Sunday, 30 September 2007

Hiding the evidence.

I took my car to the valet service today for the first time.

It was in desperate need.

The workers descended like bees. It took thirty minutes and three mafia type, Hungarian men in yellow marigolds to clean away the evidence of four years of neglect. Including several bales of hay that had left their mark on the inside of the boot (for the rabbit), hair from various dogs (deceased), leaves, mud, dust and various syringe cases.

My silver ford focus was sandwiched between two large black four by fours with tinted windows, a BMW and a sleek Audi.

The men worked in silence. I had the impression that should one of these cars contain a body in a bin liner in the boot they would have quietly cleaned it away for you for an extra twenty quid and not muttered a word.

A young boy brought my unrecognisable car back to me I paid him the fifteen pounds he had asked for and left him a rather generous five pound tip. He looked disappointed.

Maybe he was expecting me to pay in gold bullion or maybe next time I might clean it a bit before I go.

Tuesday, 18 September 2007

Pillow Talk.

'What's your most embarassing moment?' He asks me.

'You tell me yours first.' I reply.

'No you.' He insists.

'Ok,' I sigh. 'I was driving to the gym one evening and I wasn't even on call. I spotted a small ginger cat sitting on the pavement of a busy intersection and before I knew it he had sauntered into the road and been struck by two cars. Everyone started to pull over so I felt obligated to stop and do my duty. I got out of the car, my heart started racing as I realised that this would be my moment to shine. There were five people assembled around the injured cat. I stepped into the throng, paused, drew breath and announced, 'Don't worry everyone I'm a cat!'

Thirty minutes later he is still laughing. He is going to tell everyone in the office tomorrow.

His story involves a mistaken vowel at a debating competition when he was fifteen, not even in the same league of stupidity as a whole, ridiculous mistaken identity.

Had I known his, I would have made up another story.

I turn over on my pillow and decide that next time, he's definitely going first.

Friday, 14 September 2007

Conspiracy Theories

'Toby has a very high temperature and the tests we have run indicate he has a kidney infection.' I give Mr Smith the results of my tests.

'Do you think it could be poison?' Mr Smith asks.

I wonder what part of my diagnosis he has not understood.

'No, very unlikely.' I say curtly.

'Only the next door neighbour doesn't like him barking during the day, do you think they could have thrown something over the fence and caused it?'

'Poisons don't tend to cause a temperature as high as 106 degrees unless they are accompanied by severe fitting.' I explain.

'Oh.' He seems disappointed.

'The good news is that his condition is treatable.'

'Right, and your sure it's not poison?'

'Very sure.'

In my experience the only time the owners are reluctant to consider poisoning is when their pets have actually been poisoned. Like the middle class couple who presented their swaying, elderly dog with 'suspected arthritis' after it had ingested marijuana their teenage son had been making into cookies whilst they were out. Eventually they shamefully admitted what had happened, treatment was administered and they returned home in their 'gangsta ride' (a grey Volvo estate.)

Saturday, 8 September 2007


Bobby Bridger has had three sets of X-rays, one MRI, a total hip replacement, stabilisation of both knee caps and major spinal surgery.

Bobby Bridger is a ten year old overweight Springer Spaniel.

'Mr Bridger phoned, he wants you to organise a referral to get Bobby's other hip replaced and an arthroscopy for both his elbows.' The receptionist tells me.

I dutifully phone Mr Bridger's number but there is no reply.

'There's nobody there.' I tell the receptionist.

'Oh, I forgot to say. Mr Bridger said could you phone him after 6.30pm.'

'Any reason?' I ask.

'Yes, he says he will be out walking Bobby until then.'

I look at my watch, the time is 5 pm.

Not bad going for a bionic dog requiring a hip replacement.

Tuesday, 4 September 2007

Absolutely Barking.

'Thank you sooo much for phoning back.' Mrs Goldsmith enthuses in her breathless, middle class accent.

'That's no problem, how can I help?' I respond as brightly as possible.

'Well as you know I am in the midst of a horrific divorce. My ex-husband who appears very charming on the outside is blackmailing me and bullying me into a settlement. As a consequence I am moving to London to get away from him and start again. I am taking my beloved Thomas with me.'

I remember Thomas, he is a large Persian with a constant frown. I also remember the husband, a quietly good looking man in his sixties with a large frown. Mrs Goldsmith well kept and neurotic, the cause of the frowning.

'My question is this,' At last she gets to the point. 'Do you think two large bowls of water would be sufficient?'

'Sufficient for what?' I ask puzzled.

'Well I know that animals can survive many days without food but I was wondering about water?'

'What do you mean?'

'Well if I die alone in my flat in London and nobody finds me for several days, do you think Thomas could survive with two bowls of water until they find him?'

Now I am wondering whether she has dialed the wrong number, surely she should be talking to the Samaritans?

'I don't think you are going to die Mrs Goldsmith.' I assure her.

'But just in case, would two be enough?'

'Probably.' I reply.

'Good, that is a relief. Well thank you so much for taking good care of Thomas for the last few years, I just hope I can find a vet as good as you in London.'

I put down the receiver, now I too am frowning.

Sunday, 2 September 2007

Overheard Lines.

I have just been scrolling through this amusing blogspot.

Here is my own personal favourite that also happens to be true.

'English vet taking history from client in deepest darkest Wales.'

Vet: Has there been any changes in his urine?

Client: Well he still comes if I call him.