Mrs. Clark shakes her head firmly. “No, thank you. I’ve got a couple collecting dust in my attic. Lucy hates them. She’ll be just fine riding on my lap, as usual.”
Dr. Mac shrugs slightly, looking disappointed. She thinks all pets should be safely confined when they ride in a car. But she can’t make her patients’ owners do anything they don’t want to do.
As I open the door for Mrs. Clark and say good-bye, I notice a van with a canoe tied on top of it parked in the lot next to the clinic. A customer named Mr. Jermaine—he always tells us to call him Bill—is standing nearby talking to David. He hurries to help Mrs. Clark climb into her car. Soon Mrs. Clark pulls away. I wave at Lucy, who is standing up and looking out the car window with her paws pressed against the glass.
Bill Jermaine walks over to me with a friendly smile on his face. “Hi there, Sunita,” he says.
“Hi,” I reply, tipping my head back to look up at him. He’s a big man, tall and wide with a loud, booming voice. He makes David, who is right behind him, look even shorter and skinnier than he really is.
Bill Jermaine’s wife, Jacqueline, climbs out of the van. She’s just the opposite of her husband. She’s petite, with dainty features and a soft, soothing voice. She’s the weather reporter on one of the local TV stations. Bill Jermaine is a meteorologist, too—that’s a scientist who studies the weather—but he teaches at the university.
“Hello, dear,” Jacqueline says as I greet her politely. She calls everyone at the clinic “dear” except Dr. Mac. I don’t think she remembers our names. She even calls Dr. Gabe “dear.”
“Are you here for the picnic?” I ask as the sky releases a low rumble of thunder.
“Picnic?” Jacqueline says blankly. “No, we’re just on our way home. We were supposed to go camping in the Poconos this weekend, but we both got called back to our offices. It seems that Felix is changing direction again.” She sounds just like she does during her nightly weather reports on TV. “It looks like it’s going to be moving farther up the coast instead of making landfall in the Carolinas.”
“Farther up the coast?” I repeat. The idea of a hurricane coming our way is kind of scary.
“Whoa!” David says. “You mean, the hurricane is coming toward us?”
“Right,” Bill says. “They’re tracking it carefully, and it seems it won’t make landfall until somewhere near Virginia or maybe farther north. That means our weather here in Pennsylvania will get a lot worse before it gets better. We’re expecting bands of heavy rain for the next two to three days. And that’s the forecast, whether you like it or not.” He grins. His wife ends all of her reports on the news by saying that.
“So why are you here?” David asks.
“It’s Stormy,” Jacqueline says, opening the van door. “He’s been acting weird the whole way home. I was hoping Dr. Mac could take a look at him.”
I gulp as a huge black-and-white dog carefully climbs down from the van. Every time I see Stormy, I’m surprised all over again at how enormous he is. He’s a Great Dane—that’s one of the largest breeds of dog there is. Stormy is Dr. Mac’s Place’s largest patient with paws.
I smile nervously at Stormy, but he doesn’t seem to notice me. He sits down, tucks his tail between his legs, leans against the side of the van, and whines. He looks terrified.
“Hey! Stormy, old buddy!” David squats down beside the big dog, rubbing his chest. David’s crazy about Stormy. I think it’s because Stormy is almost as big as a horse!
The Great Dane wags his tail weakly when David pats him, then whines again and cringes against him. Jacqueline kneels beside her dog, looking worried. Before I can ask what’s wrong with him, Dr. Mac appears at the clinic door. “Oh, hi, Jacqui and Bill,” she greets the Jermaines with a smile. “Can’t you do something about this weather? It’s ruining my picnic,” she jokes.
The Jermaines chuckle, then tell Dr. Mac about Stormy’s behavior. He’s still cringing against the van, looking miserable, even though David is petting and scratching him in all his favorite spots.
“Stormy’s always a little nervous before a storm,” Bill explains. “But not this bad. We want to make sure that’s all there is to it.”
“Poor guy. He looks like a dog, but he’s really just a big scaredy-cat.” David grins up at me. I feel my cheeks turn red. David doesn’t know how to let something drop. I hope he’s not going to start calling me scaredy-cat all the time.
