Treading Water (2 page)

I
n the Herriot Room, Dr. Mac handles the ducklings, turns them over and makes comforting little clicking noises at them. She works slowly and checks each of them from bill to tail. One after another, she places them back in the stainless steel box on the exam table. I've put a towel in the bottom of the box. Dr. Mac says that they'll have firmer footing that way. But none of them is doing anything but lying still and breathing.

“Brenna, it's a good thing you kids found them. All three are weak. And this last one,” she says, holding the one I was worried about, “is in very bad shape. Let's get them some water first.”

Dr. Mac prepares a shallow dish of cool water with a little sugar mixed in. The ducklings stick their bills into the water, lift their heads slightly, and slurp it down right away. But the one we're most worried about does not. Dr. Mac makes a note on her chart.

I whisper, “You can do it.” The duckling just blinks. Then it dips its bill into the water and drinks. Yes!

There is a knock at the door, and Dr. Mac's granddaughter Zoe walks in.

“Hiya, Brenna. Hiya, Gran. What's in the box?” Zoe asks. Before we've answered, Zoe is peering in. “Ohh, so cute,” she squeals.

“Cute and sick,” I say.

“Perhaps not sick,” Dr. Mac says. “They may just be dehydrated and hungry. Let's get another bowl of water ready.”

“They were abandoned at the high school,” I explain to Zoe. “At least we think they were abandoned. No mother in sight.” I stir a quarter teaspoon of sugar into the tiny bowl.

“Why don't we just get one of the cat bowls for them?” Zoe asks, touching the adorable tiny webbed feet of one duckling. “We wouldn't have to refill so often. I could go grab one for you.”

“That would be dangerous for these ducklings.” Dr. Mac says. “They might get into the bowl and try to swim.”

“So?” she asks. “They're ducks. Maybe they'd feel better with a swim.”

“They could drown,” I explain. I run my finger along the biggest one's back. “See how they don't have any feathers yet? It's just downy fluff. Not water repellent. If the bowl was bigger, they could get in and they'd get waterlogged. They might not be able to get out, and they'd drown right in their bowl.”

“Oh, wow. That's terrible. But I know I've seen little ducklings swimming before. Maybe not in real life but in the movies or on TV,” Zoe says. She scratches her head as if she's trying to come up with the movie's title.

Zoe knows her movies and TV shows. Her mom is an actress, and Zoe has spent a lot of time around actors in New York City and in Hollywood. Now her mom is filming in Canada, which is why Zoe—once again—is living with her grandmother and cousin, Maggie. Maggie, Zoe, and Dr. Mac live in the house attached at the back of the clinic.

It's fun having Zoe around, even when she is going on and on about fashion or cute guys.

Dr. Mac swaps the water bowls out. The ducklings drink, but not as fast as they did with the first bowl. She says, “I'm not an expert on ducklings. We'll have to do some research. But I imagine the presence of the mother duck keeps ducklings safe. But we have no mother duck. Brenna will have to fill that role.”

Dr. Mac smiles at me, and I nod. I'm happy to help.

Dr. Mac continues, “Brenna, I imagine your family has handled abandoned ducks before?”

“Grown ducks, yes. But I can't remember us taking care of ducklings before. I don't have experience with them.”

“Want to call your mom or dad for us?” she asks.

Before I can call home, Nick from the Outdoor Club is at the door with Zoe's cousin, Maggie. Nick holds a box. Maggie stares into it, her brow furrowed.

Beside me, I hear Zoe quietly say, “Ooh, cute.” She is talking about Nick, of course. Zoe never misses a chance to flirt with a good-looking guy.

“Hey, Brenna,” he says. “We found one more. It was hiding underneath one of the cars. It doesn't look so good. A couple of us did a thorough search under the rest of the cars. This is it. No more baby ducks. No mother.”

Dr. Mac crosses to the door. Zoe is right beside her and manages to get between Nick and Maggie. Maggie looks at me and shrugs. We know Zoe, after all.

