Beast of a Leap
Beast of a Leap
By Helen Earl
Sam shook his head to clear the haze of leaping.
First glance told him that he hadn’t made it home. Again.
His new surroundings assaulted his senses - strong unpleasant odors, a cacophony of sound, chaotic movement.
For an instant Sam was afraid he’d leaped into another animal, for he was surrounded by cages full of exotic creatures of various species, all barking, growling, hissing, whimpering or chirruping in varying degrees of distress. They were obviously aware that he was an interloper, and they were alerting anyone in earshot to the fact.
“Hey, keep it down, fellas,” Sam exhorted them in a harsh whisper.
Despite the lack of reflective surfaces, Sam soon established that he was at least human. He was holding a mop, and by his right leg was a large metal bucket full of dirty looking soapy water. Focusing on the floor in front of him, Sam realized that his host had been in the middle of cleaning up a large dollop of steaming excrement. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.
“Oh, boy!” he sighed. Leaping had reached an all-time low.
“Which one of you is responsible for this?” Sam looked around at the caged creatures and gestured toward the mess with his mop.
The animals were all still ‘talking’ at once, but nothing sounded like a confession or an apology.
With a shrug, Sam turned his attention to cleaning up the mess.
“How are the mighty fallen?” Al’s gloating voice startled Sam so that he nearly tripped and knocked the bucket over.
The new arrival caused the menagerie to protest even louder, if such were possible.
“Al!” hissed Sam, not at all amused by any aspect of the situation he found himself in.
“Where’s Johnny?” a shrill voice piped up.
Turning toward the source, Sam was horrified to find a large African grey parrot swooping down on him. Instinctively he put up his hand to protect his face from its beak and claws. The bird settled on his raised forearm and stared at the new arrival. “Oh, boy!” it squawked.
0o0
“Who am I this time? Dr. Doolittle?” Sam asked, while the parrot pecked at the white streak in his hair.
“Where’s Johnny?” squawked the bird again.
“No, Sam,” Al stifled a giggle. “Your name is John - Johnny - Sheffield. Hey, like the actor!”
“Should I have heard of him?” Sam asked with a puzzled frown. He shook the bird off his arm and finished cleaning up as they talked. He didn’t want to get Johnny fired.
“Probably a bit before your time, Sam. He played ‘Boy’ in the Johnny Weissmuller Tarzan movies in the ‘40s.”
Ziggy squealed.
“Oh, cool,” Al grinned. “This Johnny was named after the actor. His parents were fans, and animal lovers. Plus, baby Johnny had an unruly mop of long curly hair just like his namesake.”
“That’s all very well, Al, but it doesn’t help me with the leap. Let me guess, I work as a hired hand in a zoo.” He gestured at the diversity of wildlife surrounding him.
“Good guess, Sam. Close, but no cigar.” The hologram held up his own Honduran handmade Zino tauntingly. “Actually, you are a Para...Para...” Al thumped the side of his hand-link with the heel of his thumb. “Paraveterinary worker, otherwise known as a veterinary technologist. Quite a mouthful, huh?”
Sam nodded. “Go on.”
“It’s 1991. You’re twenty-six years old and living in Hollywood, California. This place belongs to a Doctor of Veterinary Medicine called Dr. Niall Quinn; V.M.D. He’s famous as The Vet to the Stars.”
“Any idea why I’m here, Al? For something more than this I hope.” Sam had finished cleaning the floor, and was now emptying the bucket down a drain.
“For once, we know quite a bit, Sam,” Al beamed. He knew how frustrated Sam got when Ziggy couldn’t give him the answers he needed. Maybe this would be an easy leap for once. “Quinn’s been at the top of his game for years, but he’s about to crash and burn. It was in all the papers, and the hot topic on TV for weeks. Day after tomorrow, one of his patients is going to die on the operating table. The owner is a real bigwig ‘A’ list Hollywood star. She doesn’t take kindly to the loss of her beloved kitty. She sues Quinn for every penny he has in a very public court case. The bankruptcy and humiliation are too much for his Irish-American pride and he commits suicide. Zig puts it at a solid 97% you’re here to save both the pet and the vet.” Al sniggered at his little rhyme.
“What killed the cat, Al? Was it negligence, or was its condition fatal?”
“Well, it wasn’t curiosity,” Al quipped. “Evidence proved that Quinn botched the op. Sheffield reluctantly testified that the old boy had been getting shaky hands. It was suggested that maybe he hit the booze a bit too hard, but the lad said he’d never seen Quinn drink at all, let alone to excess.”
“That doesn’t prove anything, Al. We both know all too well that serious drinkers are often secretive about it. Remember that lighthouse keeper* who nearly killed me when I got rid of his hidden stash?” {*Bourbon on the Rocks by Helen Earl}
“Yeah, been there, done that, got the hangover,” Al acknowledged his personal battle with the bottle. “Not to mention, I’ve never yet met an Irishman who wasn’t fond of a tipple.”
“Okay, so I need to check for hidden booze. Anything else you can tell me?”
“Yeah, Sam. The parrot’s name is Chimola, which means ‘breaker of things’ - a name he lives up to - so be careful what you leave lying around.”
Right on cue, the bird swooped down and knocked a jar of peanuts off a shelf. The glass shattered, and the bird helped himself to the contents.
Sam cleared up the broken glass with a resigned sigh.
“I was hoping for something a bit more helpful, like where Johnny lives and what time he finishes work.” Sam began wandering up and down the recovery room, tidying up and looking at each of the animal’s charts. He raised an eyebrow from time to time at the celebrity owners’ names, frowning at others he felt he should have recognized, but didn’t. There were several species that Sam felt sure shouldn’t be kept as pets, but then the rich and famous were renowned for getting round little things like licensing laws. Sam was just glad that the animals were safely behind bars.
“Well, the first one is easy,” Al told him. “Both Quinn and Johnny live in the rather splendid mansion that adjoins this clinic. Johnny had a tragic childhood. He was orphaned at seven years old. His father ran a prestigious riding stable until a horse threw him and broke his neck; his mother was a well-known actress who OD’d at the height of her career less than a year later. Johnny’s always loved animals and while he was still at school he started volunteering here - doing the mop up duties, feeding the animals and so on. When his foster parents were killed in a car accident, Quinn took him in. Put him through university to get his associate degree. He’s now part Paraveterinary, part apprentice while he works towards his impending full veterinary qualification.”
