It isn't rare to find an animal with stiff legs, especially behind the circus tent. We say that an animal has stiff legs when they are too weak to stand, it sounds better than infected or malnourished. Whenever an animal gets stiff, it comes to me. And when they were beyond helping, there was always room for their bodies to be dumped when we went to the next town. Nobody else has enough time to deal with them, and the diseases spreading from person to person could make it's condition get worse.
When Humphrey arrived at my tent, his gums were bloody and there were long gashes across his legs from the whip. His sandy fur fell off in large clumps and for a second I wondered if lions could get mange. "Fell off his podium," the Old Dyson told me, helping two others drag him in. "Careful with him, he's starting to bite. Might cut him off if he keeps doing that shit."
So I took care of him among the other ones. Humphrey sat in a cage next to one of the elephants that had a hook stuck in its haunch during practice. Occasionally, he would chew at his legs, leading to red stained teeth. I cleaned his teeth and sutured his wounds. I helped him act like they never happened. With some food and TLC I was able to get him to jump and do his tricks again. There was a lot of one-on-one time with him and me, so I taught him a couple things. Then I brushed his gnarled, hooked teeth again.
When I first entered the circus, the ringmaster was appalled by my bravery and determination to find him. He said that "Not everyone could crawl on one leg one mile upstream just to see the circus." When Old Dyson prodded me for my history, I answered that I had to perform a self amputation mid-thigh because a gunshot wound had gotten infected. Because it was so precise and I knew how to heal the infection before it killed me, I got hired on the spot as a medic. Yeah, people do come in as well. You wouldn't believe how many acrobats fall from the sky. But the animals are always in and out, a constant loop that I can never break. I have never taken a single class in veterinary, but whatever I do seems to be adequate for Old Dyson. Who am I to judge?
Humphrey was back in commission when we reached the next town. I went back to healing internally bleeding sword swallowers and depressed clowns. It was the night of the opening show when I heard that Humphrey bit off Old Dyson's head during his act. I wiped my medical saw clean and put it away. If we were unable to find a replacement ringmaster, there would be nobody to lead our troupe and we would be forced to disband.
It was a difficult choice, between staying in this circus and moving to another. There were only so many places I could go on one leg. But the pain Humphrey and others suffered was enough to convince me to teach him new tricks on my other patients. They didn't deserve to lose limbs like I did only to die in a ditch, helpless and afraid. I wish I had enough confidence to do it myself, but if he could forgive me in death, I know these show animals would wish they had the confidence as well to end Old Dyson with their own teeth.