Dr. Mac gazes at Stormy thoughtfully. “Why don’t you bring him in?” she suggests. “I can take a quick look.”
“Could you?” Jacqueline looks relieved. “Thank you so much. That would make us feel a lot better.” She puts one hand over her heart. Everything she does is dramatic. I guess that comes from being on TV every day.
I follow Dr. Mac, David, and the Jermaines inside, making sure there’s plenty of room between me and Stormy. He looks even more enormous once we’re all in the reception area. I know he’s a gentle, well-behaved, friendly dog that wouldn’t hurt a flea. But that doesn’t stop me from being a little uneasy around him.
Dr. Mac is staring at him, her eyes thoughtful and distant, the way they always get when she’s concentrating on something. “Sunita, could you help me with the exam, please?”
“Me?” I gulp, glancing at Stormy out of the corner of my eye. “Sure, I—”
“I’ll do it,” David interrupts. He steps up and gives Stormy another pat. “It’ll take a strong kid like me to help keep Stormy on the exam table. Besides, Stormy likes my Scooby-Doo imitation.”
I force a smile as he follows Dr. Mac, Stormy, and Jacqueline into the Dolittle Room. But I have a queasy sort of feeling in the pit of my stomach. I sink down onto one of the chairs in the reception area. Am I really a scaredy-cat?
Chapter Three
Do you mind if I sit here with you, Sunita?” Bill Jermaine says. “That exam room is too small for both Stormy and me, and I don’t want to get in the doctor’s way.”
I glance at him, suddenly realizing that he hasn’t followed the others. “No problem,” I say weakly, forcing another smile. I don’t want him to see that I’m upset. I especially don’t want him to guess that his big dog scares me, at least a little. It wouldn’t look good for someone who volunteers at a vet clinic.
“Thanks,” Bill says, sitting down beside me. The chair squeaks a little under his weight.
At that moment Socrates, Dr. Mac’s cat, wanders into the room. He stops and looks at us for a moment. I’m expecting him to come to me, but he goes to Bill instead. With a small meow, he butts his big orange head against Bill’s shin.
“That’s strange,” Bill says, raising one eyebrow as he leans over to pat Socrates gingerly on the back. “This cat never gave me the time of day before.”
It’s more than strange. Socrates isn’t the friendly type, like Lucy. He’s more of a look-but-don’t-touch kind of cat. Just about the only people he lets pet him are Dr. Mac and me.
“He’s acting like a completely different cat,” I comment as Socrates weaves in and out around Bill’s legs. “I wonder if there’s something wrong with him.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much,” Bill says. “It’s probably Hurricane Felix that’s affecting him, just like Stormy.”
“The hurricane?” I say. “What do you mean? Does Stormy know that it’s coming this way?”
“Well, he probably wouldn’t put it so specifically. But yes, he knows something is wacky about the weather—like now, he knows a big storm is brewing. Animals are good at sensing that.”
“Are you saying that animals can predict the weather before it happens?” I ask.
“Not exactly.” Bill smiles. “They use their five regular senses just like us, only they’re a little more perceptive than we are about certain environmental changes, like air pressure and static electricity. As a cat lover, you might notice that static electricity in the air often makes cats groom themselves more.”
“That explains why Lucy was acting so weird today,”
I say. When Bill stares at me blankly, I add, “Mrs. Clark’s cat. And she was grooming herself a lot, too.”
Bill nods. “It’s not just cats and dogs who react to the weather,” he says. “Falling or changing air pressure can cause deer and other animals to come down from the mountains and look for shelter. Swallows fly lower. Cows lie down a lot more. Even mosquitoes and other flying insects get more active and stay closer to the ground.”
I nod my head thoughtfully. What Bill is saying makes me think of something I learned in school last year. “My science teacher taught us how to count a cricket’s chirps to tell how hot it is. You count the number of chirps in fourteen seconds, then add forty to that number to get the temperature.”
“That’s right.” Bill grins. “It’s actually pretty accurate most of the time. So you see, it’s not just poor Stormy who reacts to weather changes. All sorts of animals, birds, and insects do. People, too.” He glances at the exam-room door. “Stormy has always reacted strongly to that sort of thing. And this is the worst storm we’ve been through since we’ve had him. He’s pretty stressed out.”