“Oh dear,” Dr. Mac says. She takes the duckling from the box and lays it on the exam table. It is folded over onto its side. Its legs are pulled up under it, and its webbed feet look like claws. Even though the other ducklings look weak, none of them looks this bad.

Dr. Mac examines this duckling just like she did the others. All of us gather around the exam table and watch. When Dr. Mac looks in the duckling's mouth, she whispers, “No.”

Then she opens a drawer beside the exam table and pulls out some long tweezers. With one hand Dr. Mac carefully opens the duckling's bill, and with the other she inserts the tweezers. The duckling just lies there. No movement but the chest moving slowly up and down. No noise at all. Dr. Mac draws the tweezers out, and something long, shiny, and stringy is pulled from the duckling.

“What is that?” Maggie asks.

“That is Easter basket grass,” Dr. Mac says.

“Oh! These are abandoned Easter gifts,” I say. I immediately feel sick to my stomach. People can be so reckless with animals.

“I don't get it,” Nick says. He is still holding the empty box. “Some little kids got live ducks instead of marshmallow ones?”

I nod. “Instead of letting the Easter bunny just bring a basket of jelly beans and chocolate, some parents also give baby bunnies and chicks. And baby ducks, obviously. I hadn't considered it before. But Easter was only a week and a half ago, and we've already found boxed chicks and bunnies on the doorstep of the wildlife rehab.”

Zoe's eyes are huge. “Wait a sec. So parents give their kids a pet then take it away a few days later?”

“And who thinks a baby chicken is a pet? They shouldn't, anyway.” Maggie adds.

“It's true. Every year we get people's cast-off animals. Every year my parents wish they could do something about it.” I look at the faces around the examining table and then down at all the little ducks. Everyone is quiet. Even Zoe

“Well, I gotta get going,” Nick says to me. “You did a great job today. I'm sure I'll see you around school. I'll probably stop in when you do your presentation for the Photography Club.”

“Thanks,” I reply. “You know, I was thinking I'd like to join your Outdoor Club.”

Zoe raises an eyebrow and stares at me.

“Oh,” Nick says, crossing his arms. “I don't know if you can. It's for high school kids. Someday, right?” He smiles and nods.

Why do I immediately feel five years old?

“I can walk you out,” Zoe says. Her eyes are sparkling, and her face is pink.

“Not necessary,” Nick says. “See ya.”

“That guy is awfully cute.” Zoe says as soon as Nick leaves the room.

I reply, “He's president of the Outdoor Club. I spoke to his club today.”

“And you want to join it, I see.” Zoe turns to Maggie, “Weren't you supposed to do that, too?”

“Yeah, but I had a test to retake,” she says to Zoe. She looks at me with a sad smile. “How did it go?”

“Great. They were friendly, and they loved my photos, especially the one of the kits tumbling, and you wouldn't believe how much nicer their school is, and all the great clubs they—”

“Girls,” Dr. Mac interrupts. “Let's finish with our patients first.”

I feel bad. For a moment, I forgot about the reason we were all standing here. We help Dr. Mac get another stainless steel box and towel.

She fills a small, needleless syringe with some fresh sugar water and gently squeezes the plunger with one hand while cradling the duckling in the other. Dr. Mac presses slowly to give the duckling some hydration. We've all done this ourselves after Dr. Mac trained us. Usually, it's kittens that need this special treatment. We want to be sure the sick or hurt animal can actually swallow, so we don't drown them. If the animal cannot—or shouldn't—swallow, Dr. Mac gives the animal hydration through an IV. This little duckling is swallowing. A tiny bit. It's going to be time-consuming to fully hydrate it.

“Want me to take over?” Maggie asks. She puts her arms out, and Dr. Mac hands her the nearly limp, little yellow bit of fluff. Maggie is amazing with animals. I sometimes forget that she's just one of us Vet Volunteers and not someone who has already gone to vet school.

“Thank you, Maggie.” Dr. Mac leads the rest of us out of the exam room and back to the recovery area.

I look around at the cages and containers for animals we need to keep overnight or longer. Animals that have had surgery or just need watching before they can go home to their families are cared for in this big back room. In the farthest corner, Dr. Mac sets up a heat lamp in a recessed stainless table.

“We'll put the ducklings here for now,” she says. “I'm hoping your folks will take them to the rehab center as soon as they're healthy enough.”

“I'm sure they will,” I say. “We don't have too big a census right now. Some chicks, lots of bunnies, an owl, a raccoon, turkeys, maybe a turtle, still, and a fox family.” Census is what we call the number of animals we have at any given time. Sometimes we have recovering deer, skunks, raccoons, and, of course, birds of every kind. We've even rehabilitated an eagle. And a very special crow.

The clinic doesn't have a very high census today, either. There is a German shepherd in one of the largest cages by the door. He's wearing a plastic cone around his neck to keep him from getting to the bandage on his leg. On the other side of the recovery room, a couple of cats in high cages sleep. That's it. Sometimes Dr. Mac has so many animals we have to improvise with carrying crates. But today, it's pretty quiet.

After we set up and test the heat lamp, Dr. Mac checks on the cats and the German shepherd. When she isn't speaking softly to one of her patients, she talks to us. Dr. Mac believes in teaching and reviewing everything that goes on in her clinic with the Vet Volunteers. This means diagnosing and treating patients as well as cleaning and sanitizing every surface. Sometimes it feels as if we spend way more time cleaning than actually working with the animals. But I know from our family's center that keeping everything clean is important. Germs slow down healing. And can make an injured or sick animal worse. It doesn't mean I like to do it, though.

Zoe and I mop the floor. Dr. Mac wipes down the tables. She checks a couple of cupboards and counts some supplies. Maggie first brings in the box holding the lone duck, and then returns with the other box holding the three ducks. We all watch as the three ducks settle beneath the heat lamp in the one box. In the other box, the lone duckling just lies on its side.

Zoe asks, “Should we put them together? Maybe this one would get better quicker with its friends?”

Dr. Mac shakes her head. “We need to keep them separated until we know for sure what's going on with this one.” She points to the little one on its side.

“But you took out the Easter grass,” Zoe says.

“True. But there might be more wrong with it. Or there may be more plastic grass in its system. Better to keep them apart until we know for sure. I'll do my overnight check on them all, as usual. And tomorrow, if this little one is better, we can consider putting them all in the same box.” Dr. Mac ushers us out of the recovery room.

In the waiting area, Maggie, Zoe, and I tidy things up. Well, Maggie and I do. Zoe flips through a magazine and squeals.

“Look at this dress on her!” Zoe holds the page to show us some actress on some city street. “Don't you think Selena wore it better on the red carpet? Just last week. I can't believe that Shailene wore it, too.”

Zoe doesn't actually expect us to answer. Maggie smiles at me as Zoe flips another page and continues babbling on about somebody's clothing.

It's clinic closing time, and my mom is here to pick me up. She talks to Dr. Mac for a minute as Maggie, Zoe, and I turn off the lights and restack the magazines. I'll be back tomorrow morning for our weekly Saturday Vet Volunteers meeting.

“See you tomorrow,” Maggie says as I head out the door with Mom. “I still want to hear about the Photography Club's invitation. I promise I'll be at that one!”

I wave to the cousins. The high school students wanted to see more of me, my photos, and my photographic techniques. They invited me back for another presentation. They didn't ask for Maggie, but I ought to bring her anyway. But not Zoe. Zoe would be distracted by all the high school boys. And I would be definitely distracted by boy-crazy Zoe. I wonder if the Photography Club would let me join them?

S
unita unlocks the clinic door for me and relocks it behind me. The clinic won't open for an hour and a half. Sunita is always the first one here for our meetings. She's the most organized of all the Vet Volunteers. She takes meeting notes even though Dr. Mac has always said it wasn't necessary.

“It helps me listen better,” is Sunita's reasoning. I'm glad she takes notes. Sometimes I need to go back and read them, especially if I was a little busy taking photos of the other Vet Volunteers or our patients.

