Page 15 of One Pucking Destiny

Holding the probe against the shaved section of the dog’s abdomen, I look at the screen. The ultrasound image reveals eight little pups. The owner of this golden retriever brought her in for a checkup, worried that she might have a tumor or illness. The owner says the dog, Lacy, is gaining weight, seems lethargic, and is keeping to herself. I would be too if I were preparing to push out eight babies.

I look at the owner. She wears a face of concern. “Is it cancer? Please say it’s not cancer.”

“No cancer. Lacy is healthy and ready to give birth to eight little puppies.” I smile.

The owner’s mouth falls open. “What?” she shrieks.

Her sudden change in temperament throws me off, and I blink back at her.

“How is this possible? She’s fixed. She can’t have babies! I don’t want to deal with puppies,” she protests.

I bite the corner of my lip and shake my head. “She’s definitely not spayed.”

“No. When I bought her from the breeder, he said she was fixed, so this isn’t possible. I don’t want to deal with puppies!” she protests.

“I’m sorry, but I think that breeder gave you false information.” I point at the outlines of the puppies in utero on the screen and count out each one, making sure to draw attention to their heads and other visible body parts, which is sometimes hard to see when they’re all squished in this tight. “Not only is Lacy pregnant but she’s very pregnant. I’m guessing around sixty days along. Goldens usually give birth around day sixty-three.” I pause before adding, “I’m sorry that this isn’t the news you were hoping to hear.” Though next to the cancerous tumor she thought Lacy had, Iwould’ve thought this outcome would be received better.

She jerks her head from side to side. “It’s just not possible!”

“Is there a male dog around her?”

“Well, yeah, my Chihuahua, Bruce.”

“Is Bruce neutered?”

“No, but that doesn’t matter. He’s tiny. Lacy is not.” She stares down at her very pregnant dog. “How would that even work?” She tilts her head to the side, wearing a look of disgust as if she’s trying to imagine the actual dynamics of the two vastly different-sized dogs mating.

I suppress a laugh. “Believe me, they make it work. Little dogs mate with bigger ones all the time.”

Lacy lies on the metal table, waiting for her next instruction. The poor thing is clearly very pregnant and uncomfortable, but she let a stranger put her up on this awkward table and push on her belly with a weird wand without protesting at all. She has such a sweet demeanor to her, something she didn’t inherit from her human mother.

Her owner stares at her with disgust. “What am I supposed to do?”

Turning behind me, I retrieve a treat from the glass jar on the countertop and give it to Lacy. I scratch behind her ears, and she leans into my touch.

“We can give you some information on how to make her comfortable for birth. We have pamphlets on it, and there are a bunch of very helpful videos online as well. But don’t worry. Her instincts will kick in, and she’ll need very little help—just a clean, dry place to give birth.”

The owner blinks rapidly, wearing a grimace on her face. “I’m going to call that breeder and give him a piece of my mind.”

Working to push aside all judgment, I explain how birth in dogs normally works and talk about the care the puppies will need after birth. I very cautiously imply that it might be a good idea to get little Brucey neutered. I can’t tell how much the owner actually hears. Her expression, full of anger, makes me think she’s focused on how mad she is at the breeder.

Wrapping my arms around Lacy, I help her off the table and give her some more pets. “You’ll do great, momma.” I hold the sweet dog’s face between my hands. With a final scratch of her head, I stand and make my way to the door. “Mary, our tech, will be in shortly with some information for you to take home about the birth and aftercare. If you want to make that appointment for Bruce, the ladies at the front desk can help you when you check out.” The woman doesn’t respond. “Good luck, Lacy girl,” I say my goodbyes to the pup and exit the exam room.

The head veterinarian at the clinic, Dr. Pedlow, has been silently observing me from the corner of the exam room, and she follows me out. We exchange looks, both suppressing smiles.

Finding Mary in the hallway, I hand over Lacy’s file and give her a brief rundown of the visit and instructions for checkout.

Dr. Pedlow motions toward the direction of her office, and we make our way to it. We don’t say anything until we’re at the other end of the clinic and in her office behind a closed door.

“So?” I ask, quirking a brow.

She grins. “You did great. Handled it exactly the way I would have.”

“Any feedback?” It’s important that the lead vet approves of me and my abilities. Her final report means everything when it comes to clinical selections next year.

“Honestly, Ms. Cortez, you were perfect. You could’ve chatted with the owner a bit more to make her feel more comfortable with the impending birth, but given that she wasn’t really listening to you, it probably wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. I like that you’re giving her a few minutes to cool off before Mary repeats all the information. Maybe she’ll be more receptive to Mary after having a little time to process.”

I nod. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.”

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