Just then the door to the exam room opens, and Dr. Mac pokes her head out. “Oh, good, Sunita,” she says when she sees me. “You’re still here. I need your help.
I gulp and stand up. “What do you need me to do?” I ask Dr. Mac, trying to sound professional and not at all nervous as I head toward her.
Dr. Mac is scribbling something on a small pad of paper. She doesn’t answer for a second. Then she finishes her writing and rips off the sheet. “Here,” she says, handing it to me. “Could you please go back to the supply closet and find a bottle of these tranquilizers? I think they’re on the second shelf to the right.”
I stare at the piece of paper in my hand. Dr. Mac doesn’t need my help with Stormy. She just wants me to run and fetch some medicine. “Of course,” I say, relieved. “I’ll be right back.”
As I hurry out of the room, I can’t help smiling a little about Stormy’s problem. It seems funny that a meteorologist’s dog named Stormy hates storms so much. It’s also kind of weird to think about a huge dog like that being afraid of anything.
When I get back from the supply closet, the Jermaines are out in the reception area. Stormy is lying on the cool floor near the desk.
I hand the tranquilizer bottle to Dr. Mac. “Here,” I say. “Will Stormy be all right?”
“Absolutely.” Dr. Mac bends over to pat the big dog. “I gave him a dose in the exam room, and he’s calmer already, as you can see. Most dogs with this kind of anxiety don’t need any medication, but Stormy is an extreme case. It’s safer to tranquilize a dog than to let him drive himself crazy with anxiety and possibly injure himself.”
Bill glances at his watch. “Well, we’d better get going,” he says. “We’ve got our work cut out for us these next couple of days.”
Dr. Mac nods. “Drive carefully,” she says, and gives the Jermaines some last-minute instructions about the tranquilizers. When she opens the door for them, a sheet of rain sweeps in, splashing onto the floor halfway across the room. A crack of thunder booms suddenly, making everyone jump.
“Wow.” David whistles. “I guess the picnic is over.”
Sure enough, when we head outside, most of the guests have already gone. The remaining ones are hurrying toward their cars, holding jackets and newspapers and anything else they can find over their heads. Maggie, Zoe, and Brenna are rushing around trying to get everything out of the rain.
“Look on the bright side, though,” David adds. “At least we’re not broiling anymore.”
He’s right. I realize the air has turned a little chilly. A shiver runs down my arms.
Dr. Mac sighs. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s go help the girls clean up before this whole place floats away.”
An hour later, Zoe pulls up the shade on the waiting-room window. “It’s raining really, really hard now,” she reports.
“That’s what you’ve been saying for the past half hour,” Maggie snaps.
Zoe wrinkles her nose. “No, I haven’t,” she retorts. “The last few times I said it was raining really hard. Now it’s raining really, really hard.”
“Whatever,” Maggie mutters. “You still sound like a broken record.” Even though Maggie and Zoe are cousins, they don’t always get along too well. Actually, they’re practically opposites. Ever since Zoe moved to Ambler from New York City, Maggie has been getting on her case about how she loves to shop and do other girlie stuff. Zoe likes to tease Maggie about her sloppy clothes and the way she’s so into sports. Besides that, the triple-H weather seems to be making everyone a little crabby.
A gust of wind rattles the windows, and I look up from the patient files I’m updating. “I wonder how close Hurricane Felix is by now,” I say.
Any possible response is drowned out by a loud howl from the direction of Dr. Mac’s house, which is attached to the clinic. David winces and looks up from sweeping the floor under the guest chairs. “Poor Sherlock,” he says. “He sounds like he’s being tortured.”
Sherlock has been whining and howling off and on for the past hour. Every time there’s a clap of thunder or an especially violent gust of wind, he starts up again. Even though he’s in the house, on the other side of the wall from the clinic, the noise is giving me a headache. Basset hounds can be loud—and I mean loud. Besides, each time he howls, most of the dogs back in the kennel area join in with their own barking and wailing.
“Sherlock sure will be glad when this storm is over,” Maggie says.
“So will Stormy,” David adds.
So will I.
Brenna is looking out the window now. “Wow,” she says. “There’s like a little river running through the front yard.”
