Everything about the man was unusual -- his dress, his appearance. . . and especially his manner with animals.
A woman walked from the examination room, carrying a fluffy pug-faced dog. The veterinarian, Pat Dougherty, accompanied her. He was of average height, with straight dark hair just touching the collar of his plaid flannel shirt. His eyes, dark as black coffee, shone warmly. I noticed his bib jeans were only partly buttoned. One pant leg was stuck inside of his work boot and the other leg was on the outside. I stood and offered him my hand, as he said, "Hey you ugly mutt, why'd you go do something so stupid?"
I watched as Pat quickly prepared a syringe, then deftly administered the anesthetic. As my pup slowly crumpled on to the table, Pat stroked his head and quietly said, "Dumb dog."
He handled the bolt cutters as if they were a delicate, precision tool, and my dogs mouth as if it were made of porcelain. He inserted the cutter between the bone and my dogs muzzle, and with one, two, three jerks, I heard a loud crack. Pat pulled the broken piece of bone away from my dogs jaw, and stroked his head.
His technician came into the room and said, "Don't mind Pat, he's a little. . . different. And by the way, he only calls the animals he likes names. I don't know why, he's just . . . ."
Author's Note : This story was written on November 10, 1995, my first real character description. It wasn't difficult. You see, my veterinarian was just like this, and one of my dogs really did have a round steak bone stuck on his jaw! Pat's "treatment" was with the bolt cutter's . . . *laughs softly* I do hope you enjoy reading this, as much as I enjoyed remembering the incident. Shari Lyne
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