“THIS IS A WOLF, NOT a dog,” the vet said as soon as he walked into the crowded examining room to find a comatose Cinnamon lying atop his examining table.
“Part wolf,” I lied glibly, repeating the commonly used pretense that our animal forms were just big puppy dogs and no danger to the general public. “He’s harmless, I promise. Gentle as a lamb.”
“Uh huh,” Dr. Anderson answered, disbelief evident in his voice. He rolled up both sleeves to display a network of scars running up his forearms. “This and this and this were caused by harmless animals too. And this one,” he pointed to yet another pale line welting his skin, “was made by an actual lamb.”
My pack and I stopped breathing as one. Yes, we could get back on the road and keep driving until we found a second clinic. But Cinnamon hadn