“Wow. No wonder Johnny didn’t want to testify against Quinn. It must have felt like the worst kind of betrayal.”
“To both of them. Sheffield said he’d only done it because he didn’t want any more animals to die. He was worried that Quinn wasn’t coping and wanted him to retire. The doc’s only 59 and wouldn’t admit that he’d lost his edge. Quinn couldn’t forgive Johnny, and it was another contributory factor in his suicide. Which of course made Johnny feel even guiltier. He would have inherited this practice, the mansion, the lot, but he turned his back on the glamour and glitz. He went to work on a reserve in Africa.”
“Where’s Johnny?” Chimola asked again, flying round and round above Sam’s head.
“Daft bird, Johnny’s right there!”
Neither Sam nor Al had noticed the tall, curvaceous blond figure enter from an adjacent room. Helpfully, she wore a nametag just above her ample left breast, announcing that she was a receptionist with the unusual name of Suzella.
“He’s such a kidder!” Sam laughed in embarrassment.
“Johnny’s in Africa!” declared the bird, glaring at Al.
“Uh oh, Sa-am,” Al started tapping his hand-link. “Seems like Chimola’s repeating what I said. I’m outa here.” So saying, he vanished back to the future.
“What’s gotten into you, eh Chimola?” Suzella put out her arm and the bird flew down onto it, preening himself as she stroked his chest feathers.
“Where’s Johnny?” Chimola repeated. Sam rolled his eyes; it was going to be one of those leaps.
“That’s just what Dr. Quinn sent me to find out,” Suzella told the bird, smiling sweetly. “He needs you in examination room one, Johnny. Got a restless one.”
“On my way,” Sam told her, following her out into the reception area and hoping she’d show him where he needed to be.
0o0
Entering examination room one was like walking in to a madhouse. The short man in the white coat, who had to be Dr. Quinn, was running round the examining table in hot pursuit of an agitated chimpanzee. The chimp was screeching blue murder, and Quinn was alternately cajoling and chastising the animal. Bedlam was an understatement.
Cowering in a corner - using the chimp’s traveling cage as a shield - was a young man in a chauffeur’s uniform.
Dr. Quinn looked older than his fifty-nine years. His wrinkled face and shock of untamed red hair made him look for all the world like a cross between Albert Einstein and one of those Danish Good Luck Troll dolls that were so popular in the early ‘60s. The more he lunged for the animal, the more it evaded him. The more they both ducked and weaved, the more the chauffeur cringed and shrank back. It was farcical to watch.
The scene made Sam recall the time he’d leaped into a chimp in the space program. The animal before him was somewhat reminiscent of Cory, the chimp who’d had a crush on Bobo, and therefore on him. This one seemed to feel the same allure, for as soon as she noticed Sam - albeit in Johnny’s aura - she calmed right down and jumped into his arms.
“How do you do that?” Quinn asked him with a puzzled frown that turned into a beaming grin. “She’s more trouble than Bubbles was last year, that one.”
“Animal magnetism,” Sam shrugged, repeating something he’d once heard Al say. “I’m magnetic and she’s an animal.” He rubbed the chimp behind the ears the way he remembered Cory used to like. “What’s the matter girl, eh?”
“She’s swallowed a diamond bracelet,” the chauffeur explained. “I’m not sure where Madam De Laurentis’ priorities lie, with her gems or with Lucy.”
“I’m sure the gems would be easier to replace.” Sam was shocked by the thought that some spoilt rich woman could put a greater value on a bit of bling than on the life of a lovely creature like Lucy. “Besides, they’re probably insured.”
Though the chauffeur appeared to be wary of the creature, he shared Sam’s feelings on the matter. “She has so much jewelry, I’m surprised she even missed it. Lucy’s a handful, but I’d hate anything to happen to her.”
“Bring her through for an x-ray please, Johnny,” Quinn gestured toward a door at the back of the examination room.
The chimp clung tight to Sam as he carried her through to the smaller anteroom where the x-ray machine was housed. He spoke to her, softly and soothingly, while at the same time sneaking a look at Quinn as he worked, looking for clues to explain the impending events.
Quinn was calm and professional, and caring. He sounded genuinely relieved when he reported to the chauffeur that the bracelet wasn’t causing any internal damage and they could safely wait for nature to take its course. He ruffled the hair on Lucy’s head as he told her to stick to her diet in future. His hand trembled a little, but he seemed in control.
So it was throughout the day. Sam stuck close to Quinn, observing the man and assisting as much as possible. The more he watched, the less Sam believed that alcoholism was to blame for Quinn’s downfall.
As the day wore on, Quinn’s movements became stiffer and slower, and his trembling more pronounced. He also became forgetful, asking Sam the same question two or three times. When he realized from Sam’s replies that he was doing so, he tried to shrug it off, but it was obviously causing him some anxiety. None of this was conclusive of anything in itself, as it had been a busy day and they were both tired by the end of it.
When they finally left for the night, handing over care of the in-patients to a veterinary nurse with strict instructions to call if there were any problems, Quinn announced he wanted an early night. Sam fixed them a quick meal, then, insisting he could manage the clearing up, he encouraged Quinn to head off to bed.
“You did well today, Johnny,” Quinn told him with obvious pride as he paused at the foot of the grand staircase. “You’ll make a fine vet. Don’t study too late now.”
“No sir,” Sam replied respectfully. Great, he was supposed to be studying. Sam just hoped he wouldn’t have to stick around to sit the exams.
Once alone, Sam started to look around the first floor of the mansion. He checked drawers, cabinets and so on for booze, or prescription pills, or recreational drugs, or anything that would help him understand what Quinn’s problem was. Either there was nothing to find, or Quinn was clever enough to keep any incriminating evidence in his bedroom, for Sam’s search came up empty.
0o0
Over breakfast, Quinn gave Sam a ‘pop quiz’, making him glad he’d put in some time before bed reading over Johnny’s notes and flipping through the textbooks on the desk in his luxurious bedroom/study.
“Excellent, Johnny,” Quinn pronounced when they’d finished. “I have every confidence you’ll score even higher than I did on your upcoming test.”
“Thank you.” Sam really liked the good doctor. He was kind and generous, and very good at his job. Sam couldn’t help but notice the tremors in his hands, though, and the stiffness of his muscles as he got up from the table.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked, with genuine concern.
