Friday, 23 April 2010

Barbara Woodhouse

Mrs Brown brings her Labrador Sophie in for a vaccination. Mrs Brown is slightly cross eyed, her dog Sophie is very badly behaved. Before leaving she asks if there are any other dogs in the waiting room because Sophie is not very sociable. I open the door and Sophie leaps through the gap. In seconds she has transformed herself into what sounds like a snarling pitbull, tugging and pulling Mrs Brown and her boggling eyes towards a small terrier.

I grab the lead from Mrs Brown. I yell at the top of my voice 'Will you sit DOWN and BEHAVE!!!'

Sophie's arse hits the ground, she looks overwhelmed and surprised that someone has taken control. Two male drug reps in suits also sit down immediately. There is silence as I walk Sophie to heal to Mrs Browns car passed several other dogs.

'My God you had that dog under control.' Mutters one of the reps when I return to my consulting room.

'Barbara Woodhouse lives on.' I reply. 

Tuesday, 13 April 2010

The simple truth

The basket is carried precariously by a nine year old girl and her five year old sister, it swings from side to side and occasionally bashes the wall but there is no movement from the emaciated body lying at the bottom. This will be Megan the cats last visit.

'The girls and I have had a chat and they would like to stay while Megan is put to sleep.' Says mum who is very upset.  

As I leave the room to get the nurse I hear the five year old asking 'Mummy what day are we picking up the Bulldog puppy?'

Megan has no veins because Megan is nearly dead. I have to give the injection into 'the tummy' which sounds better than telling the truth, namely that the injection has to go into the kidney.

The five year old girl has to reposition because she cant see what is going and wants to see properly as I push the plunger.

Now I need to ask Mummy whether she wants to bury Megan without the girls catching on, because I have found over the years that most parents do not want to take the body home but most children want to have a full on funeral and official burial.

The nine year old over hears me mouthing the words 'Bury?' or 'cremation?'

'Mummy we have to bury her!' She says defiantly.

'Darling because we don't live with Daddy any more we don't have a garden.'

'We want to bury her!' Cries the five year old.

'How about you take some of Megan's hair and bury that?'  I offer.

Both girls are frowning. 

'Ok.' I sigh.' You have two options, either you can take the hair and I will take Megan and she will be cremated, then she will be scattered at the top of a lovely hill overlooking fields with lots of other animals or you can take her home and bury her in the garden where she will be eaten by worms.'

They take the hair and leave....

Friday, 2 April 2010

Pet replacement.

I have come to the conclusion that Oswald is irreplaceable. I can't even bring myself to replace his photo at the top of my blog.

I'm never going to find myself another grumpy eight kilo white rabbit that loves nothing better than to munch away at my garden and scare the cats. 

I think sometimes when people have lost a  much loved pet they rush into getting the next one a little too soon. The replacement sadly never lives up to the legend of its predecessor.

For now it's quite nice to see my garden actually growing, although yesterday when I saw a couple of daffodils mysteriously flattened a romantic part of me liked to think that maybe, just maybe his giant spirit is still out there having the last laugh....