“Well, let’s get this boy fixed up. Shall we?” he said to no one in particular, and began numbing the area.
Back in the living room where all the chaos had begun, Maze was crouched under the sofa table. He was doing what any coyote would do when hurt. He was methodically licking his wound. Unfortunately, Farrow’s missed shot hit the wooden door right beside Maze sending an explosion of wood splinters into the air. It wasn’t a bullet wound he was nursing; He had several large splinters of wood lodged in his flank, but everyone was so worried about Cole no one thought to look for Maze, and he was hurting too much to go look for them. He whimpered softly as he licked and tried to gently bite at the painful wooden shards.
Not until Cole’s surgery was complete and he was stabilized did anyone think to wonder about Maze.
“Theo, do you remember seeing Maze? He wasn’t hurt, was he?” Margo asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve been so worried about Cole, I hadn’t even thought about Maze.” Theo felt guilty for inwardly blaming the coyote for his son’s injuries. It wasn’t Maze’s fault. He’s just an animal who was doing as he has been trained.
“Paulie?”
“Nope, I haven’t seen the fur ball in hours; I’ve been stuck in the lab most of the day, but I’ll come with you to look for him. I need to get some food in this old belly of mine,” he said, patting his ample middle.
With a sinking feeling settling in her stomach, Margo excused herself from Cole’s beside and began walking the house in search of her daughter’s coyote. Paulie took a detour to the kitchen to throw a frozen dinner into the microwave.
“Maze? Maze, come here boy!” She waited quietly for the familiar padding of his paws on the tile floors of this Hawaiian house that had become home, but no sound came.
She rounded the corner to look in Meg’s room.
“Maze? Are you in here?” she called.
In response, she heard a faint whimper from under Meg’s bed.
“Maze? What are you doing under there?” Margo leaned down and reached to lift the bedskirt. That’s when she noticed the blood stains.
“Oh, no. Maze, come here boy. Let me see what happened to you.” The coyote whimpered again, but didn’t move. His yellow eyes glowed in the darkness and if Margo weren’t sure this coyote was perfectly tamed, she would have thought twice about reaching her hand in to touch his soft fur.
Maze growled.
“Maze!” Margo gasped, surprised and quickly withdrew her hand. “What’s gotten into you? Honey, I only want to help you. Will you please come out from under there?” She spoke to the coyote as though he was a child.
He yawned widely, a sign of stress in canines, then whimpered apologetically.
“C’mon Mazie,” she coaxed.
Crawling, belly to the floor, the coyote made his way slowly out from under the bed. Every movement caused him to moan and yip painfully.
“That’s my boy. Good boy, Maze. I know it hurts; keep coming.”
The doctor grimace when she saw his back and hind quarter with chunks of fur and flesh mangled with both dried and oozing blood. Several large pieces of splintered wood were still deeply lodged into his flank. “Oh, you poor dear,” she cooed softly. “I’m so sorry, Mazie. I’m going to get help, okay. You stay right here.”
She stood slowly so as not to startle the anxious, hurting animal and hurried to the doorway. “Paulie! Come quick. I’m in Meg’s room, and Maze is hurt!”
Together, the two doctors worked to anesthetize the coyote, clean the wound, remove the pieces of wood, stitch up the cuts and start him on a round of I.V. antibiotics.
“I don’t have an Elizabethan collar for him, but we could make one if he needs it when he wakes up,” Paulie was saying as they finished cleaning the impromptu operating room that was Meg’s bedroom floor.
“Well, he’ll need to stay tranquilized until we get the full round of antibiotics in him anyway. I’m thinking two days will do.” She was gently rubbing his ears and stroking his sleeping eyes. He loved it when she did that and if he were awake he would be making the cutest happy noises.
Paulie stood slowly and stretched his back. “I hate to say it, but I’m getting too old for this.” He smiled ruefully and made his way stiffly out of the room.
“We did good,” Margo called to Paulie, thankful for his help.
The kindhearted, quirky doctor turned and said, “Well, we’re not veterinarians, but besides knowing what kind and how much anesthesia to give a sixty-pound canine, this injury was pretty much like treating a human.” He smiled wider and added, “A very hairy human.”
“You’re the best, Paulie!” she called affectionately after him.