“I’m fine, my boy.” Quinn waved a dismissive hand, but Sam saw the slight grimace that was quickly and deliberately replaced with a fixed expression of determination. Quinn obviously wasn’t ready to talk about his condition.
So Sam spent the day doing as much of Quinn’s work as the doctor would let him, saying that he needed the practical experience. When Quinn insisted on taking the lead, Sam watched him closely, ostensibly ‘to learn from the expert’ but also to test a theory that was starting to form in his diagnostician’s mind.
Early in the afternoon, Al put in an appearance. Sam was once more on clean up duty in the recovery room, while Quinn took an extended lunch break. At least this time none of the creatures had done their business on the floor, although Chimola still flew free. Sam had to sweep up a broken coffee mug that had fallen victim to the parrot’s eponymous habit.
“Where’s Johnny?” shrieked the bird as soon as he saw Sam. Thankfully, the rest of the menagerie was less vocal about the substitution today. Most were content just to doze in their cages.
That was, until Al arrived. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, with palm trees waving over a tropical blue background, over tan shorts and brown sandals. His arrival prompted several animals to start pacing, or rattle the bars of their cages, or protest loudly at the intruder who had walked through Lucy’s cage and now stood impossibly before them.
Lucy started jumping up and down and making a racket, until Sam went over and whispered softly to her, rubbing her head through the bars. She calmed down instantly.
“Hey,” Al protested, “I thought I was the one who had a way with the ladies.”
Sam just glared at him.
The other animals chorused their disapproval once more.
“What’s their problem?” Al wanted to know, gesturing over his shoulder.
“You,” laughed Sam.
Al moved nervously further down the line, and the disturbance moved with him.
“Cut it out!” Al snapped, turning round to face the cage to his right.
A cobra rose up and stuck its forked tongue out at him.
Al leaped back visibly, a good three paces.
“Arh! I hate snakes!”
Grinning at Al’s discomfort, Sam made a show of stepping aside to let Al move to a less populated area.
“What have you got for me, Al?”
“Cut it out!” mimicked Chimola.
“I’ve got a good friend who’s a taxidermist for him, that’s for sure,” Al glared at the bird.
“I hate snakes,” Chimola captured Al’s tone perfectly.
“Why you....” Al mimed throttling the bird, who flew around just out of reach. “You’re gonna find yourself on a banana boat back to the tropics if you don’t cut that out.”
“Cut it out! Cut it out!”
“Sam, get rid of that bird, or so help me, I’ll make a feather duster out of him.”
Sam was struggling not to collapse in hysterics, as Al got redder in the face.
“How are you gonna do that, Al?” he challenged.
“Cut it out! Cut it out!” squealed Chimola, dive-bombing Al and flying right through him. It was a close run thing which of them was more startled by the encounter.
“Go to your cage, Chimola,” commanded Sam masterfully.
The parrot obeyed, but shot a parting, “Where’s Johnny?”
“When you’ve quite finished making the natives restless, Al, do you have something for me, or not?”
“Would I be here otherwise?” Al sidled further away from the intimidating inmates. “Ziggy has accessed Niall Quinn’s autopsy. The doctors confirmed his death to be suicide, but they found something else. He was suffering fr-“
“-Parkinson’s,” Sam interrupted him with a triumphant gesture.
Al shot him a surprised look. “Yeah, Sam. Spot on. He’s got Parkinson’s. That’s what’s giving him the shakes. His doctor has ordered tests, but it is one of those conditions that presents differently in different people. No two have exactly the same symptoms. Quinn is in denial. He suspects, but he knows it would mean the end of his career, so he’s burying his head in the sand. He seems to think if it isn’t official, it isn’t happening, you know?”
“I know, Al. But it is happening. It’s real. And tomorrow it’s going to be fatal, first for that poor little kitty, and ultimately for him too.”
“Unless you can change history, yes, Sam.” Al confirmed.
“Ok, Al,” Sam squared his shoulders. “Number one, I guess it’s up to me to do the operation. What am I looking at? Please don’t say neutering.”
“No, Sam. Not neutering.” Al shifted uncomfortably and avoided Sam’s gaze. He was trying to decide how much he should tell his friend in advance. He didn’t want the Leaper to be up all night worrying. It wouldn’t help if Sam got shaky hands too. “Midnight has a benign tumor, but it’s located in her urethra. It isn’t too big, but due to the location it could be life-threatening if not removed. Quinn’s shaky hand perforated her bladder-“
“Don’t say anymore, Al,” Sam shook his head sadly. He took a deep breath. “Does Zig think I can handle it?”
Al tapped the keys on his hand-link and it squealed in response.
“She gives you an 81% chance of completing the surgery safely and saving Midnight’s life. She won’t go higher because of the intrinsic risk of any surgery. Midnight could react to the anesthetic for example.”
“Pretty good odds for any surgery. I wish I were operating on a human though.”
Al avoided making eye contact again. “I know Sam. Me too.”
0o0
Next morning, Sam had helped Quinn to clear all the minor cases so that they could devote their attention to the main operation of the day. He had tried several times to broach the subject of Quinn’s condition, but the doctor wouldn’t discuss it. He maintained he was fine. Sam was starting to worry that he would insist on doing the operation, and history would repeat itself.
While they were waiting for the mystery celebrity to arrive with her ailing kitten, Quinn did the rounds in the recovery room, deciding which pets were ready to go home. He was a little distant at first, not happy that Johnny had been pushing him to confront matters he wanted left alone. But he remained professional. Soon, he was back to his jovial self as if nothing had been said. He was clearly proud of his protégé, and genuinely fond of the lad. He didn’t hold a grudge. Not until the final betrayal, anyway.
“Where’s Johnny?” came the predictable refrain from Chimola.
Quinn looked at the bird, and then conferred an indulgent smile on Sam. “I see what you mean,” he told his assistant, who had warned him of the bird’s bizarre behavior.
“How’s Lucy?” Quinn asked, as they moved on.
“Free and clear,” Sam told him, pointing to the now cleaned bracelet on a silver tray on the desk. This job had been one of the smelliest he could remember. He wouldn’t miss clean up duties one bit.
“No ill effects?”
“She seems fine.” Sam reached into the chimp’s cage, but before he could ruffle her head, she reached up and started grooming his hair. Sam decided that he had a real affinity with chimps.
“Cut it out! Cut it out!” Chimola squawked.
Sam couldn’t help but glance around to see if Al was there. The impression was uncanny.
