First, Tean prelabeled his specimen containers.The samples wouldn’t be ideal; if Neff had wanted samples to be examined, they should have done the work as soon as possible—another reason plenty of ranchers did it themselves.But since this was becoming a political stunt rather than a genuine scientific effort, Tean labeled each container neatly, while that voice at the back of his head reminded him, again, that this was so fucking stupid.
After peeling back the tarps, Tean inspected the carcass again.This time, he set to work documenting everything: the missing eyes and lips, the strips of soft tissue torn from the muzzle, flanks, and anus with ragged edges.All signs of scavenger feeding by turkey vultures, if Tean had to guess, and coyotes.He took extra time with the flanks, making sure to record the lack of hemorrhage where the coyotes had bitten into the carcass.No hemorrhage meant that the wound had occurred post-mortem.
The final point he took time to document was the mud and fecal staining on the tail and hindquarters, indications of diarrhea prior to death.Although it might have been too late, he took swabs and stored them in specimen containers to be tested later.
He made the first cut along the ventral midline, and a sour, fermenting odor wafted up.Even with the lab’s built-in circulation system, it clogged Tean’s nose, and he had to take a moment to adjust his mask.
Tean worked methodically: first, documenting his observations of the abdominal cavity and organs, then opening the carcass further so that he could continue his examination.He’d done this before—and done enough necropsies before—that the mechanics of it no longer bothered him.But although it was part of his job, although it was routine, although it was, in the end, a scientific procedure, it was also, at its core, a rather brutal savaging of an animal’s remains, intensely physical, leveraging his own body to cut through muscle and bone, forcing the carcass open.He sweated inside the coveralls as he worked.
After taking samples from the lungs, the liver, the kidney, and the intestines, Tean began cleaning up.He closed up the carcass, covered it with one of the tarps, and moved it back into the refrigerator.Then he set to work cleaning and decontaminating the necropsy suite and his tools.When he’d finished, he decontaminated himself, and then he stripped and showered.His spare clothes would be washed separately; he dressed again in the clothes he’d worn from home and went upstairs to his office.
When he settled into his chair, he felt a fluttering something that was kind of like exhaustion.It was at the edge of his awareness, a systemic feedback that made him want to close his eyes.When was the last time he’d slept, reallyslept?Instead, he forced himself to sit up straight.He opened the depredation report he’d been working on, but instead of immediately adding his initial findings from the necropsy, he switched to his email and composed a message.
Dear Mr.Neff,
In order to complete this depredation report, I require additional information.At your convenience, please provide the following:
A written record of the animal’s age, sex, production cycle, breed, clinical signs prior to death, and history of trauma and disease.
The location of the animal’s death.
Details of any other animals in your herds suffering from signs of bloat, diarrhea, or hemorrhagic bowel syndrome, or similar digestive disorders.Along with this information, please provide age, sex, production cycle, etc.(See above.)
A feed analysis.
Photographic documentation of all the above.
Thank you for your assistance.Your quick response is necessary in order to move forward with this investigation.
He signed the email and sent it before he could think about it.
As soon as the message left his outbox, that fluttering sensation went through him again—the world curling up at the corners.He took a deep breath and put his hands on his desk until everything seemed solid again.Then he made himself some tea.
The hot liquid pushed back the worst of the fatigue—whether that was because of something in the nettles, or the simple fact of nearly burning his mouth every time he took a sip.Mug at his elbow, he went back to work on the depredation report, documenting his findings from the necropsy.Documenting them, if he was being fair, extensively.Maybe excessively.
Every fucking detail, said that voice in his head, the one that sounded like Jem sometimes.Make them choke on all those details.
Because it was the same conclusion he’d reached back at Neff’s ranch: the cow had died of some sort of digestive disorder, probably what ranchers called the scours.Not depredation.Not a wolf attack.And instead of being allowed to do his job—instead of doing work that actually mattered—Tean was stuck here, typing up a longer version of the report he’d already done, because a rich man wanted permission to go wolf hunting.
But at least, said that voice inside his head, you’re being a petty-ass bitch about it.
The thought was so clear that it hurt, like cutting himself on a piece of glass.And suddenly Tean had to take a deep breath, hands falling away from the keyboard, elbow clipping the mug so that he barely saved it from overturning.His eyes stung.The world grayed out.
He managed to place the call while still trying to blink his eyes clear.
“Hey,” Jem said warily.
“Hi,” Tean said.And then, because he was a coward: “You’re awake.”
Silence.And then, a little less guarded, Jem said, “Scipio wanted breakfast.”
“I fed him before I left.”
“He wanted agoodbreakfast.”
Tean laughed in spite of himself.“Did you try taking him inside McDonald’s again?”
“Drive-thru.But in our defense, Scipio is a service animal!Legally, theyhaveto let him inside.”
