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are so magnificent!”
    The cages along this wall were much larger. “We have four kinds of owls at the moment, three species of hawks—that’s the red-tailed. Here’s the osprey that’s been doing all the yelling, here’s another osprey. They’re fish hunters. These two are brother and sister. The male was badly burned—look at his poor feathers. Their parents built their nest on top of a light pole at a racetrack. There was a shortcircuit and the nest caught fire. That’s a kestrel; here’s a golden eagle from clear over near Spokane. It has a severe infection from a leg-hold trap, which the voters have outlawed. We’ve had a lot of luck with raptors, so they keep coming. We’re the biggest raptor-rehab place in the state.”
    We passed by a room banked with sinks, counters, cabinets and refrigerators, with a long table down its center. “Food prep,” Jackie said. Everything was clean, but nothing was new. The place looked like it had been stocked from garage sales.
    A peek at the laundry and we turned a corner. We were into the small mammals. The patients here were squirrels, possums and weasels, full-grown raccoons, our baby raccoons, and a darling baby porcupine. The baby beaver in the bathtub was cuter yet. It was love at first sight for Cody, who dropped to his knees at the edge of the tub. The beaver couldn’t have been more than fifteen inches long, adorable flat tail included. It came to Cody, scratching at the enamel with its tiny claws.
    â€œWill it bite?” Cody asked. I hoped not; they were practically nose to nose.
    â€œThey’re gentle,” Jackie told him. “Go ahead and pick him up.”
    â€œYou’re kidding.”
    â€œGo ahead, pick him up.”
    Cody did just that, put it against his chest. This was love. They touched noses. “If Mom and Dad could only see this,” I cooed. “If Uncle Neal could—”
    â€œNeal never comes into the clinic,” Jackie said.
    â€œHe doesn’t? How come?”
    She shrugged. “He says, ‘I bring ’em, you fix ’em.’”
    The little beaver gripped one of Cody’s fingers in its littlehands. Cody looked up and said, “What’s wrong with him?”
    â€œHe’s an orphan, that’s all. Some homeowners didn’t like it that beavers moved into their stream and started taking down their trees. When they killed the beavers, this little guy was overlooked. So much ignorance, so much education left to be done. The best water engineer in creation is that little creature in your hands, Cody. Beavers would have built those people ponds, then all sorts of birds would have come, not to mention frogs, fish, crawdads, turtles…All they ever had to do to save their trees was wrap them waist-high with chicken wire. Cody, you can put him back now.”
    Reluctantly, Cody did, and asked, “Does he have a name?”
    â€œNo, but you can give him one,” Jackie said as we turned another corner. The clinic went off in all directions like the word lines on a Scrabble board. You could tell Jackie had put the place together in bits and pieces as she got donations, with volunteer labor from the slapped-together looks of it.
    â€œChuckie,” Cody proclaimed. “I’ll call him Chuckie.”
    â€œGood name,” Jackie said, throwing open yet another door that said MEDICAL RECOVERY ROOM.
    There was Uncle Neal, sitting by a carrier on a table in the middle of the room. Sage was at his feet. We’d just heard that Neal didn’t come inside the clinic. The look on Jackie’s face, well, she couldn’t have been more surprised.
    On the bottom of the carrier, plopped on its belly on a layer of shredded newspaper, was the fledgling eagle that had fallen out of the nest in the park. Jackie was still in shock at seeing Neal there. Neal was all serious as he looked up at Jackie. “She’s not doing so