Page 41 of Vetted for Vengeance
“Ready,” Laura replied.
“Here we go.” I cut through the uterus to reveal a tiny pup in his little sac. I extract the motionless wet body, letting Noah lift it in the palm of his hand. He instinctively clears the membrane from its face, then rubs it hard. The floppy pup gives a satisfying squeak. Noah exhales as if he’s been holding his breath for an hour.
He nods and passes it to Laura, ready and waiting with a warm towel. Noah leans back in, opposite me, leaning over the same wound, with the surgical tray on his left. He's so close, but the situation puts him a world away.
“Exposing the next pup.” I angle the uterine horn to gently ease out the next pup through the same incision. Laura isn't ready for this one yet, so Tree grabs a towel and steps in.
I need to get all 12 pups out ASAP, but I'm lacking in hands to take them. This is Noah’s dog; her well-being comes first. We just save what we can of the puppies afterwards.
“Next,” I warn Noah. He cleans and rubs it, earning his squeak before he hands it to Laura, who now has a pup in each hand. “Next.”
Laura and Tree stand together with a line of sleepy pups, alternating which one they stimulate with aggressive rubbing.
“Damn, I need the Spencer Wells.” I just need to get this next pup out of the way.
Noah doesn't move. He's been amazing until now, giving me what I need, but now, without Tree standing next to him, he's clueless.
“She's bleeding,” Noah observes, placing a gauze swab in my palm. “Will this thingamajigger work for clamping the bleed?”
He offers me exactly what I asked for, without even knowing it.
“Thanks.” We switch, him taking the puppy as I grab the Spencer Wells artery forceps. Next time I'm asking for something by its full name, or I'm calling it a thingamajigger.
We find an easy rhythm, removing the pups in a steady stream until finally I hand Noah the final one.
The last pup is noticeably smaller. Even in the bright surgical lights, the difference is obvious.
“And this last one is clearly the runt.” Noah shrugs.
He doesn't rub this one as hard. Not because he's trying to be gentle, but like it doesn’t matter. The pup doesn't even squeak before he's handed it to Tree.
“Right, let's spay her now, so she doesn't need opening up again.” I mutter, more to myself. “Two point oh Vicryl.”
I extend my hand but receive nothing.
“Maybe if you explain what you're doing,” Noah shrugs.
“I’m closing the incision to prevent fluid leaking into the abdominal cavity during the spay.”
“Suture cotton?” He shrugs, handing me a length of Vicryl on a needle driver.
“Yes. The sewing thingamajigger.”
“Well, why didn't you say so,” he chuckles. He glances over his shoulder at the long line of tiny pups.
“They're small, sluggish from the anesthetic, but all showing signs of life,” I share the benefits of my better position and superior knowledge.
“She's so lucky she was here.” Noah confesses. “I knew she'd struggle, but I wouldn't have been able to do this.”
“She is going to be lucky for the rest of her life.”
Noah has to keep her. I’ve already decided.
I could probably handle him moving her into his bedroom for the next eight weeks. Let's face it, she's going to need around theclock support nursing her litter. I'd rather lose Noah from the surgery during the day than from the house during the night.
“I hope so,” he smiles.
“You can keep her if you want.”
