The Barnum Dilemma – Part II
By
The pick up truck pulled up in front of a building with a sign that read "Pine Street Animal Clinic" and in smaller letters, Daniel Ibarra DVM. Rose looked at Evelyn with a grin.
"Thanks for coming with me on such short notice--he's a big dog."
"Happy to help. I had Dobermans as kid, so big boys don't scare me. Where's Mac?"
"Meeting with the SPCA rep and Pete. I hope they nail the guys who did this," Rose muttered. Both she and Evelyn were in jeans, ready for dog handling as they walked into the clinic. A smiling girl with long dreadlocks greeted them from behind the counter.
"Here for the Dane mix? He's a sweet boy--Doctor Ibarra needs to talk to you," she directed. They were ushered into an examining room. The clattering of dog toenails alerted them and they looked up as Daniel Ibarra led the dog in. Rose beamed.
"He looks a *lot* better!" It was true. Washed, the dog was a lovely fawn color, his coat longer than a Dane's but smooth. He had a small bandage on the top of his head, and a dressing around his throat as well. His muzzle was darker, and his short ears dangled. He surged towards Rose, but Evelyn stepped forward and caught his muzzle, gripping it lightly in her two hands.
"Yo cutie, calm down, okay?" she murmured softly. The dog's tail wagged happily and Ibarra grinned.
"Ms Clowderbock I remember, but who is this charming creature?"
"Evelyn Trot--" she held out a hand. Ibarra swiftly took it in his.
"*Very* pleased to meet you--"
Rose hid her grin and turned her attention to the dog.
He obviously remembered her and licked her enthusiastically, washing her fingers, hands and wrists. Rose stroked his face and head, working around the bandages as best she could while the vet spoke.
"All right--he's doing very well, Ms Clowderbock. I cleaned out the wound on his head and put in about three stitches--you'll need to put some ointment on them twice a day. The same ointment goes on the bandage around his neck. Don't put a collar on him for at least three weeks. Use the body harness to put him on a leash. We wormed him and gave him some initial shots, and I've put him on an antibiotic for this coming week. Pratchett will give you the right dog food, and I strongly suggest you bring him in for neutering ASAP."
"Who, Pratchett?"
"No, the dog," Evelyn managed as both Ibarra and Rose chuckled.
"So--what's his story?"
"Best guess, he's off of a farm somewhere--" Ibarra replied. "Probably picked up through the newspaper for a few dollars, or simply stolen. The fighters want a big bait dog, and Danes are an easy choice because they're fairly mild-tempered. He's not a pure Dane, so he came cheap. You plan on keeping him?"
"I don't know--" Rose confessed shame-facedly. "When I got him out of the truck I didn't really think it through."
Ibarra sighed. "Can you at least keep him for a week or so? I've got some breed rescue contacts, but they're off judging a show in Reno."
"Yes, we can do that."
"Good. Now what about you--do you have a dog?" He asked Evelyn. She shook her head. He persisted.
"A cat? Hamster? Goldfish?"
"No, no, and no. I'm currently without animal companionship, Doctor Ibarra," she replied, arching an eyebrow at him. He shook his head and looked at her over the top of his John Lennon glasses.
"We need to correct that immediately, or how else am I going to see you again?"
"Are you always this direct?"
"Why waste valuable time? I can tell you're a woman of beauty and taste--" he teased. Evelyn looked at Rose, who put on an innocent face and turned back to the dog. Ibarra chuckled.
"Another one slips past my charm, ah well. The girl up front will give you the ointments and pills, Ms Clowderbock. By the way, we also need a name. Dog is pretty generic, and this one's got personality. Think of something good."
"Goodbye and thank you--" Rose shook his hand. Evelyn did the same, murmuring,
"Keep this up and I might consider a goldfish, Doctor,"
"A ray of hope! Check with Pratchett and tell him I sent you--he'll throw in the gravel for free."
They managed to get the dog out to the truck and into the crate there; he settled in easily. Evelyn nodded.
"He's crate trained--that's pretty lucky. Now Rose, what was up with that vet?"
"He's got the hots for your type--I forgot that when I asked you to help me, honestly." Rose climbed in and started up the truck. They pulled away from the curb.
"You forgot--oh sure, I buy *that*," Evelyn scoffed. "I know you, Briar Rose, and that was a matchmaking move if ever I saw one!"
"Maybe. He's pretty cool, though, huh?"
Evelyn didn't reply, and looked back to check on the dog while Rose grinned to herself.
"This one. He was with the guy who punched me," Mac announced firmly as he tapped the photo on the desk. The familiar blonde held up the mug shot information as he sneered out of the picture.
