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tangled dog coming in. Name is Shopsy. Bet you can’t work your magic on him.”
    “Bet I can.”

Chapter Seven
A TANGLED RUG
    I n the dog exam room, a rug is lying on the table. A tangled rug that rises and falls as if it is breathing. A doughy lady stands in the corner, wheezing. She is wearing a flowery bedsheet that has accidentally become a dress.
    Hawk stands in the doorway behind me. I glance at him, and he gives me a look that says,
I bet you can’t do it
.
    I step farther into the room.
    “Hawk, clean up in the hall!” Saundra calls. Another dog must’ve peed. Hawk disappears, closing the door.
    Uncle Sanjay comes in and pats the lady’s arm. “Good morning, Doris. We haven’t seen you in several weeks.”
    Doris parts the strands of carpet and points to a red patch. “I don’t know if it’s an allergy or what.”
    “Might be an infection. We’ll have to shave off some of this hair to get a better look at his skin. You can wait up front. Come, my dear niece.” Uncle Sanjay picks up the rug and tucks it under his arm.
    Duff is waiting for us in the treatment room with an electric razor in her hand. “What took you so long? Poppy, help me hold Shopsy.”
    I try to hold the stinky rug, but he squirms.
    “He knows you’re nervous,” Duff says. “Here, let me.” She keeps Shopsy from moving while Uncle Sanjay starts to shave off the hair. Underneath, a huge patch of red skin appears, covered in raised red dots.
    My skin begins to itch, too.
    “Looks like an infection,” Uncle Sanjay says. “Let’s check the ears.” He parts the rug and an ear magically appears. He dips a long cotton swab into the ear and extracts a wad of crusty brown gunk. “See, Poppy? We take a sample, and then we check it for bacteria.”
    My stomach churns, but I keep a brave face.
    Uncle Sanjay peers into the ear. “Duff, better do the cytology.”
    Duff smears the swab on a slide and puts it under a microscope. “Yeast and bacteria. Take a look, Poppy.” She motions me over. “The yeast looks like a boot print.”
    I press my eye to the lens. Sure enough, miniature blue boot prints march across a field of scattered tubes. “Whoa,” I say.
    “The other shapes are the bacteria. They’re like cylinders.”
    “Like a whole other planet.” I gaze into a world of tiny boot prints and swirls and flakes.
    “We need prescriptions for him. Come on.”
    In the pharmacy room, Duff gathers special shampoo, antibiotic spray, and antibiotic pills.
    “That’s a lot of medicine for a carpet,” I say.
    “He needs it.” In the treatment room, Shopsy is still lying on the table. Uncle Sanjay leaves to answer a phone call.
    “Poor little guy,” Duff says. “He looks funny with one shaved spot. He needs a good brushing.”
    I pick up a comb from the counter. The metal glints in my hand. If I can comb Uncle Sanjay’s hair and make him look handsome, I can make a dog beautiful, too.
    “Be careful with that,” Duff says.
    My fingers tremble, and suddenly, Shopsy looks smalland fragile, a breakable dog. He’s tangled all over, and I can’t see his face. What if I accidentally comb his nose, or his eye, or his itchy ear? Or a sore spot on his red skin? I can’t ask him,
Does this hurt?
    “Here, let me do that.” Duff reaches for the comb.
    “No, I’m good.” I take a deep breath and try to work the comb through the knot of hair on Shopsy’s neck, but the teeth get stuck.
    I’m starting to sweat.
    Shopsy fidgets on the table.
    “Let me help.” Duff holds him, but I can’t get the comb to move; it’s stuck in his hair. He shakes his head and growls. I pull harder on the comb, and Shopsy yelps.
    I let go of the comb and step back. “I hurt him.”
    “You need practice,” Duff says gently. “Here, let me.”
    I step away. Shopsy whines and trembles.
    “Hang in there, little guy.” Duff grabs a pair of electric clippers. “Hold still.”
    I back toward the door. The clinic noises swirl around me; people race