“Talking of cutting it out, we have a big operation to set up, Johnny. Our guest of honor should be arriving and we need to get her prepped and sedated ready for the anesthetic.”
“We?” Sam reiterated. “You’re going to let me assist?”
Hopefully, once in there, Sam would be able to take over.
“I think you’re ready, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.” Sam confirmed, hoping it was true.
0o0
“Midnight is sedated and shaved ready for you,” Suzella told them a short while later.
Sam saw Al hovering by the door. He held back, letting Quinn go into the operating room first. Al looked nervous.
“Shouldn’t it be me getting nervous, Al?” Sam asked in a whisper.
“That’s just it, Sam,” Al told him. “You mustn’t. Steady hands; remember? I don’t want you to freak when you see Midnight.”
“Freak?” Sam frowned, getting suspicious. “Why would I freak?”
“Just think of her as a cute black kitty, Sam.”
“I guessed she was black, Al. The name’s a bit of a giveaway.” Sam was trying to stay upbeat, but Al’s demeanor had him worried. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Al decided to just come out with it. Speaking very fast, he informed Sam, “Midnight’s-a-two-year-old-black-Panther-Sam.”
“A what?!?” Sam’s voice raised a little and he caught himself. “A what?” he whispered again. He’d taken an unconscious step back from the door.
“Panther,” said Al, trying to sound as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
“John-ny!” Quinn called from inside the room.
“C-Coming,” Sam replied weakly.
“I’m right with you, Sam,” Al reassured him, walking beside him as he reluctantly entered the room. “I’ll stand by you.”
“Easy for you to say,” Sam countered. “Midnight can’t rip your throat out.”
“Hey, don’t sweat it, Sam,” Al encouraged. “You’ve tamed a lion before, remember?’
Sam frowned for a moment, before the memory came back. A fashion model, what was her name? Evie? Edie? Yes, Edie. The lion was threatening her. Snowball wasn’t it? Not soft and cuddly, but fierce and dangerous. He’d used the old chair trick to keep the beast at bay. Somehow, Sam wasn’t very reassured by the recollection.
They found Quinn still trying to give Midnight the anesthetic. Despite being sedated she was still far from happy and a low growl rumbled from her throat. Quinn’s hand was trembling.
Swallowing hard and mustering all his courage, Sam stepped up.
“Here, let me.” He put out his hand for the tube, which had to be placed in the Panther’s windpipe in order to administer the gas. Shooting Al a nervous look, he whispered a clue as to what he wanted the hologram to do.
“Widow Maker,” he breathed softly, thankful that he remembered that particular leap.
It was Al’s turn to wear a puzzled frown. Then his hand-link squealed, and he was reminded that once upon a Leap he’d subdued a wild stallion so that Sam could ride him safely and win Tess’ competition.
Al positioned himself by the big cat’s head, and, looking her in the eye, began chanting, “Ohhmmm, Ohhmmm.”
It was working. Before she knew it, the tube had been inserted and Midnight was inhaling the anesthetic.
Sam’s breathing settled into a rhythm too.
“Well done, Johnny. Now watch closely.” Quinn took up position.
Sam knew he couldn’t let Quinn wield the scalpel.
“I’ve been reading up on this procedure,” Sam told him. Which was true. “Would you mind if I took care of it?”
Quinn looked dubious, so Sam added diplomatically, “With you talking me through it, of course.”
“It is a relatively straightforward procedure,” Quinn decided. “But tricky. One wrong move could prove fatal.” Quinn held the scalpel aloft, and his hand shook.
Sam said nothing. He just gently wrapped his own hand around the doctor’s trembling digits, and gave him a meaningful look.
“It’s okay, doc. I know about the Parkinson’s.” Sam told him softly.
Quinn looked as if he was about to deny it. Sam knew this was make-or-break time. He had to give Quinn an alternative. He thought fast.
“It doesn’t have to mean the end of your career,” Sam assured him. “Just an end to performing surgery. You’ve done an amazing job teaching me. You could do the lecture circuit. You have some incredible stories you can regale the students with. You could even write a book.”
Quinn’s eyes sparkled. The idea obviously appealed.
Encouraged, Sam went on, “I bet it’d be a bestseller. Everyone loves to read about celebrities. And animal stories are always a winner. So, it’ll be the best of both worlds. I can see you on Oprah. You’ll be a celebrity in your own right.”
“Hmm,” mused Quinn, gesturing to Sam to begin the operation. “The idea has merit. Tell me more...”
0o0
Several hours later, Midnight was snoozing happily in the recovery room.
“Why haven’t I leaped, Al?” Sam wanted to know.
“Where’s Johnny?” Chimola queried loudly.
“He’ll be back soon,” Sam told the bird.
“Won’t he?” this time to Al.
“Should be,” Al confirmed. “Ziggy says Quinn takes your advice. He immediately hands over all the surgeries and concentrates on getting Johnny through his vet exams. He still consults, and gives lectures. But he spends most of his time dictating his memoirs. Best seller as you predicted. He has a happy retirement, despite the Parkinson’s. And Johnny sticks around to make sure he gets the best care love and money can provide.”
“So...?” Sam gave an exaggerated shrug, spreading his hands wide. What more was there to do?
“Ziggy’s suggesting that you need to say goodbye to Lucy before her owner collects her,” Al informed him.
This was one mission Sam was happy to undertake. He opened her cage and Lucy rushed into his arms, hugging him tight. “Yes, I’m gonna miss you too, Lucy,” he told her.
The chimp planted a huge slobbery kiss on Sam’s cheek.
“Cut it out!” protested Chimola.
“Leave her alone,” Sam ordered, cuddling Lucy.
Suddenly, the chimp reached into Sam’s breast pocket and pulled out the pen torch he used for examinations. She started to put it in her mouth.
“Lucy! NO!” Sam snatched it away from her. He held it up for her to see, then gestured as if he were going to eat it himself. He stopped, and shook his head. “This is not good to eat, okay?” He pulled a face. “Bad. Lucy get tummy ache again. Understand?”
Then he chucked her under the chin, so that she looked him in the eyes. “Stick to bananas, okay, Lucy? Promise.” He reached into her cage and pulled one out, offering it to her.
Lucy nodded vigorously, as if she got it at last. She took the fruit and started to peel it.
“That’s it, Sam, you did it.” Al told him. “Seems she’s learnt her lesson. Lucy will be fine now.”
“Good girl.”
“Oh boy!” Chimola the parrot just had to have the final word as Sam leaped.
