Presently, an older man dressed in jeans and a faded print work
shirt emerged. He introduced himself as the veterinarian. “Looks
like you’ve found a very special dog there, Officer. I hate to tell
you this, but he doesn’t belong to just one person. He belongs to
the U.S. Government.”
Michael glanced up
to see her puzzled expression. “I-I don’t understand,” Sonia
stuttered. Her face was pale, and he wondered what she might be
thinking.
“Here.” The vet
held out a sheet of paper. “I printed out a copy of the scan. You
can see for yourself. It says right there, ‘Michael Masson, Special
Ops, United States Marines,’ and there’s two sets of numbers. This
isn’t an ordinary dog, Officer. This dog is, or was, a part of a
special ops unit in the Marines. An ordinary microchip would just
contain one registry number, and we’d have to call into the registry
databank to obtain contact information.”
“But Slash has a
name encoded, and two numbers,” she noted. “Is Michael Masson his
name? Or the name of the owner?”
Dr. Beckel shook
his head. “I have no idea.”
“What do those
numbers mean?”
The vet shrugged.
“Again, I have no idea. You’re going to have to report this dog to
the government and see what they have to say.” The man leaned over
and scratched Michael behind the ears. “Bet you’re a well-trained
fella, too, aren’t you?”
Sonia managed a
weak laugh. “That’s an understatement if I ever heard one.”
“Well, good news
is that you now have an idea of where to search for his owner.
Better news is this big boy is probably current with his shots,
although I can’t guarantee that. So that’s one less thing to worry
about.”
“Rabies. It
totally slipped my mind.”
The vet appeared
concerned. “Has he bitten anyone?”
“Yes. He took down
a dangerous suspect the other day. It just never occurred to me he
might have rabies.”
Dr. Beckel took
Michael’s head between his hands and examined his eyes and teeth.
The man was gentle and knew what he was doing. Neither was he afraid
of Michael retaliating. When the man was done there, he checked
Michael’s coat and nails. “This dog’s paws show evidence of being on
the street for some time. You might want to treat him for fleas,
even though I don’t see any. But, for the most part, he appears
healthy.”
“Any idea how old
he might be?” Sonia inquired.
“Mmm, this is
purely a guess on my part, but judging from his teeth I’d say he’s
three, maybe four years old.”
Right on, Doc. I’m twenty-eight.
“He’s a
beautiful animal,” the man praised.
“I guess I need to
report him to the government, then,” Sonia commented in a voice
filled with sadness.
“I would if I were
you. If he’s as well-trained as you say he is, he could also be
someone’s service dog. You never know.”
This
possibility appeared to dampen her spirits even more. To the point
where the vet noticed. “I take it you’ve taken a shine to the
animal, huh?”
She managed a weak
grin. “Yeah. He’s grown on me. He’s saved my life twice, and I was
kind of hoping I could adopt him.” |
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