When I walked through the back door, our dog, Lucy, looked at me as if to say “you and I have some unfinished business.”
Lucy had been feeling bad. She was lethargic and had thrown up in four or five places in the house - on the rugs, of course. I got to my hands and knees to try to clean them up. It was nasty. She definitely wasn’t herself, and my wife, who Lucy seems to regard as “The Kind One,” took her to the vet. My wife texted that afternoon saying, “Please go pick up Lucy before the vet closes today.” Nothing more.
At the vet I told the lady that I’m here to pick up Lucy, and I’m in a hurry to get downtown for a meeting tonight. In my experience veterinarians, as a rule, seldom operate with any sense of urgency. They’re in the warm, fluffy, cuddly business which does not lend itself to hurrying. To her credit, she jumped into action and said, “that will be $800.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Say that again.”
“Eight-hundred dollars.” My expression must have concerned her.
“I’ll print the receipt,” she said, “so you can see what was done.”
The receipt was written in medical code. None of it made any sense to me, as if these Latin looking medical terms and abbreviations explained anything. What I did comprehend, though, was the long column of dollar figures running down the right side.
Then I said what makes vet offices hate people like me. “You know, I can get a new dog that’s not broken for this amount.” A moment of silence then, “Yes, I know.” She didn’t roll her eyes, but she may as well have.
“For this amount, I need to speak to my wife to make sure she’s aware of this and then speak to the vet to get an explanation of what was wrong and what we need to do. My wife is busy now, and I don’t have time for the explanation today, I need to get downtown. Can you keep Lucy for the night and let my wife come get her and talk to the vet tomorrow?
“Yes,” she said, dropping her eyes. She never looked at me again. I could tell she loathed me. Shouldn’t I want to bring my dog home to comfort her? How could I leave her in a crate at the vet? Eight hundred dollars vs the comfort of having Lucy home and the opportunity to care for her? I’m a cruel and heartless human being. I’m the bane of mankind.
And that’s exactly what Lucy was thinking when I came home the next afternoon. She was still lethargic, but there was anger in her eyes. “I heard your voice when you came to get me yesterday,” her look told me. “I thought I was coming home. You left me. The Kind One came and got me like I knew she would. I’ve been thinking about you.
Remember those vomit spots you cleaned up the other day? They were nothing. I was just warming up,” and she was.
I’m Cam Marston, and I’m just trying to keep it real.
