Free Death Takes a Gander by Christine Goff Page A

repeated.”
    “How many times?” Andrew asked.
    “As many times as possible. The object is to flush clear liquid.”
    “What happens then?” Cecilia asked.
    “We put the bird back and get the next one,” Eric jerked his thumb toward the main barn area. “In the meantime, Lark drains the collection bucket and delivers the screen contents to Dorothy, whose job is to sift, sort, and bag any lead found. After that, the bags are tagged with the ID number of the bird, and the process starts over. Any questions?”
    Lark was having trouble listening. Harry had begun the lavage, and effluent poured out of the tubing. Hard particles mixed with green vegetation plunked onto the screen, plugging the holes. The fluid backed up, pouring effluent onto her jeans and the floor. “Yuck.”
    “Clean the screen off,” Eric said.
    Lark scraped the solids to the edges. More effluent came, and, in between gushes, she filled syringes with water.
    The goose choked.
    Teddy panicked and stretched out her neck. “Lift her butt higher, Junior. Lift her up!”
    Junior complied, grunting as he repositioned the struggling goose.
    Lark glanced at Harry. “Maybe we should stop?”
    “Nah,” Teddy said, shaking his head. “She’s okay. I say we do one more round.”
    Junior shrugged. Even if his muscles ached, Lark doubted he would have admitted he needed a break.
    Harry grabbed another syringe. “You ready, Lark?”
    “Go.”
    The last syringeful of water produced mostly clear liquid. Harry removed the tubing. Junior tipped the goose upright and slid off the stool.
    “Here, I’ll take her,” Eric said, coming up behind and reaching for the bird.
    Junior handed her off, then shook out his arms.
    “Two things,” Eric said. “We need to be sure to mark the collection bucket with the goose’s number.”
    Oops , she had missed that part. Lark reached for a piece of masking tape, marked the bucket, then stood. Her jeans—spattered with the stomach contents of the goose—were hitched up, and she plucked at them with wary fingers. One glance at Junior showed he, too, had suffered. Bright green dung streaked the lower half of his jeans and covered his right boot.
    “Second,” Lark said. “Note that the person holding the goose and the person collecting the effluent have the messiest jobs.”
    Everyone but Junior laughed.
    “And third,” Eric said, giving Lark her due. “If we had the chelating agent on hand, we would administer it now. Unfortunately, we’re still waiting for the drugs.”
    Cecilia flashed her hand in the air. “What if a goose is too weak for lavage? How do we treat it?”
    “All we can do is give them the chelating agent and hope it helps.”
    “What about taking blood lead levels?” Andrew asked.
    Lark could see Eric was exasperated.
    “It’s way too expensive,” she said.
    Eric nodded. “Once we locate a mobile X-ray unit, we’ll start taking radiographs to determine how much lead is in each bird’s system. Once the lead is cleared, treatment will be discontinued for ten days, and we’ll start doing blood work.”
    “So, what you’re saying is, you’ll only run tests once you know a bird will survive?” Andrew said.
    Even the birds fell silent, as if awaiting the answer.
    “Ja.”
    In the additional silence, Lark picked up the bucket.
    “It’s the best we can do,” she said. “Now let’s get to work.”
    After Eric had left with the goose, Lark dumped the fluid in the sink and handed the screen to Dorothy. The older woman picked up a pair of tweezers, bent her head over the magnifying lamp, and worried the stomach contents around on the screen.
    “Here we go!” she exclaimed triumphantly, plucking several small nodules from the partially digested matter and holding them up. “The geese used it as grit.” Then Dorothy tossed the plant matter into the trash, dropped the lead pieces into a baggy marked with the date and the bird’s ID number, and logged in the data.
    “Lark, are you about