Page 81 of Spiced!

“Is that a compliment?”

“In medicine, consistency is useful,” he said, which was not quite a yes and not quite a no and was, I was learning, a very Brendan kind of answer. It reminded me of Peter with a bit more personality.

Brendan listened to Mofongo’s heart and lungs while my little one stood on the exam table vibrating with what looked like excitement wrapped in uncertainty. His back half had begun a low, continuous wag that had nothing to do with anything specific and everything to do with the general situation of being alive and three weeks further along than the last time he’d been in this room.

“Heart sounds good,” Brendan said, removing his stethoscope before Mofongo could make another attempt at it. “Lungs sound clear. He’s grown well.”

“He grows fast,” I said. “He’s going to be enormous.”

“He’s going to be medium,” Brendan said. “Probably twenty-five or thirty pounds.”

“That’s enormous for a creature I can currently fit inside a backpack.”

“You’ve put him in a backpack?”

“Once. He liked it. He stood up with his front paws on the edge and looked around like he was on a boat. My abuela took a photo. It’s her phone background.”

Brendan’s left brow rose. The look he gave me was one I’d started to recognize as him deciding what to do with a situation that impacted more than his brain. A few heartbeats later, he returned to pecking on the keyboard.

“It’s time for vaccines,” Brendan said as Marcus entered with a silver tray.

Mofongo’s reaction to the first shot was immediate and dramatic, a full-body flinch, a betrayed look directed at Brendan, and then at me, as though I were responsible and had some explaining to do.

“You’re okay,” I told him, using my most soothing voice.

He craned his head, trying to look at the spot where the needle had been. Then he looked at Brendan. Then at Marcus. Then he glared back at me.

“I know,” I said. “These men are evil. I’ll destroy them later.”

He gave me a half wag and didn’t even notice the second shot because he was busy trying to eat a cotton ball Brendan was using to clean the site. By the third one, he was so distracted by the cotton ball that it was done before he’d even processed it had happened.

“All done,” Brendan said, setting the syringe on the tray.

Marcus gave me a quick smile and left. Mofongo glanced around the exam room as though confirming he was, in fact, all done. Then he sat on the table with an air of having conducted himself well under difficult circumstances and was now prepared to receive acknowledgment and praise for his efforts.

I reached into a pocket and offered him a treat, which he ate in one motion and looked for another.

“One,” I said, holding up a digit he immediately took for a chew toy. “We talked about this.”

With my finger firmly between his teeth, he turned his head and looked at Brendan.

“I’m not giving you one,” Brendan said through a chuckle.

Mofongo sat very straight and did the head tilt.

“No, not gonna work. I’m a professional and have no heart,” Brendan said.

The tilt deepened.

“He does this,” I said. “It’s a Jedi Mind Trick. Brace yourself.”

“I’m braced.” Brendan chuckled again. “He tried it for the stethoscope, too. It doesn’t work.”

Mofongo held the tilt for another three seconds, then apparently decided he’d made his position sufficiently clear. Brendan lowered him from the table, and the pup immediately resumed his investigation of the baseboards.

I held out the pan dulce box I’d brought with me.

Brendan stared down at it. “You brought food to a vet appointment?”