AN: I shouldn't be starting another fic! Optimistically, though, when I'm back at uni I'll re-write my old ones and continue them.
This fic isn't going to be my best work. It's going to be fun, easy to write, and touching. This is going to be a cockle warmer, mainly because I need my cockles warmed, and I figured sharing is caring (I'm sure there are some crazy people out there who'll enjoy this fic).
I will give you a heads up now, if you want canon, you really don't want this fic. This fic is, like the other one Magdalena is in, complete self gratification and cockle warming. Also, if you've read my Star Wars fic, you'll recognise Magdalena. Same chick, different fandom. She just seems to be my self-gratification character :D
When you get to it, all the stories about borzoi are totally true. I have one of my own and I'm writing them based on her. They are very pointy.
Translations:
Pīwakawa - New Zealand native fantail.
Kererū - New Zealand endemic wood pigeon.
Tuī - the "parson bird", a New Zealand endemic honey eater.
Disclaimer:
I own nothing you recognise. I am also not a vet or a medical professional of any sort, so despite making reasonable endeavours to be correct, I do expect there to be some inaccuracies. This is all completely un-beta'd and totally fresh off the top of my brain!
It was always a beautiful day at the clinic when the health checks were routine, the chronic patients were still ticking over and stable on their meds, and the surgeries went off without a hitch. Well, there was one cat who just did not want to wake up after sedation, so she had talked at it, a lot, but it had woken up after a good sixteen minutes.
Sixteen minutes of singing badly and describing all the meals she really wanted to make but never quite had time to. Her nurse shut the door after the first five minutes. Magdalena just sang louder.
"Seriously, pumpkin," Daisy said once the mog's cage was set up on the heatpad, cover drawn down and head rolling side to side in confusion. "You sound like a dying cat, you really do." Magd slashed her a grin and launched into an overly enthusiastic rendition of Raffi's Bananaphone. Daisy threw a pen at her in disgust.
Even more delightful was the distinct lack of emergencies all day. Which meant that Magd was completely up to date with all her paperwork at 6.00pm, instead of her usual 8.00pm. Which meant that she was arriving home shortly after 7, to the incredible delight of her rather large white and cream borzois, Dancer and Pavel, who greet her by hurling themselves at Magd and wrapping their front paws over her shoulders, liberally sprinkling her face with excited pointy-nose kisses.
The weather, being the typical schizophrenic weather Aucklanders fondly (or not so, depending on the weather at that minute) call 'Spring', had completed all four seasons in her drive home before finally settling at 'blue skies with not a cloud to be seen', immediately after 'blinding sideways rain'. Taking the opportunity the cloudless sky gave them, Magd completed her necessary greeting of the borzoi before putting gumboots on, grabbing a jacket, and opening the front gate.
There really was nothing quite as pleasant as a brisk stroll at dusk with her two prancing pups. Dancer, being the older and, therefore, more 'mature' one of the two, remained close to her mistress, while Pavel (only just turned two) explored the bush. The Pīwakawa were out with the insects, flitting past them to pluck food from the air and back up into the trees. Kererū sat, fat and lazy on sturdy branches and watched the cavorting dogs below, smug on their lofty perches. Tuī warbled from the canopy.
Despite the bush being filled with animal life, it was mostly quiet. The tuī were the loudest, their sweet intonation providing a balm to the calamity of the last few weeks. It had been incredibly busy at the clinic. It was that time of the year when all the male cats decided to go ahead and get urinary blockages, and when their owners decided to call it in at 3pm.
"No rest for the wicked, eh Boss?" Daisy had said after the third such instance.
Dancer shuffling off into the underbrush brought Magd back to the present, spotting Pavel's white flag tail waving off in the middle distance. Dancer was heading straight for him, her own tail up high and her ears pricked forwards. Magd, curious as to what could have interested her more stately girl, followed behind, stepping over twigs and logs and pushing aside fern fronds.
Pavel had his head shoved part way down a hole, his front paws scrabbling to unearth whatever it was he had found. Dancer stood back, watching intently. A quick whistle had Pavel's head up, and a little 'shooing' motion had him stepping back and away from the hole in the ground. Crouching down low and pulling out her phone, Magd clicked on her 'flashlight' app (seriously, one of the most useful apps in the world) and shone it in.
It took a few seconds for her brain to catch up with what she was seeing, but her body was already in action. She pulled off her jacket and jumper, laying them down in the dirt outside the hole, before contemplating and also taking off her shirt. Swaddling one arm, she reached in and began to open the hole wider, giving her easier access to the little body inside. More importantly, allowing her to assess the condition of the creature before moving it.
Hole now wide enough to fit her arms clear on either side of the body, she shoved both her arms down, gently brushing her fingertips along what she thought must be the head. Ah, there we go. Zygomatic arch there. Mandible. Her fingers ghosted down the skull, brushing against the pinnae, then down to the neck and spine. So far so good. When her fingers reached his scapula, however, everything changed. Mass lacerations, some really weird feeling shit in them, clearly severe contamination. Perhaps arrows, or bullets of some kind, that have just sat on the surface of the body. A lot of blood. The gentle pitter-patter of a heart going overtime, subtle rise-and-fall breath.
When she pulled out her arms, her hands were smothered in red. She looked up and around, scanning the surrounding area. Like Daisy would be here of all places.
"Fuck," she said with feeling. There was no helping it. She put her arms back down the hole, reaching further in to carefully wriggle her hands beneath the form, fingers carding through sticky fur. Slowly, carefully, she pulled herself back, drawing the body up with her, until it was almost cradled against her chest and she could twist and place it on her jumper, wrapping the body and arms around it before zipping the jacket up over the bundle, ensuring the head remained free of cloth. There was no time to contemplate the peculiarities of the head shape – subtly different to feline, more similar to canine, but still not quite right.
She unwrapped her t-shirt from around her arm and, after a second of contemplating whether or not she'd rather go topless and a bit chilly or have blood down her boobs, decided not to put it back on. Wrecked shirt shoved down her back pocket, Magd scooped up the bundle, cradled it to her chest, and started back the way she came, moving as carefully and smoothly as she could. Pavel and Dancer kept pace, both fixated on the wrapped animal in her arms, but fortunately neither under foot.
It was an agonising fifteen minutes later when they reached the gate to her house, lower back burning and arms shaking. Her precious cargo was a good fifteen kilos – give or take – and carrying that weight over such a length of time was agonising. She kicked open the door and the hounds rolled in, snapping at each others' heels ahead of her. The kitchen table would just have to do for now.
Depositing the bundle on the said table, Magd kicked off her gumboots and shooed the dogs out the back door and into the secured yard, then whipped around to her spare room to grab her 'toolkit' of emergency supplies. Grabbing the newspaper from the lounge, and a set of raggy old towels, she quickly prepped up the table. Towels first, then newspaper, then the bundle. The chairs she shoved to the edges of the room, keeping one to her side with her toolkit opened and ready to go. A flexi lamp perched on the edge of the table, on and pointed in the general direction of the lump of clothing.
She'd have to suck it up and do what she could with induction anaesthetics, being without her anaesthetic machine providing her with inhalants. Not ideal, but it would have to do.
Carefully, she unzipped her jacket and opened the arms of her jumper. In the stark light of of the lamp and kitchen lighting, Magd was absolutely certain this creature should not have survived this long. Its sternum, rather than being long and narrow, was broad and flat. Its shoulders splayed, hips twisted.
Magd took a step back, forcing bile down, clamping down on all unnecessary thought. This was not the time to get wound up.
Calm returned, she snapped on her surgical gloves, picked up her induction anaesthetics, and began treatment.
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