I usually bring my camera wherever I go. There is so much to see, and sometimes I see it all better through my viewfinder. Maybe it is a little like Sunita's note taking; taking pictures helps me focus on the details of what I'm really looking at. But that's likely to be whatever is around me and not always whatever it is that Dr. Mac, or Dr. Gabe, is saying.

Dr. Gabe is the other vet in Dr. Mac's practice. Dr. Gabe mostly handles the stable calls. Stable calls aren't just for horses. It's what we call all vet visits to farms and even to my family's wildlife rehab center. Large animals are usually involved: horses, cattle, pigs, sheep, and goats. But a stable call can be for a newborn lamb, which is about the size of a cat, or for birds, like the eagle that my parents kept in our critter barn until he was healed. Dr. Gabe is often at our Vet Volunteers' meetings, but not always. So far, nobody is here today except Sunita and me.

“Dr. Mac filled me in on your ducklings,” Sunita says, picking up a clipboard. I like that she called them my ducklings.

“Do you think you'll keep them, or even one?” she asks. “Would Poe Crow be jealous?”

Edgar Allan Poe, my pet crow, has been with me for a while now. He was shot by a hunter, and we rehabilitated him at the center. But he can't fly anymore, and that means he wouldn't survive in the wild. So I was allowed to keep him. Poe comes with me almost everywhere. He even rides with me on my bike. I've never met anyone else with a pet crow.

But I know—after a lifetime with my parents—that, with the exception of Poe, none of the animals we care for are mine.

“I'd love to keep the ducklings,” I tell Sunita. “But when they're all better, we have to release them back into the wild or find safe places—sanctuaries—for them to live.”

Sunita nods. “I just thought that maybe this time would be different.”

“I wish. As cute as they are, and as much as I would love to raise and keep them, I know it's not in the cards,” I say. “What is it with cute animals? When we release them, Mom and Dad seem so happy and I always feel sad.”

Sunita nods again. She is such an understanding friend. “You always have your pictures, at least.”

“You're right,” I say. “I'll be sure to get some good ones of the ducklings. I should probably snap some fresh shots of Poe, too. I can add them to my high school wildlife presentation. Maybe I'll even bring him along. Do you think I'd have to get special permission from the school?”

Sunita leads the way to the recovery room. “I think you would.”

“But I bet the students would love him,” I suggest. How could they not?

I can hear the ducklings as soon as we enter. We head to the back corner and the glow of the heat lamps. In the first box, the ducklings drink and peep and move around a lot more than they did yesterday, their webbed feet kicking up the pine shavings in the bottom of the box.

“Dr. Mac and I switched out the towel for the shavings,” Sunita says. It's like she read my mind. “Dr. Mac said she went through seven towels last night and early this morning.”

“That's because ducks poop every fifteen minutes,” I tell her. “They're pretty messy animals. I researched with my mom last night. They've cared for ducks before, but it's been a while. I brought my findings to share with everyone today.” I wave the paper I have folded up in my hand. Sunita nods. We look in the second box.

The lone duckling doesn't look any better. In fact, I think it looks worse. I don't see any shavings beneath it, just a towel like we used yesterday afternoon.

“Why didn't you switch this one to shavings?” I ask Sunita.

“Because he's stayed pretty dry. Hardly any pee or poo. Dr. Mac is worried about that,” Sunita tells me. “She says it means he's not eating or drinking enough.”

Sunita checks the chart hanging from the table ledge. We can see that the three ducklings are eating and drinking pretty well. We can also see that the lone duckling received a syringe of water from Dr. Mac a half hour ago. If they poop every fifteen minutes, there ought to be some evidence of it on that towel. Sunita and I look at each other. She doesn't look hopeful. And I don't feel it.

Someone is knocking on the clinic's glass door. I hope it's our friends and not an emergency pet problem. Sunita and I go back out front. David is horsing around with Josh. We let them in and Josh's twin sister, Jules, follows behind. She nods her head in the direction of the boys and rolls her eyes. David and Josh together can be a lot of fun. But they can also be a pain. Sometimes David, especially, has a hard time knowing when to get serious about things.

Jules pats my shoulder as she walks by, “Just wait till you see what they've come up with this morning.”

