AT THE VET’S…

…this morning, with my Burmese cat (nothing wrong; just our six monthly checkup) a distraught young woman came charging in, clutching a dog that she said had hurt its paw (and so could not walk).   

“Mind if I leave it while I park the car?”

“No,” said the receptionist.    “Not allowed.   No pet is allowed in here without a minder.”

“Just for a matter of minutes?”

“‘Fraid not,” she said.   

The others there each had a dog in tow but my Amadeus was still in his box.    Silently I held out my arms and she dumped the mutt, mumbled and fled.   It was the one and only time I ever remember embracing  a dog.   It was hairy and snuffly, not at all like my beautiful boys.

“Wouldn’t it be funny,” I commented.   “If she’d just run it over and never comes back…”   The dog had closed its eyes and appeared content.    Odder things happen;  at least it wasn’t a child.

But back she came.    Well, of course she did, along with a man with a lead in his hand.   Why he couldn’t have carried it in in the first place, God  knows.

Amadeus, by the way, was – as usual – judged perfect.