WATCHERS by Dean R. Koontz

shots. It’s very irresponsible not to see that your dog is properly licensed and

vaccinated.”

“I know,” Travis said miserably. “I know.”

“What’s wrong with Einstein?” Nora said.

And she thought-hoped-prayed: It’s not as serious as it seems.

Lightly stroking the retriever, Keene said, “He’s got distemper.”

Einstein had been moved to a corner of the surgery, where he lay on a thick,

dog-size foam mattress that was protected by a zippered plastic coverlet. To

prevent him from moving around—if at any time he had the strength to move—he was

tethered on a short leash to a ringbolt in the wall.

Dr. Keene had given the retriever an injection. “Antibiotics,” he explained. “No

antibiotics are effective against distemper, but they’re indicated to avoid

secondary bacteriological infections.”

He had also inserted a needle in one of the dog’s leg veins and had hooked him

to an IV drip to counteract dehydration.

When the vet tried to put a muzzle on Einstein, both Nora and Travis objected

strenuously.

“It’s not because I’m afraid he’ll bite,” Dr. Keene explained. “It’s for his own

protection, to prevent him from chewing at the needle. If he has the strength,

he’ll do what dogs always do to a wound—lick and bite at the source of the

irritation.”

“Not this dog,” Travis said. “This dog’s different.” He pushed past Keene and

removed the device that bound Einstein’s jaws together.

The vet started to protest, then thought better of it. “All right. For now. He’s

too weak now, anyway.”

Still trying to deny the awful truth, Nora said, “But how could it be so

serious? He showed only the mildest symptoms, and even those went away over a

couple of days.”

“Half the dogs who get distemper never show any symptoms at all,” the vet said

as he returned a bottle of antibiotics to one of the glass-fronted cabinets and

tossed a disposable syringe in a waste can. “Others have only a mild illness,

symptoms come and go from one day to the next. Some, like Einstein, get very

ill. It can be a gradually worsening illness, or it can change suddenly from

mild symptoms to . . . this. But there is a bright side here.”

Travis was crouched beside Einstein, where the dog could see him without lifting

his head or rolling his eyes, and could therefore feel attended, watched over,

loved. When he heard Keene mention a bright side, Travis looked up eagerly.

“What bright side? What do you mean?”

“The dog’s condition, before it contracts distemper, frequently determines the

course of the disease. The illness is most acute in animals that are ill-kept

and poorly nourished. It’s clear to me that Einstein was given good care.”

Travis said, “We tried to feed him well, to make sure he got plenty of

exercise.”

“He was bathed and groomed almost too often,” Nora added.

Smiling, nodding approval, Dr. Keene said, “Then we have an edge. We have real

hope.”

Nora looked at Travis, and he could meet her eyes only briefly before he had to

look away, down at Einstein. It was left to her to ask the dreaded question:

“Doctor, he’s going to be all right, isn’t he? He won’t—he won’t die, will he?”

Apparently, James Keene was aware that his naturally glum face and drooping eyes

presented, merely in repose, an expression that did little to inspire

confidence. He cultivated a warm smile, a soft yet confident tone of voice, and

an almost grandfatherly manner that, although perhaps calculated, seemed genuine

and helped balance the perpetual gloom God had seen fit to visit upon his

countenance.

He came to Nora, put his hands on her shoulders. “My dear, you love this dog

like a baby, don’t you?”

She bit her lip and nodded.

“Then have faith. Have faith in God, who watches over sparrows, so they say, and

have a little faith in me, too. Believe it or not, I’m pretty good at what I do,

and I deserve your faith.”

“I believe you are good,” she told him.

Still squatting beside Einstein, Travis said thickly, “But the chances. What’re

the chances? Tell us straight?”

Letting go of Nora, turning to Travis, Keene said, “Well, the discharge from his

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *