Claude, the Galapagos tortoise, continues to munch on mulberry leaves. His appetite has improved in the past few days and he’s taking more interest in the female, Priscilla.
‘Anaesthetising an elderly elephant with a badly infected tusk is an excellent reason for Blake to go away,’ I tell him.
‘Prim!’
Serena and a man carrying a backpack and sports bag weave through a group of school children. After smiling brightly at the man, Serena looks me up and down.
‘Assuming we ditch the ponytail,’ she says, ‘what do you think?’
The man winks. ‘She’d be great.’
I pocket my notebook. ‘What for?’
‘I thought Rowena would be here by now.’ Serena looks around. ‘It was her brilliant idea.’
Serena immediately confiscates my hairband. And whenever I push back my hair, she tells me to leave it alone. The man, a photographer from a national newspaper, rearranges his enormous black umbrella and checks the lighting.
‘Almost ready,’ Serena says, pointing to the zoo logo on my chest. ‘Don’t forget to flash that.’
‘Can’t you find … someone else to do this?’
‘You’ve got hair like a Disney princess and a million-watt smile. Try to relax.’
Crouching next to Claude, I turn side-on so the logo shows. ‘Is this … what you … want?’
The photographer puffs out his cheeks. ‘I haven’t seen the smile yet.’
Serena rifles in her bag and pulls out a wad of tissues. ‘Claude is dirty, Prim. Do you think you could shine him up a bit?’
I laugh. ‘He’s a tortoise!’
The camera whirs and clicks. ‘Great!’ the photographer says.
I turn my back, muttering an apology as I rub dust from Claude’s shell. ‘Look sharp for the camera,’ I tell him. ‘Or we’ll be here all day.’
By the time Rowena, blue hair stacked in her usual bun, joins Serena, the photographer is packing away his equipment.
‘I thought the shoot might be a good opportunity for you—positive community engagement to add to the CV,’ Rowena says as I leave the enclosure. ‘How did it go?’
I put down my bag, pick it up again. ‘Claude did … well.’
‘Where to now?’
‘The clinic to see a wedge-tailed eagle. I’m late.’
‘I’m going that way.’
‘Is there a problem?’
‘Not as such.’ She stands back to let two children on bikes ride past. Checks her phone. Then, ‘When I saw you at the pub in Ballimore, you’d only just moved house. How are you settling in?’
‘The cottage is great, but I need land.’
‘I wasn’t happy with what Douglas did, I told you that, didn’t I? I don’t suppose you’ve seen him lately?’
If his name comes up, act natural. ‘Last time I saw him … was at the pub. You … were there too.’
‘I left two messages last week, but he didn’t call back. And when I called his PA, she told me he was taking a break and is currently “uncontactable”. A man like Douglas? That’s ridiculous!’
‘Maybe he’s out of range.’
When she takes my arm, I have no other option but to stop. ‘I’ve supported you in this role, haven’t I, Prim? Notwithstanding the questions raised in the veterinary inquiry.’
‘I’ve avoided Mr Farquhar as much as I could.’
‘Of course. Yes, yes.’
‘Maybe you should avoid him too.’
‘Why would you say that?’
‘You were arguing in the pub.’
When I start walking again, she rushes to catch up. ‘What about Blake Sinclair? Would he know Douglas’s whereabouts?’
‘You’d have to talk to him. I … wouldn’t know.’
We’re at a crossroads—one path leads to the treatment rooms, another to the administration area. Rowena checks her phone yet again.
‘Thank you, Prim. Thank you for your help.’
‘Almost done, little one.’
The wedge-tailed eagle, the size of a small wallaby, lies on his side on a table in the treatment room. His head is covered to reduce anxiety and the restraints on his wings and thickly feathered legs prevent him from injuring himself or anybody else. His leg was trapped in a rabbit snare and his tibia, the thickest bone in his leg, was broken near the joint. His largest talon, the one he’d use to scoop up prey, was all but severed.