"Marcus Ingersoll. He's been convicted twice on B and E at pounds up north. We stuck him in the file, but haven't been able to tie him directly to any group up to now," Lloyd Thuy muttered. He was a trim man with spiky black hair and a small goatee.
"If he's in the area, maybe the police can pick him up for questioning," Pete offered. Thuy shook his head.
"Maybe, but he's probably transient. We've got the plate, though and even if the truck isn't his, we can find out who else may be involved. Any of these other faces look familiar?"
Mac checked the photos again carefully.
"Hard to say--the other guy had a buzz cut. He was built like a fireplug and had a pretty good punch."
"Could be a local boy--"Thuy speculated. "I've got some places I can check. Anyway, thanks for your help, MacGyver. I appreciate you coming in on a weekend for this."
"It's okay--anything we can do to shut these guys down, I'm ready to help."
When Mac returned to the Grotto, he found Rose and the dog hard at work. Rose, anyway. She was putting down the last coat of varnish on the raised wooden platform, and chatting away to the dog as if it understood her.
"I was thinking that maybe a sort of lattice fence up here, sort of a deck would look nice, but--oh hi Mac!"
The dog bounded over to him, swiftly covering the distance from the back of the warehouse to the front in a few seconds. MacGyver dropped to his haunches and patted him affectionately.
"Hey buddy, you look about a hundred times better," The dog snuffled delightedly, trying to lick his face; Mac stood up again grinning. He strode over to Rose as she skipped down the wooden steps to greet him.
"How'd it go?"
"Well they've got a mug shot of the blonde guy, and they're going to run the plate, so it's a start. Now it's a matter of catching a lucky break," he told her. She sighed in discouragement; the dog bumped up against her leg comfortingly.
"Doctor Ibarra asked if we could hold onto the dog for a week--he's got some folks who can take it, but they're out of town right now,"
"For a week, I guess. Don't get too fond of him, Rose--" Mac warned. "It's going to be hard enough to give him up in a few days."
"Oh look who's talking, Mr. Marshmallow Heart--" Rose teased gently. Caught in the very act of caressing the dog's muzzle, Mac flinched. Trying to regain his dignity, he changed the subject.
"Lunch?"
"The park down by the marina--and let's take tiny boy here--" she agreed.
The Sunday afternoon was overcast and cool; the park was not crowded and Mac found them a quiet spot near the water. The dog was content to stick close to them, occasionally sniffing at something or resting quietly. Rose brought a food dish and fed him; he ate rapidly and sighed with obvious contentment when he finished. Mac watched him carefully.
"How much bigger is he going to get?"
"Well, a full-sized Dane is about a hundred and fifty pounds," Rose admitted. "But he's not a purebred, so he might end up smaller."
"Take a gander at those paws, Brat--we've got a pony that's going to be a horse," Mac scoffed, stretching out on his back on the park bench. Rose sat on the ground, gave a resigned shrug and patted the dog's back in one long stroke; the tail thumped happily.
"We do have to give him a name, though--Ibarra insisted. What does he look like to you?"
"He looks like a very big hole in my savings account," Mac replied, but there was no sting to his words. Thoughtfully, he rolled over to stare at the dog. "Okay, if we're going to name him, he's gotta have a *real* name. No adjectives like Fluffy or Spot--"
"Fair enough," Rose agreed. For a moment they both gazed at the dog.
"Irving?" Rose offered. Both the dog and Mac arched eyebrows at her and she laughed.
"Irving? Brat, I wouldn't even name a *person* Irving--" MacGyver snorted, "It's just a shade worse than Angus--"
"I think Angus is rather nice, myself, but fine--how about Lewis?"
"No, not right either," Mac studied at the dog once more. "Let me see--John? Peter? Sam? Max? Ted? George? Ed? Tony? --This is harder than it sounds--"
"No kidding. Albert? David? Leonard Patrowski?"
Mac stared at her. "Who's Leonard Patrowski?"
Rose was blushing and didn't meet his eye. "Oh a kid I knew a long time ago . . . he was, uh, the first boy I ever kissed . . ."
"So you want to name a dog after him?" bewildered, Mac made a pained face. Rose got the giggles and rolled over on the grass, laughing as the dog nuzzled her nose and cheeks.
"Not really, but doggie boy here kisses just like he did--"
"Yuck--" MacGyver muttered.
"I agree. You're sooo much better. I'm just a sucker, born for your smooches--"
"Better me than Leonard Patrowski or P.T. Barnum--"
The dog barked happily. Rose and Mac looked at each other.
"P.T. Barnum?"
Again, a happy bark; the dog looked expectantly at them and Rose beamed. MacGyver tilted his head to look at the dog.
"I guess you picked your own name, pal. Barnum it is."