A Call for Help

George tried to stand, but his now crippled legs couldn’t
seem to lift the small terrier’s body. He tried again and
again, yelping in pain with each attempt.

“Shhhh, listen to me, George. Be still, old friend.
I’ll go for help. Don’t move!” He placed his hands over
George’s tiny chest, his weak old heart beating erratically.

Mr. Jeffries ran to the back of the candy store and
shoved open the sagging old door. He reached for the wall
phone to dial his old friend and Mäori vet, Hahona.

“Hahona,” he yelled into the phone, “George is dying, he’s
been attacked by wild dogs!”

“I’ll be right over,” Hahona said. “Stay close to him, Mr. J.”
Mr. Jeffries walked down by the counter, looking down at
George’s old food dish. With trembling fingers
that could hardly hold the phone, Mr. Jeffries hung up the
receiver and ran back to George’s side. He placed his palm
on George’s forehead. “Hahona is on his way. You’ll be O.K.
good friend. You’ll be O.K. Hang on, good buddy. Lie still.”

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