As I finish examining the bird, Professor O’Hara, the zoo’s avian specialist, joins me at the table. ‘Assume you were out in the wild, Dr Cartwright. No supplies. No backup. How would you treat him?’
I stumbled my way through my first few sessions with the professor, but I’ve become accustomed to the way he fires questions. He uses the same approach with senior vets as well.
His brows lift. ‘Well?’
‘When I was a child, I’d splint broken legs … with matchsticks and … string, keep the bird in a cage to immobilise the limb and hope for the best. With this bird,’ I indicate the eagle’s leg, which is twice the length of my hand, ‘I’d find a branch, tear a … strip off my shirt and strap it to his leg.’
‘How will I do it in the surgery?’
I check the X-ray again. ‘You’ll open his leg, attach a rod to the bone and screw in plates. It … won’t be easy, will it? Even with a bird as large as this, the diameter of the tibia will be small.’
‘What about the talon? I can fix that, can’t I?’
‘It’s irreparable. And, as he won’t be able to catch prey without it, that’s a problem.’
‘Assuming the tibia heals, what would he live on?’
‘Roadkill, making it likely he’d be hit by a car.’
‘Estimate his age.’
When I ease up the hood covering the head and thick curved beak, the bird’s brown eye stares back. ‘He’s mature, but I doubt he’d be older than … seven or eight.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘The feathers on his … wings are much paler than those on his head.’ I ease the bird’s wing away from his body. ‘And see the reddishbrown tinge?’
The professor purses his lips and rocks back on his heels, which means I must’ve passed another test. ‘Is there anything we haven’t picked up in the scans?’
‘There’s no indication of internal or other injuries.’
‘Explain his lethargy.’
‘Going by the soft tissue damage, he’s likely to have carried the trap around for a … week or more. He’s only been here a day. He’ll be exhausted, dehydrated and in shock. I think he’ll come good.’
‘He’ll survive?’
‘Long term? If he’s confined to a sanctuary, I think he will.’
‘What about his mate?’
I check the bird’s restraints aren’t too tight. ‘He would have mated for life. I hope she finds a new one.’
Could I ever do that?
I don’t know where the thought comes from, but this is no place to ponder it.
The professor waits patiently as I wash my hands. ‘I presume you’re aware of the advertised veterinary position here at the zoo. Will you apply?’
‘I don’t … specialise.’
‘You’re a damned sight more proficient than most of the vets they’ve given me. You’ve examined twelve species of bird and we’ve come to the same conclusions on every single one.’
I carefully dry my hands. ‘Thank you, professor. I like birds. I always have.’
‘You handle them well. Your diagnostic skills are excellent.’
‘Wildlife rescue would take injured native birds like kookaburras and cockatoos, but no one had the time for … sparrows and common mynas.’
‘Why not become a specialist?’
‘I’ve learnt a lot in the past few months. Wound management, analgesia, surgical options and post op care, alternative treatments, hoof care, pain relief. The vets and handlers, the animals, they’re amazing. But I enjoy my other practice too.’
‘Cattle and sheep?’
‘I’m … working at a piggery next week.’
‘What’s the attraction to production animals?’
‘They need me.’ I’m not sure where the words come from and, by the look on the professor’s face, I’m not sure he does either. But then he nods.
‘The zoo’s primary concerns are conservation, preservation and education. Accordingly, the animals receive exceptional care.’
‘All animals, including those bred for … slaughter, should be treated fairly … so far as is possible.’
‘One more question.’
A handler, wearing gloves that reach his elbows, clears his throat as he enters the room. ‘I’m here for the eagle, professor.’
The professor’s gaze stays on me. ‘Your compassionate nature has been raised as both a positive and negative with my colleagues. I’d welcome your view. Is it a strength or a weakness?’
‘I won’t change what I do.’
‘Answer the question.’
‘Empathetic people are intuitive.’
‘They’re problem solvers!’ There’s a hint of a smile, but also respect, on his face. When he holds out a hand, I take it. ‘Don’t sell yourself short, Dr Cartwright.’