“No,” Luke said. “I can’t—”
“Let me put her to sleep.”
“No.”
Luke squeezed one hand with the other, as if to warm up before playing. He
darted glances around the room.
“You want to take her home in the shape she’s in?” Doctor Gunther asked.
Jeb put his hand on Luke’s shoulder. “You could wait outside. I could stay with
her while Doctor Gunther, you know—”
Luke couldn’t hold still. His leg jiggled, his hands wandered over his shirt,
searching.
“Why don’t you both go on home and leave her with me?” Doctor Gunther said.
Luke raised his eyes and started to speak. He had no voice. He looked down,
folded his hands carefully, cleared his throat. “She’s only a dog.”
They watched him and waited.
“Let me hold her,” Luke said, “while you do it.”
Doctor Gunther nodded and stood. “I’ll be right back.”
Jeb stepped out of her way.
“Will you bring her to me, Jeb?” Luke said.
Jeb slipped his arms under Limpy. She groaned low in her voice. He lifted her
gently and hunkered in front of Luke. “Ready?”
Luke spread his arms, palms up. Limpy was a dead weight in his lap. “I don’t
have a free hand,” he said to Jeb. “Pet her. Comfort her.”
Luke scratched the top of her head.
“It’s okay, Olympia,” Luke said. “I’m here. We’ll do this together.”
Limpy forced out a wail.
Doctor Gunther, in a long white apron and fresh latex gloves, came in with a
razor and large syringe. She sat next to Luke. “Turn toward me so I can get to her.”
Luke twisted, careful not to disturb Limpy.
“She won’t feel anything,” Doctor Gunther said.
TOM'S TALES