|
|
<< 1 >>
"I'm afraid, Mr. Smith, that your monkey has cancer," the vet
informed me.
"Cancer?" I echoed. "Poor CoCo."
Poor Coco nothing. Poor me was more like it. The damn baboon was a pain in the ass from the get go. And I'd trained
my fair share of animals in the past to know a troublemaker when he came my way. As I saw it, he had what was coming
to him.
"Yes, poor Coco," the vet said, shaking his head back and forth. "But the news isn't all bad,"
he added.
"No?" I said. I felt my jaws clench in anticipation. "There's something you can do for him?"
"There is a new treatment. Simian radiation it's called. Cheaper and faster than chemo, and with significantly
better results, usually."
"Usually?" I latched on to that, hoping beyond hope that I and not CoCo would beat the odds.
"Well, sometimes it kills them."
Please, if there's a God up in heaven, I thought, but instead said, "No, let's go for it." In truth,
I had little choice. The owner of the circus, Mr. Cobbs, would've had a cow if I hadn't tried to save the beast.
Trouble or not, CoCo was a moneymaker. The kids lined up around the block to get a close-up look at him. See, CoCo
was no ordinary monkey. No sir, CoCo was a giant of a baboon: easily twenty pounds heavier and a good several inches
taller than the average, which is how he ended up at a circus in the first place. None of the zoos wanted him.
Seems he scared the other baboons something fierce.
"Fine then," the vet said. "Leave him here and we'll start the treatment immediately. I'll call
you in the morning with the results."
"Thanks, doc," I said, shaking his hand. Then I turned to look at CoCo. "Bye, sport. And don't worry,
everything will be fine." CoCo responded by promptly defecating. Then he flung his feces at me. Luckily, I
was used to this and ducked just in time. The vet was not so lucky. "Sorry, doc, guess he's nervous,"
I said, and then quickly hightailed it on out of there. If I were lucky, I wouldn't be returning.
Of course, if I were the lucky sort, I wouldn't be an animal handler for a two-bit circus. As luck would have it,
I did get my wish, though. But then again, so did CoCo.
"Mr. Smith," came the voice of the vet on the opposite end of my receiver. It was eight the next morning.
"It's Coco."
"Is he…dead?" I whispered, then prayed.
"Not exactly."
|
|
