeding. I’ll tap his belly with a needle and see if we get any blood.”
    â€œHang on!” Gran rubs her fingers on Scout’s ears and touches the bottom of his foot pad. “His extremities are cool. We’ll start with fluids and oxygen to stabilize him.”
    â€œRight,” Dr. Gabe says. He pulls the equipment cart over and snaps on a pair of latex gloves.
    Gran looks over her glasses at me. “Maggie, I need I.V. bags. Get me one sodium chloride and one Ringer’s.”
    â€œOn my way,” I say.
    As Gran wheels over the oxygen canister, I grab the bags out of a cupboard at the end of the room. The sodium chloride and Ringer’s solution will help Scout’s body fight off the effects of the shock and bring up his blood pressure. You have to treat the shock before you can deal with anything else.
    I run the I.V. bags over to the table. An oxygen mask has been looped over Scout’s snout. Dr. Gabe has the electric clippers going. He shaves the fur off Scout’s foreleg, swabs the bare skin with antiseptic, and quickly inserts a catheter that he connects to the I.V. bag. The fluids are flowing instantly.
    â€œPulse?” he asks.
    â€œStill one hundred and forty—very weak,” Gran says. She opens Scout’s eyelid and flashes a small light. “Pupils are normal. That’s one good sign. Let’s get a blood-pressure reading.”
    Dr. Gabe has already shaved the fur off the other foreleg. He hooks the monitor onto the skin and watches the green screen.
    â€œThat’s way too low,” he says.
    Gran’s eyes dart over to me. I know this is bad.
    I grip the edge of the table as hard as I can. Come on, Scout! Fight!
    â€œDopamine,” Gran says. Gabe runs to the medical cupboard and pulls out a small vial of medicine. “Maggie, I need his temp. Can you do that?”
    I nod. The thermometer is on the equipment cart. I pick it up, lift Scout’s tail, and insert the thermometer. I watch the second hand on the clock over the door.
    Dr. Gabe hands the bottle of dopamine to Gran. She sticks the needle of a syringe into the rubber top of the bottle and carefully measures out the dose. She sets the bottle on the table and injects the medicine into