She shaved a small spot on Limpy’s leg, removed a rigid rubber covering from
the needle, and pierced Limpy’s flesh. Limpy raised her head and turned it toward Luke.
Her foggy eyes questioned him. Doctor Gunther pushed the plunger slowly and evenly
and withdrew the needle.
Limpy’s muscles tensed. Her eyes widened. Her haunches thrashed as though
she were struggling to her feet. She opened her mouth, and a long deep groan filled the
room. She shuddered, then flopped, her muscles loose, and lay still.
“I’m so sorry,” Doctor Gunther said. “I should have anesthetized her. Every once
in a while—”
Luke’s heart was beating so hard he could see the pulse in his eyes. “Jeb, take
her and put her on the table.”
Jeb scooped Limpy from Luke’s lap. Her head and legs hung. He slid the body
on the table and looked over his shoulder. “You all right?”
Luke nodded and clasped his fluttering hands. “Just give me a second. It’s all
right, Doctor Gunther. I know these things happen. You did a professional job. Thank
you.”
She looked relieved.
Luke and Jeb wrapped Limpy in an opaque black plastic garbage bag. Jeb
carried her to his car and laid her on the rear seat. They drove by Jeb’s place for a pick
and shovel, and then to the park.
“I’ll show you where,” Luke said.
He carried the tools, and Jeb carried Limpy. They moved through the trees,
along Limpy’s favorite path, away from the walks and bikes and baby carriages and
runners, to the creek.
“Here,” Luke said.
Jeb squatted and let the bag slide onto the creek bank. “You know this is illegal.”
“I know.”
Jeb took the pick.
“It has to be deep, Jeb, so other animals won’t find her.”
TOM'S TALES