By Helen Earl
Sam shook his head to clear the haze of leaping.
First glance told him that he hadn’t made it home. Again.
His new surroundings assaulted his senses - strong unpleasant odors, a cacophony of sound, chaotic movement.
For an instant Sam was afraid he’d leaped into another animal, for he was surrounded by cages full of exotic creatures of various species, all barking, growling, hissing, whimpering or chirruping in varying degrees of distress. They were obviously aware that he was an interloper, and they were alerting anyone in earshot to the fact.
“Hey, keep it down, fellas,” Sam exhorted them in a harsh whisper.
Despite the lack of reflective surfaces, Sam soon established that he was at least human. He was holding a mop, and by his right leg was a large metal bucket full of dirty looking soapy water. Focusing on the floor in front of him, Sam realized that his host had been in the middle of cleaning up a large dollop of steaming excrement. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.
“Oh, boy!” he sighed. Leaping had reached an all-time low.
“Which one of you is responsible for this?” Sam looked around at the caged creatures and gestured toward the mess with his mop.
The animals were all still ‘talking’ at once, but nothing sounded like a confession or an apology.
With a shrug, Sam turned his attention to cleaning up the mess.
“How are the mighty fallen?” Al’s gloating voice startled Sam so that he nearly tripped and knocked the bucket over.
The new arrival caused the menagerie to protest even louder, if such were possible.
“Al!” hissed Sam, not at all amused by any aspect of the situation he found himself in.
“Where’s Johnny?” a shrill voice piped up.
Turning toward the source, Sam was horrified to find a large African grey parrot swooping down on him. Instinctively he put up his hand to protect his face from its beak and claws. The bird settled on his raised forearm and stared at the new arrival. “Oh, boy!” it squawked.
0o0
“Who am I this time? Dr. Doolittle?” Sam asked, while the parrot pecked at the white streak in his hair.
“Where’s Johnny?” squawked the bird again.
“No, Sam,” Al stifled a giggle. “Your name is John - Johnny - Sheffield. Hey, like the actor!”
“Should I have heard of him?” Sam asked with a puzzled frown. He shook the bird off his arm and finished cleaning up as they talked. He didn’t want to get Johnny fired.
“Probably a bit before your time, Sam. He played ‘Boy’ in the Johnny Weissmuller Tarzan movies in the ‘40s.”
Ziggy squealed.
“Oh, cool,” Al grinned. “This Johnny was named after the actor. His parents were fans, and animal lovers. Plus, baby Johnny had an unruly mop of long curly hair just like his namesake.”
“That’s all very well, Al, but it doesn’t help me with the leap. Let me guess, I work as a hired hand in a zoo.” He gestured at the diversity of wildlife surrounding him.
“Good guess, Sam. Close, but no cigar.” The hologram held up his own Honduran handmade Zino tauntingly. “Actually, you are a Para...Para...” Al thumped the side of his hand-link with the heel of his thumb. “Paraveterinary worker, otherwise known as a veterinary technologist. Quite a mouthful, huh?”
Sam nodded. “Go on.”
“It’s 1991. You’re twenty-six years old and living in Hollywood, California. This place belongs to a Doctor of Veterinary Medicine called Dr. Niall Quinn; V.M.D. He’s famous as The Vet to the Stars.”
“Any idea why I’m here, Al? For something more than this I hope.” Sam had finished cleaning the floor, and was now emptying the bucket down a drain.
“For once, we know quite a bit, Sam,” Al beamed. He knew how frustrated Sam got when Ziggy couldn’t give him the answers he needed. Maybe this would be an easy leap for once. “Quinn’s been at the top of his game for years, but he’s about to crash and burn. It was in all the papers, and the hot topic on TV for weeks. Day after tomorrow, one of his patients is going to die on the operating table. The owner is a real bigwig ‘A’ list Hollywood star. She doesn’t take kindly to the loss of her beloved kitty. She sues Quinn for every penny he has in a very public court case. The bankruptcy and humiliation are too much for his Irish-American pride and he commits suicide. Zig puts it at a solid 97% you’re here to save both the pet and the vet.” Al sniggered at his little rhyme.
“What killed the cat, Al? Was it negligence, or was its condition fatal?”
“Well, it wasn’t curiosity,” Al quipped. “Evidence proved that Quinn botched the op. Sheffield reluctantly testified that the old boy had been getting shaky hands. It was suggested that maybe he hit the booze a bit too hard, but the lad said he’d never seen Quinn drink at all, let alone to excess.”
“That doesn’t prove anything, Al. We both know all too well that serious drinkers are often secretive about it. Remember that lighthouse keeper* who nearly killed me when I got rid of his hidden stash?” {*Bourbon on the Rocks by Helen Earl}
“Yeah, been there, done that, got the hangover,” Al acknowledged his personal battle with the bottle. “Not to mention, I’ve never yet met an Irishman who wasn’t fond of a tipple.”
“Okay, so I need to check for hidden booze. Anything else you can tell me?”
“Yeah, Sam. The parrot’s name is Chimola, which means ‘breaker of things’ - a name he lives up to - so be careful what you leave lying around.”
Right on cue, the bird swooped down and knocked a jar of peanuts off a shelf. The glass shattered, and the bird helped himself to the contents.
Sam cleared up the broken glass with a resigned sigh.
“I was hoping for something a bit more helpful, like where Johnny lives and what time he finishes work.” Sam began wandering up and down the recovery room, tidying up and looking at each of the animal’s charts. He raised an eyebrow from time to time at the celebrity owners’ names, frowning at others he felt he should have recognized, but didn’t. There were several species that Sam felt sure shouldn’t be kept as pets, but then the rich and famous were renowned for getting round little things like licensing laws. Sam was just glad that the animals were safely behind bars.
“Well, the first one is easy,” Al told him. “Both Quinn and Johnny live in the rather splendid mansion that adjoins this clinic. Johnny had a tragic childhood. He was orphaned at seven years old. His father ran a prestigious riding stable until a horse threw him and broke his neck; his mother was a well-known actress who OD’d at the height of her career less than a year later. Johnny’s always loved animals and while he was still at school he started volunteering here - doing the mop up duties, feeding the animals and so on. When his foster parents were killed in a car accident, Quinn took him in. Put him through university to get his associate degree. He’s now part Paraveterinary, part apprentice while he works towards his impending full veterinary qualification.”
