Page 41 of Full Contact

I parked in the empty row nearest the entrance and sat with my hands still on the wheel while the engine ticked. Then I gathered the folder, Anna’s bag, and the charger, following them into the building.

The doors slid open, and the sharp smell of disinfectant filled my nose. Behind the bright reception desk, a woman was already entering Anna’s information. A man in scrubs wheeled a mop bucket past a corridor entrance. The woman pointed me down the hall before I finished asking.

They put us in an examination room with two plastic chairs and a steel table. I found an outlet under the counter, plugged in the charger, and propped the phone against a box of gloves so Trier could see the table and the door.

The veterinarian introduced herself as Dr. Hall. Anna described the change from Peaches’s usual behavior, then answered questions about the evening.

“And the owner?”

“On the phone,” I said, turning it toward her. “He’s traveling with the hockey team.”

“Mr. Trier. Tell me about her normally.”

He did. Appetite, water, the thyroid medication and when it was given, as well as the September bloodwork and what Dr. Feld had said about it. He recited the kidney values from memory. Dr. Hall wrote them down, and I opened the folder on the counter and turned it so the September report faced her.

“We’ll want our own numbers tonight,” she said. “I’d like to take her through to the treatment area, get blood drawn, and assess what support she needs. I’ll have someone go over the estimate with you.”

I turned the phone toward her again.

“Do it,” Trier said. “Whatever she needs. If you need another decision from me, I’m here. I’m staying on the line.”

“Understood. We should have the initial results in forty-five minutes to an hour.”

While a nurse reviewed the paperwork with Trier, a tech came for Peaches. Anna unzipped the carrier, and Peaches let herself be lifted out and carried away, her chin on the tech’s forearm, watching us over it until the door closed.

It was quiet enough to hear the ventilation fan above the door. I folded the blanket back inside the empty carrier and set it on the table. I checked that the phone was charging and laid a pen across the open folder.

Somewhere down the corridor a dog’s nails clicked past. Anna sat with her thumb running along the seam of her sleeve, up and back. On the screen, Trier had stopped looking at us; his eyes kept dropping to something below his camera, and I heard the faint tapping of laptop keys.

“Looking at flights?” I asked.

“There’s one out of Boston at nine forty. Gets me home before the team.”

“Take it.”

“How long did she say for the panel?” Trier asked.

“Forty-five minutes to an hour,” I said.

He went back to the flights. A few minutes later: “What did she say for the bloodwork? An hour?”

“Forty-five minutes to an hour.”

Anna glanced at me. I kept my eyes on the phone and my voice remained calm. I noticed a long scuff on the wall beneath the examination table and read the same vaccination poster three times. When Dr. Hall returned, I stood to give her room at the counter.

“She’s dehydrated, and her kidney values have moved from September—not dramatically, but enough that I want fluids on board and a recheck of the panel before she goes anywhere. The plan is IV fluids, anti-nausea support, and observation through the morning. If she’s eating for us and the recheck looks better, she can go home with instructions and a follow-up with your regular vet this week.”

I wrote it all down. “So she needs to be eating, and you need to be satisfied with the repeat bloodwork before she goes home.”

“That’s it.”

“Her ear gel is due at seven,” Trier said from the phone. “Do you give it, or do we hold it?”

Dr. Hall looked at the folder, then at him. “I’ll put her medication schedule on the chart and include it in the handoff. We’ll confirm with you what she’s had before she leaves.”

She left the room. “I hadn’t thought to ask about the gel,” I said.

“You got the rest,” Trier said. “Anna, anything we missed?”