“Cool. If we get flooded in, I can paddle us out. I was canoe champion at day camp last year,” David brags.
Maggie rolls her eyes. “Oh, please,” she says. “I could beat you with one paddle tied behind my back.”
“Yeah, right.” David lets out a loud, sarcastic snort. “You wish!”
I sigh. Maggie and David are always arguing about stuff like that. Usually it’s kind of funny—like the time they had an arm-wrestling contest, and both of them refused to give in until Brenna and Zoe and I started tickling them. But today I’m not in the mood to listen to them bicker.
“Has anyone fed the boarders yet?” I ask, glancing at my watch. “Dr. Mac wanted us to get that done before four o’clock.”
“Nope,” Brenna replies. “Not me.”
The others shake their heads. I glance at the files in my lap. “Well?” I say. “Is anyone going to do it?”
“I thought you were volunteering, Sunita,” Zoe says. She’s sitting in one of the visitors’ chairs picking aqua nail polish off her big toe. Sneakers, her mutt, is obediently sitting beside her. He’s a great dog now that he’s housebroken.
I glare at her. “I’m busy right now,” I snap.
Zoe rolls her eyes. “If you want me to do it, just say so,” she says. “Come on, Brenna. Want to help me?”
I frown as the two of them leave the room. For a few minutes, it’s silent in the reception area. Maggie is bent over her work, and even David doesn’t seem to feel like talking for a change. Sherlock stops howling—for a moment, at least. I sigh.
Suddenly the front door bursts open, letting in another squall of wind and rain. I’m startled to see Mrs. Clark rushing in. She has a towel-wrapped bundle in her arms.
“Help!” she cries. “Lucy’s hurt!”
Chapter Four
Lucy looks awful. Her fur is matted from the rain. Her eyes are huge and scared. The lower part of her left front leg is swollen right above her paw. Her mouth is open slightly, and she’s panting sort of like a dog. That means she’s in shock from the pain. She lets out a pitiful meow and tries to lift her head.
Dr. Mac hurries out of her office. “What happened?” she asks as she carefully takes Lucy from Mrs. Clark.
“Lucy and I
had just arrived home,” Mrs. Clark responds breathlessly, water dripping down her face from her wet hair. “We had stopped off to visit a friend on our way back from the picnic, and the wind and rain were awful by then, so I decided to carry her instead of letting her walk.”
Dr. Mac nods. I figure she’s probably thinking that Mrs. Clark should have used the cat carrier she offered her, but she doesn’t say so.
“We were almost to the front door when there was a big clap of thunder,” Mrs. Clark goes on. “Lucy and I were both startled. She jumped out of my arms in a panic, and she hit the door pretty hard.”
I wince. Poor Lucy! But there’s no time to think about that. Dr. Mac is already heading for the Herriot Room.
This time I follow her.
“Maggie, we need to anesthetize and X-ray. David, why don’t you get out the splinting equipment in case there is a fracture. Sunita, come over here and stand by Lucy. Watch her carefully for any signs of distress.”
I nod and move quickly into place. “It’s okay, sweetie,” I croon to Lucy as soothingly as I can. I wish I could pet her to let her know everything will be okay, but I know I shouldn’t. “Just stay still now. We know it hurts, but we’re here to help.”
Meanwhile Dr. Mac examines Lucy, checking her vital signs gently but quickly. She looks at the cat’s gums. I see a flash of pale pink.
“She’s in mild shock—not too bad,” Dr. Mac says. “We’d better get a little oxygen into her and start her on some IV fluids. Then we’ll give her an anesthetic so I can take a closer look at her leg.”
Dr. Mac puts an oxygen mask over Lucy’s face. I hold it there while she inserts the IV catheter and starts the fluids. Then she moves away to help Maggie prepare the anesthetic.
“Hang in there, Lucy,” I murmur, trying to look into the cat’s eyes. I want her to know that I’m here and that Dr. Mac is going to make her feel better very soon. I glance across the room at Mrs. Clark, who is being careful to stay out of the way. The elderly woman’s face is pale and scared. I wish I could reassure her that Lucy is going to be all right, but I know Mrs. Clark won’t feel better until this is all over. So I don’t say anything. I return my attention to Lucy, hoping she can feel the good thoughts I’m sending her.