Chapter 4 - What the Veterinarian Saw
The clinic felt completely different after closing.
During business hours, it was filled with barking dogs, ringing phones, nervous cats, and owners asking questions.
At night, the hallways were dim.
The reception desk was empty.
Every sound seemed louder.
Margaret followed Daniella toward the exotic-animal ward.
“What crashed?”
“A transport stand.”
“How?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Rebecca met them outside the treatment room.
“She’s restless.”
Margaret tried to push past.
Rebecca stopped her gently.
“Wait.”
“What happened?”
“Sunny started repeatedly repositioning and pushing against the enclosure.”
“Because she wants me.”
“Possibly because she associates you with a warm location,” Daniella corrected automatically.
Margaret glared.
“This is not the moment.”
“You’re right.”
Rebecca led them toward a viewing panel.
Sunny’s enormous body moved slowly inside the temporary enclosure.
To Margaret, she looked agitated.
Her head moved from side to side.
Her body shifted.
Then stopped.
Then shifted again.
“She’s never like this,” Margaret whispered.
Rebecca nodded.
“That’s why we’re watching closely.”
“Is she laying eggs?”
“Possibly preparing to.”
“Is that dangerous?”
“It can become complicated.”
Daniella stepped closer to the viewing glass.
“Her muscle movements look stronger than earlier.”
Rebecca agreed.
They discussed medical possibilities in language Margaret barely understood.
Egg retention.
Dystocia.
Hydration.
Calcium.
Environmental conditions.
Imaging.
Margaret heard only fragments.
Finally she interrupted.
“Tell me in normal-person English.”
Daniella turned.
“Sunny may be preparing to lay eggs. If she cannot pass them normally, she could become very sick.”
Margaret’s mouth went dry.
“What do we do?”
“We give her proper conditions, privacy, correct temperature, humidity, and a suitable nesting area. Then we monitor.”
“And if she can’t?”
“Then we intervene.”
Margaret looked at Sunny.
The snake stopped moving.
For a moment, her head turned toward the glass.
Margaret stepped closer.
“Hey, beautiful girl.”
Daniella looked at her.
“Girl,” Margaret repeated. “I’m adjusting.”
For the first time that night, Rebecca laughed.
They prepared a nesting area.
Then waited.
Hours passed.
At 11:14, Margaret sat in Daniella’s office drinking coffee she didn’t want.
“How long does this take?”
“There isn’t a stopwatch.”
“Terrible answer.”
“I know.”
At midnight, Rebecca checked again.
No eggs.
Sunny remained restless.
At 12:47, Daniella returned to the office.
“We’re going to repeat imaging.”
“Why?”
“Because something has changed.”
Margaret stood immediately.
“Good or bad?”
“We don’t know.”
Those words again.
Margaret hated them.
The new images showed that several developing structures had shifted.
Rebecca pointed toward one area.
“This concerns me.”
Margaret felt sick.
“What?”
Daniella sat beside her.
“One may not be positioned normally.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we may have to help.”
Margaret stared at Sunny’s image.
“Do it.”
“It isn’t that simple.”
“Why not?”
“Intervention has risks.”
“So does doing nothing.”
“Yes.”
Margaret looked from Daniella to Rebecca.
“Then choose whatever gives her the best chance.”
There it was.
The sentence every pet owner eventually had to say.
Not what makes me feel better.
Not what preserves my fantasy.
What gives the animal the best chance.
Daniella squeezed her hand.
At 2:10 in the morning, they began supportive treatment.
Sunny was hydrated.
Her environment was carefully controlled.
They minimized stress.
Then waited again.
At 3:32, Margaret fell asleep in a chair.
She dreamed of George.
He stood in their old kitchen wearing the blue flannel shirt he used to wear while repairing things.
“You always bring home trouble,” he said.
Margaret smiled.
“You married me.”
“Exactly.”
Then she woke.
Daniella stood over her.
“Mom.”
Margaret sat upright.
“What happened?”
“Come see.”
Her heart pounded.
“Is she—”
“She’s alive.”
Margaret rushed down the hall.
Inside the enclosure, Sunny was curled protectively.
Beside her were eggs.
Margaret counted.
One.
Two.
Three.
More.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh my God.”
Daniella smiled tiredly.
“She started about twenty minutes ago.”
“Is that good?”
“Very.”
“Is she okay?”
“So far.”
Margaret pressed her fingertips against the glass.
Sunny remained coiled.
The sight was astonishing.
For three years, Margaret had thought Sunny was male.
For months, she had believed the python crawled into her bed simply because it enjoyed being near her.
Now she understood something more complicated had been happening.
Sunny had been experiencing physiological changes while her enclosure temperature fluctuated.
She sought warmth.
She sought stable environmental conditions.
And Margaret’s bed had accidentally provided them.
The wrapping behavior that Margaret interpreted as affection had been neither a sinister plan nor proof of human-like love.
It had been animal behavior shaped by instinct, temperature, and changing biological needs.
Margaret looked at Daniella.
“So that’s why?”
“It appears to explain a lot.”
“Not because she wanted to eat me.”
“No.”
“Not because she was measuring me.”
“No.”
Margaret laughed softly.
“Carol is going to be disappointed.”
Daniella smiled.
“She watches too much television.”
Margaret looked through the glass.
“But you were still right.”
“About what?”
“That sleeping with her was dangerous.”
“Yes.”
“Even if she wasn’t trying to hurt me.”
“Yes.”
Margaret nodded.
“I understand now.”
Then Rebecca entered.
Her expression erased both women’s smiles.
“What?”
Rebecca checked the enclosure.
“She’s not finished.”
Margaret stared.
“There are more?”
“We believe so.”
“Then why has she stopped?”
Rebecca didn’t answer immediately.
Daniella looked at the latest imaging.
Her eyes narrowed.
“One may be retained.”
Margaret’s happiness vanished.
“What does that mean?”
Daniella turned toward her.
“It means Sunny may still be in trouble.”
Over the next hour, the atmosphere changed from cautious celebration to concern.
Sunny remained tense.
No additional egg appeared.
Rebecca performed another examination.
Then stepped away.
“I think we need to intervene.”
Margaret felt as if someone had placed a stone inside her chest.
“What are the chances?”
“Good if we address it early.”
“And if we don’t?”
Rebecca’s silence answered.
Margaret looked at Sunny.
The animal who had filled a lonely house.
The creature she had misunderstood but nevertheless cared for.
Then she said, “Do whatever you need to do.”
Daniella prepared for the procedure.
Before entering the treatment room, she stopped beside her mother.
“I need you to wait here.”
Margaret nodded.
For once, she didn’t argue.
The doors closed.
Twenty minutes passed.
Forty.
An hour.
Margaret sat alone beneath fluorescent lights.
She remembered the first day she had seen Sunny.
Tiny.
Abandoned.
Curled inside a plastic container.
Back then, Margaret believed she was rescuing the snake.
Now, three years later, she wondered whether caring for Sunny had actually rescued something in her.
At 5:41, the treatment-room door opened.
Daniella emerged.
Her mask hung beneath her chin.
Margaret stood.
“Well?”
May you like
Daniella walked toward her.
And before she spoke, Margaret searched her daughter’s face for the answer.