Sunita raises an eyebrow. She relocks the door. Dr. Gabe, if and when he gets here, has his own key. And the rest of our group will arrive from the back, through the long hall that leads to Maggie, Zoe, and Dr. Mac's home. We gather in the waiting room and wait. I take a candid picture of Josh and David fist bumping. When I try to do the same of Sunita and Jules, Sunita ducks and Jules puts on a cheesy smile. That won't be a good shot.

The dogs arrive first. Maggie's old hound, Sherlock, paddles in, followed by Zoe's peppier, sweet mutt, Sneakers.

I hear Zoe before I see her.

“How will you ever know if you like parsley breakfast shakes if you never try them?” Zoe asks.

“I'm not drinking anything green,” Maggie says to Zoe before sitting down on a couch and waving to me. Zoe sits beside Maggie and shakes her head. I take a quick photo of them.

“I put pears in there, too, you know. And you like pears,” Zoe insists.

“Yeah and I like Pop-Tarts better.” Maggie's tone seems to signal the end of the discussion.

“Good morning, everyone,” Dr. Mac greets us. Even though she is Maggie and Zoe's grandmother, she sure doesn't seem like a grandma. Dr. Mac doesn't look or act old like a lot of grandmothers do. I've seen her lift heavy animals. I've seen her climb fences. And she can run fast when she has to. Dr. Mac is pretty cool. I hope I'm like that when I'm her age.

“Look at this, look at this! I'm practicing for a campout with my dad,” David says. He pulls a small flashlight from his pocket, turns it on, and pretends to lick it.

“What is that supposed to be?” I ask.

“Yes, what is that?” Sunita asks.

“I'm having a light snack! Get it?” David says. He laughs so hard he tips over.

We groan. Even Josh.

We hear a key in the door. Dr. Gabe walks in with a stack of files. Zoe is up in an instant and across the floor.

“Need help?” she asks. Zoe rests one hand on Dr. Gabe's arm.

“Hi Zoe, no thanks. I've got it,” he replies. He smiles and nods in our direction. “Hi kids, Hey, J.J. I have a few cases to go over with you before I finish these files.”

J. J. MacKenzie is Dr. Mac's real name.

She says, “I've just begun with our hardy volunteers. Should be about ten minutes. Then I can take a look.”

He nods and smiles at Dr. Mac. He smiles down at Zoe. Zoe smiles, pivots, and returns to her seat with a goofy expression on her face. I think Zoe imagines that Dr. Gabe treats her special. But actually, cute Dr. Gabe treats everyone like they're special. Little kids, old folks, all of us, and of course, all the animals. Sometimes I get frustrated with people and the way they can be with animals. Dr. Gabe is patient and understanding. He shows people how to care for animals. I'm not sure that even if I wanted to be a vet I could be one. I get mad too fast. My parents are always trying to show me how to handle myself in these situations. And Dr. Mac has reminded me more than once to chill out. But how do you do that when things—people—need fixing?

Dr. Mac resumes our meeting. She makes checks on her clipboard as she talks. “So, gang, I have Maggie, Zoe, Brenna, Sunita, and Jules on cleaning crew for tomorrow. David and Josh have duties at the FFA horse-judging contest. Have a great time, you two. And tell us all about it next week. As for today, the exam rooms, surgery, and recovery rooms are cleaned and ready. We need only our usual quick clean of the waiting area. David and Zoe, could you water the plants? And Sunita, I could use you at the desk for about ten minutes. Josh and Jules, I have you down for glass cleaning. We have even more canine noseprints on the doors than usual. Brenna and Maggie, can you mop? We'll all meet up in the recovery room for a duck exam. Brenna, do you or your parents have info to share with us about duckling health?”

I whip out my paper. “Got it right here.”

“Perfect,” Dr. Mac says. “I knew I could count on you.”

We all get to work. I take a few pictures of everyone at their tasks. At one point, Maggie stops mopping and stares at me with her hands on her hips. I get the picture. Too much camera work, not enough mop work. I press the lens cap back onto my camera and grab my mop. We really are done fast. Fifteen minutes later, all of us—including Dr. Gabe—are gathered around the duck boxes.