“Wow. No wonder Johnny didn’t want to testify against Quinn. It must have felt like the worst kind of betrayal.”
“To both of them. Sheffield said he’d only done it because he didn’t want any more animals to die. He was worried that Quinn wasn’t coping and wanted him to retire. The doc’s only 59 and wouldn’t admit that he’d lost his edge. Quinn couldn’t forgive Johnny, and it was another contributory factor in his suicide. Which of course made Johnny feel even guiltier. He would have inherited this practice, the mansion, the lot, but he turned his back on the glamour and glitz. He went to work on a reserve in Africa.”
“Where’s Johnny?” Chimola asked again, flying round and round above Sam’s head.
“Daft bird, Johnny’s right there!”
Neither Sam nor Al had noticed the tall, curvaceous blond figure enter from an adjacent room. Helpfully, she wore a nametag just above her ample left breast, announcing that she was a receptionist with the unusual name of Suzella.
“He’s such a kidder!” Sam laughed in embarrassment.
“Johnny’s in Africa!” declared the bird, glaring at Al.
“Uh oh, Sa-am,” Al started tapping his hand-link. “Seems like Chimola’s repeating what I said. I’m outa here.” So saying, he vanished back to the future.
“What’s gotten into you, eh Chimola?” Suzella put out her arm and the bird flew down onto it, preening himself as she stroked his chest feathers.
“Where’s Johnny?” Chimola repeated. Sam rolled his eyes; it was going to be one of those leaps.
“That’s just what Dr. Quinn sent me to find out,” Suzella told the bird, smiling sweetly. “He needs you in examination room one, Johnny. Got a restless one.”
“On my way,” Sam told her, following her out into the reception area and hoping she’d show him where he needed to be.
0o0
Entering examination room one was like walking in to a madhouse. The short man in the white coat, who had to be Dr. Quinn, was running round the examining table in hot pursuit of an agitated chimpanzee. The chimp was screeching blue murder, and Quinn was alternately cajoling and chastising the animal. Bedlam was an understatement.
Cowering in a corner - using the chimp’s traveling cage as a shield - was a young man in a chauffeur’s uniform.
Dr. Quinn looked older than his fifty-nine years. His wrinkled face and shock of untamed red hair made him look for all the world like a cross between Albert Einstein and one of those Danish Good Luck Troll dolls that were so popular in the early ‘60s. The more he lunged for the animal, the more it evaded him. The more they both ducked and weaved, the more the chauffeur cringed and shrank back. It was farcical to watch.
The scene made Sam recall the time he’d leaped into a chimp in the space program. The animal before him was somewhat reminiscent of Cory, the chimp who’d had a crush on Bobo, and therefore on him. This one seemed to feel the same allure, for as soon as she noticed Sam - albeit in Johnny’s aura - she calmed right down and jumped into his arms.
“How do you do that?” Quinn asked him with a puzzled frown that turned into a beaming grin. “She’s more trouble than Bubbles was last year, that one.”
“Animal magnetism,” Sam shrugged, repeating something he’d once heard Al say. “I’m magnetic and she’s an animal.” He rubbed the chimp behind the ears the way he remembered Cory used to like. “What’s the matter girl, eh?”
“She’s swallowed a diamond bracelet,” the chauffeur explained. “I’m not sure where Madam De Laurentis’ priorities lie, with her gems or with Lucy.”
“I’m sure the gems would be easier to replace.” Sam was shocked by the thought that some spoilt rich woman could put a greater value on a bit of bling than on the life of a lovely creature like Lucy. “Besides, they’re probably insured.”
Though the chauffeur appeared to be wary of the creature, he shared Sam’s feelings on the matter. “She has so much jewelry, I’m surprised she even missed it. Lucy’s a handful, but I’d hate anything to happen to her.”
“Bring her through for an x-ray please, Johnny,” Quinn gestured toward a door at the back of the examination room.
The chimp clung tight to Sam as he carried her through to the smaller anteroom where the x-ray machine was housed. He spoke to her, softly and soothingly, while at the same time sneaking a look at Quinn as he worked, looking for clues to explain the impending events.
Quinn was calm and professional, and caring. He sounded genuinely relieved when he reported to the chauffeur that the bracelet wasn’t causing any internal damage and they could safely wait for nature to take its course. He ruffled the hair on Lucy’s head as he told her to stick to her diet in future. His hand trembled a little, but he seemed in control.
So it was throughout the day. Sam stuck close to Quinn, observing the man and assisting as much as possible. The more he watched, the less Sam believed that alcoholism was to blame for Quinn’s downfall.
As the day wore on, Quinn’s movements became stiffer and slower, and his trembling more pronounced. He also became forgetful, asking Sam the same question two or three times. When he realized from Sam’s replies that he was doing so, he tried to shrug it off, but it was obviously causing him some anxiety. None of this was conclusive of anything in itself, as it had been a busy day and they were both tired by the end of it.
When they finally left for the night, handing over care of the in-patients to a veterinary nurse with strict instructions to call if there were any problems, Quinn announced he wanted an early night. Sam fixed them a quick meal, then, insisting he could manage the clearing up, he encouraged Quinn to head off to bed.
“You did well today, Johnny,” Quinn told him with obvious pride as he paused at the foot of the grand staircase. “You’ll make a fine vet. Don’t study too late now.”
“No sir,” Sam replied respectfully. Great, he was supposed to be studying. Sam just hoped he wouldn’t have to stick around to sit the exams.
Once alone, Sam started to look around the first floor of the mansion. He checked drawers, cabinets and so on for booze, or prescription pills, or recreational drugs, or anything that would help him understand what Quinn’s problem was. Either there was nothing to find, or Quinn was clever enough to keep any incriminating evidence in his bedroom, for Sam’s search came up empty.
0o0
Over breakfast, Quinn gave Sam a ‘pop quiz’, making him glad he’d put in some time before bed reading over Johnny’s notes and flipping through the textbooks on the desk in his luxurious bedroom/study.
“Excellent, Johnny,” Quinn pronounced when they’d finished. “I have every confidence you’ll score even higher than I did on your upcoming test.”
“Thank you.” Sam really liked the good doctor. He was kind and generous, and very good at his job. Sam couldn’t help but notice the tremors in his hands, though, and the stiffness of his muscles as he got up from the table.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked, with genuine concern.
“I’m fine, my boy.” Quinn waved a dismissive hand, but Sam saw the slight grimace that was quickly and deliberately replaced with a fixed expression of determination. Quinn obviously wasn’t ready to talk about his condition.
