Page 20 of A Change of Location
He yanked out his mobile and auto-dialed the estate office. “Millie’s hurt. Drive down to the Home Farm straightaway. We need transport.”
“Oh, God,” Poppy wailed. “I’ve been looking for her everywhere. What happened?”
“Struck by a car, I suppose. She must’ve dragged herself from the lane to the Home Farm pasture. One leg appears to be damaged.”
“I’m on my way.”
When she rang off, he murmured to the dog, “Hang on, old thing. Popster can’t manage without you.” If Ariel were lamed and lying helpless in the grass like this, he’d be insane. “Who the hell does a hit-and-run so close to private property? In broad daylight.”
With irritating calm, Hannah replied, “Mean people suck.”
“Sorry?”
“Bumper sticker on my housemate’s car.”
Poppy’s mud-spattered Volvo zoomed down the lane. She leaped out and raced over, her face a mask of anguish.
“Why’s her head covered? Don’t tell me she’s dead!”
Hannah explained, “To keep her from snapping at us.”
“Millie’s not a biter.”
“Physical pain can cause abnormal behavior.”
Poppy flung herself on the grass. “I’m here, sweet girl.” The dog’s tail thumped the ground weakly. “You’ve been knocked about, that’s all. Be brave, and Dr. Allason will patch you up.”
Martin placed a hand on her shoulder. “Hold her head while I lift her up, and don’t remove my coat. She won’t like being carried.”
The dog’s breath came in gasps as he carried her to Poppy’s car. Struggling in his arms, she pawed at the material obstructing her vision.
“If she tries to get up or move about,” Hannah said when Poppy and Millie were settled on the back seat, “don’t let her. Keep talking to her.”
Exceeding the speed limit, Martin made good time until blocked by a slow lorry on a busy stretch of road. Glancing to his left, he saw Hannah’s fingers frantically tapping at her phone. Behind him, Poppy alternately soothed her pet and cursed whoever had callously run her down.
Hannah swiveled around, saying, “If Millie had a morning meal, your Dr. Allason won’t be able to knock her out for a while. Regurgitation under anesthesia is a greater danger than a fracture.”
To stop Poppy from exploding again, Martin said, “Hannah’s dad is a vet.”
“I’m texting him now, but he’s not responding. At this hour he must be milking the goats.”
“You keep dairy goats?” he asked, in an effort to distract the frantic Poppy.
“Susie, mature and sweet. Marilyn, young and movie-star beautiful, and like her namesake has perfect—teats.”
Luckily there were no other emergencies at Beechwood Veterinary Clinic. After Poppy and Millie were admitted to a consulting room, Martin and Hannah sat down to wait.
Across the room, an elderly man’s white head was bent over a newspaper. Splashed across the front page was the latest Sterling Scandal headline:
MP’S MISTRESS: HOW THE MOB MAIDEN GOT HER MONEY.
A lady with a cat carrier exhibited a morbid interest in the details of the Labrador’s injury. Martin reluctantly entered a dialogue, underscored by creepy yowling from her Siamese.
Hannah fared better with a young mother and her toddler, accompanied by a hedgehog in a shoebox.
The woman told her, “I found out on the website that Dr. Allason treats indigenous wildlife without charging a fee.”
Hannah ran her finger across the creature’s spines. “We don’t have these scurrying around where I come from,” she said. “Old Mainers call our porcupines hedgehogs. They’re lots bigger, and not as cute. Covered with long, sharp quills.”