It is a terrible, sad sight. The little lone duckling is dead. It's obvious even before Dr. Mac pulls out her stethoscope to check its vitals. The duckling is on its side. It's still, legs curled up, webbed feet clawed. Her eyelids are half open. An animal that has died just looks like an empty place.

I feel my temples throb. I am more than just sad. I am so angry. Furious, really. This didn't need to happen. I take a picture.

“What are you doing?” Sunita cries.

“I . . . I just wanted to document this,” I reply. Sunita's eyes are wide and her mouth is open. She looks shocked, horrified. I horrified her.

“I just don't think it is right,” she says. “What will you do with that picture?”

“Jeez, Brenna,” David says, “Not cool.”

“Well, I don't know,” I say. I really don't know. Why did I take that picture? I think I just reacted. But is it really such a terrible thing to do? To take a picture of an animal that is dead? Don't we have to see and remember bad things, too?

My face is hot. I must be as red as the heat lamp. The rest of the Vet Volunteers look confused. It's hard to read what Dr. Mac or Dr. Gabe thinks.

“Sorry?” I try.

Finally, Dr. Mac speaks. “I'm sure Brenna will be respectful, whatever she decides to do.”

It's like the air has come back into the room. I look at Sunita. She does not look at me. She places a towel over the dead duckling. Is she keeping me from taking another picture . . . or just being respectful to the duckling?

The other ducklings are peeping loudly. Maggie and Josh put on gloves, and Jules picks up the ducklings chart. Dr. Mac demonstrates how she examines the ducks, and Maggie and Josh do the same. We are all supposed to follow along, even though we don't each do an exam. Dr. Mac wants to teach us, but she never wants to overhandle a patient. We can learn by watching. I'm having a hard time paying attention. I wonder what everyone thinks of me. I'm still not sure that I did anything wrong. But other than disaster photos, like birds caught in oil slicks, I can't remember seeing pictures of dead animals before. Not in a magazine. Not in a gallery show. Maybe I did do something wrong.

“Brenna?”

“Brenna?”

I realize that someone is talking to me.

“Sorry, yes?” I say.

“Did you want to share your duck research with us?” Dr. Mac smiles and nods.

I feel encouraged. Until I glance at Sunita. She still looks spooked. I try a little smile in Sunita's direction. Her brow furrows. I better begin.

“I talked with my parents and I Googled a bunch of stuff. The most important thing to know about ducks is that they don't have any saliva.” I see Dr. Gabe nod agreement. He must know a lot about ducks because of his farm calls.

I continue, “So they always need a water source. Food can get stuck in their mouths or throats, and they can choke and die if they go without water.”

Maggie jumps in. “So these ducklings would probably all have died if you hadn't rescued them from the parking lot. There isn't any water near the high school, is there?”

I shake my head no. There is no water there. Rescued. I think Maggie is trying to make me sound heroic in front of the others, especially Sunita. But of course, somebody else would have found them and probably taken them to Dr. Mac's or to the rehab center. At least, I sure hope that would have happened. I don't want to imagine it any other way.

“Other duckling facts: They are very messy. Ducks poop about every fifteen minutes.” I pause to see if David is going to make some kind of joke, but he's serious for a change.

I flip my paper over and read: “It's hard to tell the gender of ducks until about seven weeks—”

“Seven weeks?” Jules interrupts. “That seems like an awfully long time. How can you tell at seven weeks?” Jules looks at the ducklings as if she might be able to tell right now whether they're boys or girls.

“At about seven weeks, the ducks are fully feathered,” I begin. “The males have some tail feathers that curl back toward their heads. The girls do not. Oh, and also, girls quack and boys whine.”

“Boy ducks don't quack?” Josh asks. “Are you sure?”

I shrug. “That's what my parents and my research tell me.”

Dr. Gabe confirms this. “Right now these ducks are so young that they just peep. But we might be able to tell from their vocalizations before they're fully feathered. Because, yes, only the girls quack.”