"-Fifteen other steers have been discovered, disemboweled the same way. Local ranchers still are baffled, " the announcer finished saying.
"No. I changed my mind. I want to hear this." "Weatherwise, the weekend has been-"
"Turn it off."
The man went over, pressed a button, and the screen became blank, mercifully silent. The man shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I don't know how to make this up to you. You want a beer?"
"I'd like a couple, but I can't right now." The medical examiner stared at his trembling hands.
"I didn't mean to hit you that hard. Hey, I'm really sorry."
"Just forget it."
They waited.
Thirteen minutes later, the van pulled up in front. It was white and dusty. animal associates, the red words said along the side. A young man got out, tall and trim. As the medical examiner hurried from the house toward the sunset-tinted street, the man yanked at the back doors of the van and leaned in to get something.
"You're the medical examiner?" the man asked, puzzled by the blood on his shirt.
"That's right."
"I'm sorry I took so long. I had to go down to the clinic for this van. I don't like taking chances."
He pulled out padded overalls, stepping into the legs, then tugging on the arms and drawing up the zipper. "Has it bitten anyone?"
"It licked its owner."
"I don't like that. What about your face?"
"The owner hit me."
"Broke your lip there?"
The medical examiner nodded.
"I don't like that either. Help me with this gear."
The vet brought out a padded helmet, its leather edges coming down around his shoulders. In the front, a wire grill kept the face protected, and the medical examiner helped the vet put on padded gloves.
"Tour name's Owens?"
"That's right. Help me with these shoe protectors. Where's the dog?"
"In the back."
"Well, let's get to it."
Owens grabbed his satchel, almost like a doctor's. As they turned, the medical examiner looked up to see the shirtless man on the porch.
"That's the owner?" Owens kept walking.
"If you want to call him that."
The man stepped off the porch. "Look, I had no way of understanding."
"Never mind that. Show me where the dog is." They reached a gate along the side, and Owens told them, "On second thought, you'd better not go in there." He shut the gate behind him, walking down along the side of the house.
"It's on a chain," the medical examiner said.
Owens peered around the corner. Then he straightened, walking slowly out of sight.
The medical examiner and the dog's owner frowned at one another. Without speaking, they crossed to the next yard and walked along the fence.
The medical examiner kept staring toward the corner of the house. He saw the backyard getting bigger as his line of sight improved, and then he saw a shadow. Then he stopped as he saw Owens standing by the dog. But he couldn't see the dog too well, and so he walked a few more feet, and he was gazing at the slack-jawed, bloody, froth-edged mouth, the blinking eyes, the heaving withers. 'Jesus."
"What are you guys doing?"
The gruff voice came from behind them, and the medical examiner turned to see a man in tennis clothes come out the back door, staring at them.
"Get your face back in the house," the owner of the dog said. "You're the cause of this."
"I beg your pardon?"
"This man's dog is sick," the medical examiner explained.
"Yes, I know it is. The damned thing won't stop barking."
The owner of the dog started toward his neighbor.
The medical examiner hurried to stop him. "Don't be foolish. You've got trouble as it is."
Behind them, he heard Owens saying, "What a mess," and they turned. "Whose idea was this collar anyhow?"
"The neighbors kept complaining."
"Hell, I ought to see you jailed for this." Owens set his bag down, reaching in to get a hypodermic, leaning close, preparing to slip the needle into the dog.
The dog bit his padded wrist, and Owens squirmed. "Take it easy, girl. What's the dog's name?"
"Irish."
"Take it easy, Irish."
But the dog kept its teeth clamped onto the padded wrist, and Owens had to slip the needle in with one hand while he squirmed to free the other.
Still, the dog would not release the wrist. Owens had to crouch there, waiting. In a minute, though, he tugged his wrist free, standing, watching as the dog's head settled onto the ground, its eyes closed, motionless.
"Christ, you killed her."
"Just as well as far as I'm concerned," the neighbor said on the steps behind them.
The owner of the dog again started toward him.
"I didn't kill her," Owens said, "although I'll likely have to."
The owner didn't know which man to turn to. "Is it rabies?"
"Rabies? What the hell?" the neighbor said on the steps behind them.
"I don't know yet," Owens said. "I'll need to get the dog to the clinic and run some tests." He pointed toward the bowls of food and water by the back door. "This dog's chain is too short. She couldn't reach her water. She could just be vicious from the heat. What the hell is wrong with you?"
No one spoke then, only stared at where the owner looked around, then glanced down at the grass. "I thought the bowls were close enough. I guess I wasn't thinking. I've had problems."
"Sure, his wife moved out last week," the neighbor said. "She couldn't stand him."
The owner suddenly began to sob. When the medical examiner avoided looking at him, he saw Owens fumbling with his thick gloves to release the chain hooked to the collar. Owens tugged to free the chain from where the dog was tangled in it. Twisting, pushing at the dog, he had the chain at last unhooked. Then he peered down at the mangled back leg, shook his head, and stooped to pick the dog up.
Still the medical examiner could hear the owner sobbing. "Let's get you inside. You've had a lot of things go wrong today."
He tried to ease the owner along the fence. The owner shoved his hand away and stared as Owens straightened with the dog.
The dog was large and heavy. Owens stumbled with the weight. The owner hurried along the fence and opened the gate to let him through.
The medical examiner frowned at the neighbor.
"Well, I didn't mean to make him cry," the neighbor said. "How was I to know?"
The medical examiner gestured with contempt, walking away.
"At least, the dog quit barking," the neighbor said.
Furious, the medical examiner kept walking. He joined Owens and the dog's owner at the van, where the owner obeyed instructions and stepped inside to spread a plastic sheet on the floor of a cage. Then he got out, and Owens set the dog in, making sure to lock the cage.
The owner wiped at his tears.
"I'll handle it from here. You'd better go back in the house," Owens said.
"I'm coming with you."
"No, I've got a lot of tests to run. I'll phone you," Owens said. 'You'd be in the way."
"I promise."
"Sorry." Owens glanced at the medical examiner, then started walking toward the backyard. "I left my bag behind the house."
As Owens disappeared, the medical examiner told the owner, "Well, you heard him."
"This is my dog. I'm responsible."
"You should have thought of that before." And then, "I'm sorry. I didn't have to say that. Even so, he's right. There's nothing you can do. Just go back in the house. We'll call you."
"Hell, it's Saturday."
The medical examiner was puzzled.
"I'm all alone."
There was nothing the medical examiner could think to say. He turned as Owens came across the lawn, carrying his bag.
Owens peered in the van toward the dog and shook his head. "Even with that plastic sheet, I'm going to have to disinfect the van. I'm going to have to burn these clothes and get a new bag. What a mess."