So Sam spent the day doing as much of Quinn’s work as the doctor would let him, saying that he needed the practical experience. When Quinn insisted on taking the lead, Sam watched him closely, ostensibly ‘to learn from the expert’ but also to test a theory that was starting to form in his diagnostician’s mind.
Early in the afternoon, Al put in an appearance. Sam was once more on clean up duty in the recovery room, while Quinn took an extended lunch break. At least this time none of the creatures had done their business on the floor, although Chimola still flew free. Sam had to sweep up a broken coffee mug that had fallen victim to the parrot’s eponymous habit.
“Where’s Johnny?” shrieked the bird as soon as he saw Sam. Thankfully, the rest of the menagerie was less vocal about the substitution today. Most were content just to doze in their cages.
That was, until Al arrived. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, with palm trees waving over a tropical blue background, over tan shorts and brown sandals. His arrival prompted several animals to start pacing, or rattle the bars of their cages, or protest loudly at the intruder who had walked through Lucy’s cage and now stood impossibly before them.
Lucy started jumping up and down and making a racket, until Sam went over and whispered softly to her, rubbing her head through the bars. She calmed down instantly.
“Hey,” Al protested, “I thought I was the one who had a way with the ladies.”
Sam just glared at him.
The other animals chorused their disapproval once more.
“What’s their problem?” Al wanted to know, gesturing over his shoulder.
“You,” laughed Sam.
Al moved nervously further down the line, and the disturbance moved with him.
“Cut it out!” Al snapped, turning round to face the cage to his right.
A cobra rose up and stuck its forked tongue out at him.
Al leaped back visibly, a good three paces.
“Arh! I hate snakes!”
Grinning at Al’s discomfort, Sam made a show of stepping aside to let Al move to a less populated area.
“What have you got for me, Al?”
“Cut it out!” mimicked Chimola.
“I’ve got a good friend who’s a taxidermist for him, that’s for sure,” Al glared at the bird.
“I hate snakes,” Chimola captured Al’s tone perfectly.
“Why you....” Al mimed throttling the bird, who flew around just out of reach. “You’re gonna find yourself on a banana boat back to the tropics if you don’t cut that out.”
“Cut it out! Cut it out!”
“Sam, get rid of that bird, or so help me, I’ll make a feather duster out of him.”
Sam was struggling not to collapse in hysterics, as Al got redder in the face.
“How are you gonna do that, Al?” he challenged.
“Cut it out! Cut it out!” squealed Chimola, dive-bombing Al and flying right through him. It was a close run thing which of them was more startled by the encounter.
“Go to your cage, Chimola,” commanded Sam masterfully.
The parrot obeyed, but shot a parting, “Where’s Johnny?”
“When you’ve quite finished making the natives restless, Al, do you have something for me, or not?”
“Would I be here otherwise?” Al sidled further away from the intimidating inmates. “Ziggy has accessed Niall Quinn’s autopsy. The doctors confirmed his death to be suicide, but they found something else. He was suffering fr-“
“-Parkinson’s,” Sam interrupted him with a triumphant gesture.
Al shot him a surprised look. “Yeah, Sam. Spot on. He’s got Parkinson’s. That’s what’s giving him the shakes. His doctor has ordered tests, but it is one of those conditions that presents differently in different people. No two have exactly the same symptoms. Quinn is in denial. He suspects, but he knows it would mean the end of his career, so he’s burying his head in the sand. He seems to think if it isn’t official, it isn’t happening, you know?”
“I know, Al. But it is happening. It’s real. And tomorrow it’s going to be fatal, first for that poor little kitty, and ultimately for him too.”
“Unless you can change history, yes, Sam.” Al confirmed.
“Ok, Al,” Sam squared his shoulders. “Number one, I guess it’s up to me to do the operation. What am I looking at? Please don’t say neutering.”
“No, Sam. Not neutering.” Al shifted uncomfortably and avoided Sam’s gaze. He was trying to decide how much he should tell his friend in advance. He didn’t want the Leaper to be up all night worrying. It wouldn’t help if Sam got shaky hands too. “Midnight has a benign tumor, but it’s located in her urethra. It isn’t too big, but due to the location it could be life-threatening if not removed. Quinn’s shaky hand perforated her bladder-“
“Don’t say anymore, Al,” Sam shook his head sadly. He took a deep breath. “Does Zig think I can handle it?”
Al tapped the keys on his hand-link and it squealed in response.
“She gives you an 81% chance of completing the surgery safely and saving Midnight’s life. She won’t go higher because of the intrinsic risk of any surgery. Midnight could react to the anesthetic for example.”
“Pretty good odds for any surgery. I wish I were operating on a human though.”
Al avoided making eye contact again. “I know Sam. Me too.”
0o0
Next morning, Sam had helped Quinn to clear all the minor cases so that they could devote their attention to the main operation of the day. He had tried several times to broach the subject of Quinn’s condition, but the doctor wouldn’t discuss it. He maintained he was fine. Sam was starting to worry that he would insist on doing the operation, and history would repeat itself.
While they were waiting for the mystery celebrity to arrive with her ailing kitten, Quinn did the rounds in the recovery room, deciding which pets were ready to go home. He was a little distant at first, not happy that Johnny had been pushing him to confront matters he wanted left alone. But he remained professional. Soon, he was back to his jovial self as if nothing had been said. He was clearly proud of his protégé, and genuinely fond of the lad. He didn’t hold a grudge. Not until the final betrayal, anyway.
“Where’s Johnny?” came the predictable refrain from Chimola.
Quinn looked at the bird, and then conferred an indulgent smile on Sam. “I see what you mean,” he told his assistant, who had warned him of the bird’s bizarre behavior.
“How’s Lucy?” Quinn asked, as they moved on.
“Free and clear,” Sam told him, pointing to the now cleaned bracelet on a silver tray on the desk. This job had been one of the smelliest he could remember. He wouldn’t miss clean up duties one bit.
“No ill effects?”
“She seems fine.” Sam reached into the chimp’s cage, but before he could ruffle her head, she reached up and started grooming his hair. Sam decided that he had a real affinity with chimps.
“Cut it out! Cut it out!” Chimola squawked.
Sam couldn’t help but glance around to see if Al was there. The impression was uncanny.
