“Rosie!” Adam screams as professionals and students alike surround him, reaching for Bear. “I need Rosie!” He clutches Bear to his heaving chest, his eyes tearing through the parking lot, sliding right over me. “No! You can’t take him. Only Rosie can touch him!”
I shove my way through, grabbing Adam’s face and pulling his tortured gaze to mine. “Breathe, Adam. Breathe, baby. I’m right here.”
Sapphire eyes settle on mine, red-rimmed and panicked. “They can’t take him,” he whispers. “I don’t trust them. I-I-I…I trust you.”
I cover Adam’s trembling hand, his fingers tangled in Bear’s fur. “I’m going to look at Bear, okay? But you can trust everyone here, I promise you. They want to help.”
“You’re gonna look at him?” Hopeful eyes bounce between mine. “You? Because he knows you. He-he…he loves you.”
“And I love him too. Very much.”
A handsome, broad man with deep brown skin climbs out of the driver’s seat of Adam’s truck, coming to stand behind him, squeezing his shoulder. I know this man from the happy photos lining Adam’s staircase, but what I didn’t know about him until Google told me is that Deacon Lockwood, Adam’s father, is a retired NFL player. A quarterback, to be specific, and I guess that’s kind of a big deal.
Among the worry, his gaze shines with kindness. “Hi, Rosie.”
“Hi, Mr. Lockwood.” We share a soft smile before I run my fingers through Adam’s mussed curls, cupping his cheek. “We need to take Bear inside so we can look at him right away, okay?”
His chin quivers, tears clinging to his dark lashes. When he blinks, they run down his cheeks. “I can’t lose him, Rosie. I-I-I can’t. He’s my best friend.”
“We’re going to do everything we can for him. I promise.”
“Mr. Lockwood, I’m Dr. Holmes, Rosie’s professor and the head of emergency surgery here.” She guides Adam and his dad inside. “Let’s walk and talk so we can get caught up on Bear and get him stabilized right away. Can you tell us what happened?”
“I don’t know.” Adam sets Bear down on the exam table. “He was fine last night. He was playing with his friend in the backyard, and he took up the whole bed at nighttime like he likes to, Rosie, you know? And then this morning, he wouldn’t eat breakfast, and you know how much he likes his food. Then he just…fell. He was walking, and he just collapsed.”
I smile down at the heavily panting dog, lifting his burly front paw as I press my stethoscope to his chest. “Did he vomit at all?”
Adam squeezes his eyes shut, his forehead creasing. “I can’t…I can’t remember.” He looks to his dad. “Dad?”
“Yes,” Deacon answers for him. “Bear vomited three times in the backyard.”
“Hi, Bear,” I murmur, brushing my thumb along Bear’s snout. “I missed you. What are you doing not eating your breakfast, huh? You never pass up food.” My big, burly guy whimpers, nuzzling my hand. The weak throb of his pulse in my ears squeezes at my throat. “I’m going to help you breathe a little easier, okay, big guy?” I tell him, fitting him with an oxygen mask. My palms slide along his rib cage, moving gently over his belly. Dread claws its way up my chest when I feel the swelling there, and the look I share with Dr. Holmes says she knows exactly what I’ve found.
This can’t be happening, not again, not this soon, and not to our Bear.
I wipe my forehead on my wrist before curling my fingers into my palms, nails biting in to still my panic. “I’d like to start Bear on an IV right away. He’s in shock, and this will help to stabilize him. I’d also like to do an X-ray.”
“What for? Do you think he broke something?”
“The X-ray will give us more information. His stomach is bloated, and there’s a chance it might have twisted.”
“What does that mean? How do you untwist it?”
I squeeze his forearm, and his shoulders drift away from his ears as he leans into my touch. “Let’s take a look inside and see what’s going on first. You and your dad can stay with him during the X-ray, and then Dr. Holmes and I will discuss what we see, and we’ll come back to talk to you about a plan of action. Does that sound okay?”
Adam agrees, and once Bear has an IV in and is stabilized, an X-ray tech comes to wheel him to another room.
Adam’s hand comes down over Bear’s belly, panicked eyes shooting to mine. “Rosie? I want you to do it.”
Warmth rushes through me when I cover his hand with mine, like my body has missed this, comes alive just for him. “This is Maribel’s job, and she’s really amazing at it. She has a Tibetan Mastiff at home, too, did you know that?”
Maribel smiles. “Even bigger than Bear, if you can believe it.”
He looks down at Bear, and I squeeze his hand, bringing his eyes back to mine. “I can’t wait for you to see how gentle Maribel is with him. He’s going to love her. Maybe even more than he loves me.”
His gaze flickers with something like disbelief. “That’s not possible,” he murmurs before giving Maribel a weak smile. “Okay. We’re ready.”
I tell myself I’m not jumping to any conclusions. I tell Dr. Holmes that I’m hopeful, that the X-rays will show the stomach still in proper position, so we’ll be able to remove any gas quickly and easily.
I tell myself everything is fine, but when those X-ray pictures land in my hands fifteen minutes later, showing me the damning evidence, they fall right to the ground, Dr. Holmes’s eyes following.
“Bear’s stomach is twisted. He has GDV.”
“I don’t understand.” Adam’s quiet, lost voice punctures my chest as he stares down at Bear, his head resting against his torso. “Is it something I did? Is it my fault?”
“GDV doesn’t have much of a rhyme or reason,” I repeat the same information I gave to Mrs. Greene just three days ago, only this time, I can’t swallow the heartache. “Bigger breeds with a deep chest, like Bear, are at a higher risk, though it can happen to any dog, and even cats. GDV happens when the stomach expands with gas and then rotates, or twists, blocking the entrance and the exit.”
“So the gas has nowhere to go,” he murmurs, a protective palm sliding over Bear’s belly. “How common is it?”
“The chance a dog Bear’s size contracts GDV is about twenty-one to twenty-four percent.”
“Fuck. Have you ever treated a dog with GDV?”
I look to Dr. Holmes, and she nods, gesturing for me to continue. “This past Friday we diagnosed a St. Bernard with GDV.”
“What happened?”
The words are lost to Adam’s brilliant eyes, holding onto that spark of hope but dimming fast.
“Rosie,” he whispers. “What happened?”
“Pepper—” Her name catches in my throat, breaking, burning. “Pepper passed during surgery. Her stomach couldn’t handle the pressure any longer and ruptured before we could release it.” A single tear leaks from the corner of my eye, and I sniff, swiping it away. “I understand why that might make you hesitant to proceed, but surgery is the only option. We would release the gas and set Bear’s stomach back in the normal position, then perform a gastropexy, which is where we attach his stomach to his abdominal wall to prevent future twisting.” I hesitate. “If Bear doesn’t have surgery, Adam, he will die. There isn’t another outcome.”