little neutering operation completed, was all set to go to a loving adoptive home. Smiling, I pushed through the waiting room door and greeted Val, the receptionist, as she scurried in from the back entrance, long blonde hair a curtain across her face.
“What’s up?” I asked and shook my head in mock horror. “Don’t tell me that boss of yours got his arm stuck up another cow’s rear end and you had the fun job of pulling it out?”
Val rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “That was last week’s party trick.” She squatted to store clean towels in a bottom cupboard then straightened, shoved her hair from her eyes with one hand and stretched the kinks from her back. “Is it time to go home yet?”
I laughed. Val, the vet’s normally cool, not a hair out of place receptionist, was really in a tizzy.
She let out an exasperated breath. “It’s been one of those mornings,” she confided through gritted teeth. “You know, vacuum cleaner on the blink, pushy salesman running off at the mouth until I wanted to shove a packet of dog biscuits down his throat to shut him up, two emergencies, plus a pile of dirty towels and an uncooperative washing machine.” She took a deep replenishing breath and dragged the appointment book across the counter toward her. “Umm…let’s see. At the moment Terry’s with an obese French poodle. Shouldn’t be long.”
“No need to bother him, Val. I’m only here to pick up Stanley, one of the GAP dogs.”
“Sorry, direct orders. Boss said to make sure I let him know as soon as you came in. He tried to ring you a couple of times this morning but you didn’t pick up.”
I thought of the calls I’d let go to message bank and hadn’t got around to checking. My cheerful smile melted like chocolate in the sun as I contemplated the fact that greyhounds were extremely vulnerable to anesthetic. Oh God, no. Something must have gone wrong with Stanley’s operation.
“It’s Stanley, isn’t it?” My voice caught in my throat as I leaned across the counter, inches from grabbing the front of Val’s sky blue button up uniform and demanding more information. “What happened to Stanley?”
“Jesus, Kat, no need to have a coronary. Last time I checked on Stanley he was bored witless but otherwise fine. Tried seducing me with one of his hopeful, I’m starving faces but when I refused to go buy him a chocolate ice cream cone he went back to chewing on the wire. That dog is definitely good-to-go.”
My heart, flopping like a hooked fish, went back to merely twitching before settling reluctantly back in its place. Much more stress and the poor thing would be off looking for another chest cavity to call home. I shook my head. “Well, if Stanley’s okay…what’s the problem?”
“Not sure.” Val shrugged one shoulder as she brought up an account on her computer. “Terry discovered something while examining Stanley prior to his op. But don’t worry, he’ll explain everything to you as soon as he finishes his consultation with Mrs. Cruskit and her chocoholic French poodle.”
“Explain what?” Dr. Terry Chapman, preceded by a fluffy, big haired woman that proved the theory people do look like their dogs, exited the nearest door and tossed a big bone-melting smile in my direction. “Ah there you are, Kat,” he bellowed. “Just the person I wanted to see.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
Before I could start pumping Terry for information he turned to his departing client, her overwhelming cloud of Passion perfume causing both Val and me to surreptitiously hold our breath. Face grave, he shook one finger at the woman. “Now, remember what I told you, Mrs. Cruskit. Lady Lala and chocolate frogs do not agree. The ingredients in chocolate can be very dangerous for dogs.”
“Oh, my poor, poor baby,” Mrs. Cruskit simpered. “The big bad doctor said I can’t give you any more chokky. Come on, darling, Mummy will carry you to the car.” Bending, she picked up her wheezing
“What’s up?” I asked and shook my head in mock horror. “Don’t tell me that boss of yours got his arm stuck up another cow’s rear end and you had the fun job of pulling it out?”
Val rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “That was last week’s party trick.” She squatted to store clean towels in a bottom cupboard then straightened, shoved her hair from her eyes with one hand and stretched the kinks from her back. “Is it time to go home yet?”
I laughed. Val, the vet’s normally cool, not a hair out of place receptionist, was really in a tizzy.
She let out an exasperated breath. “It’s been one of those mornings,” she confided through gritted teeth. “You know, vacuum cleaner on the blink, pushy salesman running off at the mouth until I wanted to shove a packet of dog biscuits down his throat to shut him up, two emergencies, plus a pile of dirty towels and an uncooperative washing machine.” She took a deep replenishing breath and dragged the appointment book across the counter toward her. “Umm…let’s see. At the moment Terry’s with an obese French poodle. Shouldn’t be long.”
“No need to bother him, Val. I’m only here to pick up Stanley, one of the GAP dogs.”
“Sorry, direct orders. Boss said to make sure I let him know as soon as you came in. He tried to ring you a couple of times this morning but you didn’t pick up.”
I thought of the calls I’d let go to message bank and hadn’t got around to checking. My cheerful smile melted like chocolate in the sun as I contemplated the fact that greyhounds were extremely vulnerable to anesthetic. Oh God, no. Something must have gone wrong with Stanley’s operation.
“It’s Stanley, isn’t it?” My voice caught in my throat as I leaned across the counter, inches from grabbing the front of Val’s sky blue button up uniform and demanding more information. “What happened to Stanley?”
“Jesus, Kat, no need to have a coronary. Last time I checked on Stanley he was bored witless but otherwise fine. Tried seducing me with one of his hopeful, I’m starving faces but when I refused to go buy him a chocolate ice cream cone he went back to chewing on the wire. That dog is definitely good-to-go.”
My heart, flopping like a hooked fish, went back to merely twitching before settling reluctantly back in its place. Much more stress and the poor thing would be off looking for another chest cavity to call home. I shook my head. “Well, if Stanley’s okay…what’s the problem?”
“Not sure.” Val shrugged one shoulder as she brought up an account on her computer. “Terry discovered something while examining Stanley prior to his op. But don’t worry, he’ll explain everything to you as soon as he finishes his consultation with Mrs. Cruskit and her chocoholic French poodle.”
“Explain what?” Dr. Terry Chapman, preceded by a fluffy, big haired woman that proved the theory people do look like their dogs, exited the nearest door and tossed a big bone-melting smile in my direction. “Ah there you are, Kat,” he bellowed. “Just the person I wanted to see.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
Before I could start pumping Terry for information he turned to his departing client, her overwhelming cloud of Passion perfume causing both Val and me to surreptitiously hold our breath. Face grave, he shook one finger at the woman. “Now, remember what I told you, Mrs. Cruskit. Lady Lala and chocolate frogs do not agree. The ingredients in chocolate can be very dangerous for dogs.”
“Oh, my poor, poor baby,” Mrs. Cruskit simpered. “The big bad doctor said I can’t give you any more chokky. Come on, darling, Mummy will carry you to the car.” Bending, she picked up her wheezing
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