The Not So Wasteful Veterinarian

Buffy threw up periodically all day. White frothy foam. By night fall she was dragging her tiny butt across the floor. I called my local animal hospital and booked the most immediate appointment available - an hour later.

I was immediately greeted by two beautiful receptionists who instantly fell in love with my long whiskered and eyebrows Buffy.

A man in a green doctor's uniform approached me.

"Are you my vet?" I asked.

One of the receptionists intervened. "No he's not. Buffy will be seen by our other vet."
After the vet in green departed she added, "The better vet."

Ten minutes later a tall dark handsome man with a foreign accent greeted me, led me to a room where he examined Buffy, and laid it on the line. The diagnosis? Food poisoning, the byproduct of my husband's generosity. Two days earlier he had shared his pizza with our darling little kitten.

The vet provided me with two options. An expensive choice and a less expensive choice. There were risks associated to both. Within seconds, and as he discussed my options, I couldn't help but notice his hands. No rings on exceptionally well manicured nails and hands. Slightly animated and exaggerated gestures. Confident in his eye contact. No typical male response to dominate me or defend himself. Casual and open. Honest and approachable. Non judgmental. The vet suggested the least expensive option and assured me Buffy would be fine. Based on my quick analysis I believed him.

Blood work confirmed his suspicions but he needed a stool sample to help rule out other variable causes - parasites. A list of medications were offered and supplied along with a detailed how-to prescription. He had his receptionist type it out to ensure no errors. Did I have any questions? Any questions at all? He was quite eager to help. Doting almost, but not intrusive. I was instructed to call him with any questions I might have.

I assured him I felt confident me and Buffy were in good hands and believed he had done everything and then some. Yet I would indeed call if the need arose. Regardless, he would call me the next day with final test results. He handed me his business card, thanked me for my business, extended an invitation into the family, and departed.

I approached the receptionist's desk and read his name aloud. "He's a wonderful vet," I said.

The receptionist nodded her head. "He's the best," she said. "Good looking too."

I nodded my head in agreement.

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