“Talking of cutting it out, we have a big operation to set up, Johnny. Our guest of honor should be arriving and we need to get her prepped and sedated ready for the anesthetic.”
“We?” Sam reiterated. “You’re going to let me assist?”
Hopefully, once in there, Sam would be able to take over.
“I think you’re ready, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.” Sam confirmed, hoping it was true.
0o0
“Midnight is sedated and shaved ready for you,” Suzella told them a short while later.
Sam saw Al hovering by the door. He held back, letting Quinn go into the operating room first. Al looked nervous.
“Shouldn’t it be me getting nervous, Al?” Sam asked in a whisper.
“That’s just it, Sam,” Al told him. “You mustn’t. Steady hands; remember? I don’t want you to freak when you see Midnight.”
“Freak?” Sam frowned, getting suspicious. “Why would I freak?”
“Just think of her as a cute black kitty, Sam.”
“I guessed she was black, Al. The name’s a bit of a giveaway.” Sam was trying to stay upbeat, but Al’s demeanor had him worried. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Al decided to just come out with it. Speaking very fast, he informed Sam, “Midnight’s-a-two-year-old-black-Panther-Sam.”
“A what?!?” Sam’s voice raised a little and he caught himself. “A what?” he whispered again. He’d taken an unconscious step back from the door.
“Panther,” said Al, trying to sound as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
“John-ny!” Quinn called from inside the room.
“C-Coming,” Sam replied weakly.
“I’m right with you, Sam,” Al reassured him, walking beside him as he reluctantly entered the room. “I’ll stand by you.”
“Easy for you to say,” Sam countered. “Midnight can’t rip your throat out.”
“Hey, don’t sweat it, Sam,” Al encouraged. “You’ve tamed a lion before, remember?’
Sam frowned for a moment, before the memory came back. A fashion model, what was her name? Evie? Edie? Yes, Edie. The lion was threatening her. Snowball wasn’t it? Not soft and cuddly, but fierce and dangerous. He’d used the old chair trick to keep the beast at bay. Somehow, Sam wasn’t very reassured by the recollection.
They found Quinn still trying to give Midnight the anesthetic. Despite being sedated she was still far from happy and a low growl rumbled from her throat. Quinn’s hand was trembling.
Swallowing hard and mustering all his courage, Sam stepped up.
“Here, let me.” He put out his hand for the tube, which had to be placed in the Panther’s windpipe in order to administer the gas. Shooting Al a nervous look, he whispered a clue as to what he wanted the hologram to do.
“Widow Maker,” he breathed softly, thankful that he remembered that particular leap.
It was Al’s turn to wear a puzzled frown. Then his hand-link squealed, and he was reminded that once upon a Leap he’d subdued a wild stallion so that Sam could ride him safely and win Tess’ competition.
Al positioned himself by the big cat’s head, and, looking her in the eye, began chanting, “Ohhmmm, Ohhmmm.”
It was working. Before she knew it, the tube had been inserted and Midnight was inhaling the anesthetic.
Sam’s breathing settled into a rhythm too.
“Well done, Johnny. Now watch closely.” Quinn took up position.
Sam knew he couldn’t let Quinn wield the scalpel.
“I’ve been reading up on this procedure,” Sam told him. Which was true. “Would you mind if I took care of it?”
Quinn looked dubious, so Sam added diplomatically, “With you talking me through it, of course.”
“It is a relatively straightforward procedure,” Quinn decided. “But tricky. One wrong move could prove fatal.” Quinn held the scalpel aloft, and his hand shook.
Sam said nothing. He just gently wrapped his own hand around the doctor’s trembling digits, and gave him a meaningful look.
“It’s okay, doc. I know about the Parkinson’s.” Sam told him softly.
Quinn looked as if he was about to deny it. Sam knew this was make-or-break time. He had to give Quinn an alternative. He thought fast.
“It doesn’t have to mean the end of your career,” Sam assured him. “Just an end to performing surgery. You’ve done an amazing job teaching me. You could do the lecture circuit. You have some incredible stories you can regale the students with. You could even write a book.”
Quinn’s eyes sparkled. The idea obviously appealed.
Encouraged, Sam went on, “I bet it’d be a bestseller. Everyone loves to read about celebrities. And animal stories are always a winner. So, it’ll be the best of both worlds. I can see you on Oprah. You’ll be a celebrity in your own right.”
“Hmm,” mused Quinn, gesturing to Sam to begin the operation. “The idea has merit. Tell me more...”
0o0
Several hours later, Midnight was snoozing happily in the recovery room.
“Why haven’t I leaped, Al?” Sam wanted to know.
“Where’s Johnny?” Chimola queried loudly.
“He’ll be back soon,” Sam told the bird.
“Won’t he?” this time to Al.
“Should be,” Al confirmed. “Ziggy says Quinn takes your advice. He immediately hands over all the surgeries and concentrates on getting Johnny through his vet exams. He still consults, and gives lectures. But he spends most of his time dictating his memoirs. Best seller as you predicted. He has a happy retirement, despite the Parkinson’s. And Johnny sticks around to make sure he gets the best care love and money can provide.”
“So...?” Sam gave an exaggerated shrug, spreading his hands wide. What more was there to do?
“Ziggy’s suggesting that you need to say goodbye to Lucy before her owner collects her,” Al informed him.
This was one mission Sam was happy to undertake. He opened her cage and Lucy rushed into his arms, hugging him tight. “Yes, I’m gonna miss you too, Lucy,” he told her.
The chimp planted a huge slobbery kiss on Sam’s cheek.
“Cut it out!” protested Chimola.
“Leave her alone,” Sam ordered, cuddling Lucy.
Suddenly, the chimp reached into Sam’s breast pocket and pulled out the pen torch he used for examinations. She started to put it in her mouth.
“Lucy! NO!” Sam snatched it away from her. He held it up for her to see, then gestured as if he were going to eat it himself. He stopped, and shook his head. “This is not good to eat, okay?” He pulled a face. “Bad. Lucy get tummy ache again. Understand?”
Then he chucked her under the chin, so that she looked him in the eyes. “Stick to bananas, okay, Lucy? Promise.” He reached into her cage and pulled one out, offering it to her.
Lucy nodded vigorously, as if she got it at last. She took the fruit and started to peel it.
“That’s it, Sam, you did it.” Al told him. “Seems she’s learnt her lesson. Lucy will be fine now.”
“Good girl.”
“Oh boy!” Chimola the parrot just had to have the final word as Sam leaped.