“Thanks” he said. “Chandi should be in any minute, right?”
I glanced at the clock. Chandi was still our office manager and the person who opened the clinic each weekday at seven thirty. “If she’s not here to let him in, I’ll watch the door.”
Randy nodded and headed into his office, where I knew he would try to catch up on a few emails or patient notes before meeting with this new client. I prepped the exam room, making sure there was a blood sample kit for Randy to use. Once I was finished, I returned to the front office, where through the glass door, I saw a tall man in a red ski jacket standing with one arm raised, about to knock.
I smiled and rushed to unlock the door, ushering him inside with his dog, a medium-size, black-haired mutt with white paws and a white patch on his chest. “Hi,” I said. “I’m Jennifer. Come on back.”
“Thank you,” the man said, and I could hear the worried tension in his voice.
When we got to the room, I took the leash he held and shut the door behind us so the animal couldn’t escape. The man shook off his coat, dropping it onto the orange, vinyl-covered bench next to the exam table, and looked at me with hazel eyes. His hair was dark blond and his skin was tan; I wondered if he’d come to Washington from some sunny locale, because Mt. Vernon hadn’t seen blue skies or a temperature over fifty degrees since October.
“The doctor will be right in,” I said, poising my fingers over the keyboard to the computer in the room. “Can I get your name and this little guy’s so I can get a file started?”
“Evan Richmond,” he said. “And this is Scout. He’s never been sick like this before.”
“You’ve brought him to the right place.” I typed in their names, then got his address and phone number. “Dr. Stewart said you’ve just moved here. Where from?” I grabbed my thermometer and crouched down behind Scout, who had tucked his tail between his legs, making it difficult for me to take his temperature.
“Phoenix,” he said. “My dad passed away last year. He was a mechanic, and left me his business. I came up here to sell it, but I grew up here, so I decided to move back and take it over instead. I’m a mechanic, too.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your dad.” I shifted on my tiptoes and looked up at him. “Can you help me, please? I need to get his temp.” I nodded in the general direction of Scout’s rump, and Evan dropped down on his knees, holding his dog’s head while he lifted Scout’s tail.
“It’s okay, boy,” he said. “She isn’t going to hurt you.”
“Thanks,” I said, quickly taking care of one of my least glamorous responsibilities. One hundred five, I thought, cringing a bit. Evan was right. His dog was definitely ill.
Just then, Randy pushed open the door and entered the exam room. “Evan?” he said, holding out his hand. Evan shook it. “I’m Dr. Stewart.” He looked down at the dog, who had curled up on the floor, lying on top of his master’s black work boots. “And this must be Scout.”
“Temp’s one-oh-five,” I murmured, and I felt Evan’s eyes land back on me.
“That’s high, right?” he asked.
Randy squatted on the floor and put his stethoscope against Scout’s chest. The dog was panting, quietly but rapidly, clearly in distress. “We normally like to see it between one-oh-one and one-oh-three.”
“Shit,” Evan said, and I did something I never had with a client before. I reached out and put one of my hands on his arm. His tendons were pulled as tight as guitar strings.
“It’ll be okay,” I said. “You brought him in right away. We’ll take good care of him.” I thought back to Winston, the dog who had presented with the same symptoms all those years before. He hadn’t responded to multiple rounds of antibiotics. If Scout indeed had an infection, I could only hope that what I’d just said to Evan would be true.
Evan bobbed his head, once, and then crossed his arms over his chest while Randy took a quick blood sample from Scout’s back, right between his shoulder blades. He handed it to me, and I left the room and walked to the small lab down the hall, where I ran a few tests, waiting for Randy to join me and interpret the results. When he arrived a few minutes later, he checked the sample under the microscope and frowned. “High white blood cell count,” he said. “Might be a systemic infection.”
“I’ll get a boarding kennel ready for him,” I said, knowing Randy’s next order without him having to ask. He would want Scout to stay at least for a few days on an IV so we could monitor the fever and figure out what was going on with him.
“Thanks,” Randy said. “I’ll go talk with Evan and then head back to my office.”
A few minutes later, I returned to the exam room. Randy wasn’t there, but Evan was sitting on the small orange bench. His head was in his hands, and the heels of his palms were pressed into his eyes. Scout was still curled up on his feet, panting.