Free Trust Me, I'm a Vet by Cathy Woodman

steering well clear of Arnie, lead him out to Reception, closing the door firmly behind me.
    ‘Take a seat,’ I tell him, but he declines. He must be in his late twenties, fond of the gym, and I’d guess a family man, going by the white, malodorous stains on his black vest which could be baby sick.
    ‘My wife called me at work, told me to come straight home because the dog’d gone mad and she was afraid for the kids.’ He worries at his lip. ‘He’s only a puppy himself. Eleven months old.’ He pauses. ‘Do you think it’s something he’s eaten?’
    ‘I don’t know what’s going on just yet,’ I say, ‘and I won’t until I’ve had the chance to examine him.’
    ‘He’ll rip your throat out,’ Mr Gilbert says apprehensively.
    ‘I’ll be fine.’ I’m used to handling difficult and aggressive dogs, but even so I suppress a quiver of fear at the thought of what lies behind that consulting-room door. ‘Frances will get you a cup of tea.’ I give her a hard stare. ‘Won’t you, Frances?’
    ‘Leave it to me. I like a good crisis.’ She looks past my shoulder as I hear the door open. ‘Here comes the cavalry. It’s young Mr Fox-Gifford. What a stroke of luck, him turning up out of the blue like this just when we need him. Maz, help is at hand.’
    I turn to find myself face to face (well, almost, considering he’s a few inches taller than me) with the man I met down by the river. This time, he isn’t riding his horse. He has his keys in one hand and a bundle of notes in the other.
    ‘Hi,’ he says.
    ‘Er, hi,’ I stammer, ducking the gaze of his fiercely blue eyes and focusing instead on the way his hair, dark and curling at the ends, is ruffled and adorned with strands of hay. It actually looks as if he’s just tumbled out of a haystack.
    ‘Oh Alex, I’m so relieved,’ Frances begins, touching her chest as if she’s about to swoon.
    Not half so relieved as I am that he shows no sign of recognising me. I suspect he’s already marked me down as a fool by my mere presence here, and he doesn’t seem like the kind of man to suffer fools gladly.
    Frances fills him in on Arnie, twittering on like an awestruck fan. ‘It’s just chased poor Maz and Mr Gilbert out of the consulting room. It’s foaming at the mouth. There you go,’ she’s glowing with triumph all of a sudden, ‘I’ve made the diagnosis for you – it’s got rabies.’
    ‘Thanks for that, Frances,’ I say crossly, trying to regain some control of the situation. There are two kinds of rabies – dumb and furious – and at this precise moment, I’m pretty furious with Frances. ‘It isn’t rabies. Arnie’s having an epileptic fit. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.’
    Frances merely looks at me as if I don’t know what I’m doing either. I’ll have to have another word with her later about the dangers of making her own diagnoses and giving out advice.
    ‘I’ll deal with it,’ Alex says, making to step past me.
    ‘Excuse me,’ I cut in. ‘You can’t do that,’ and he stares at me with an expression which reads, ‘I can do anything I like’, and I can feel myself growing hot and angry with him for striding in and attempting to take over. Alex hesitates, stopping to listen as Arnie starts yelping and scrabbling as if he’s trying to dig himself out. It doesn’t last long and in the ensuing silence Alex heads for the door and pushes it open.
    ‘This has nothing to do with you,’ I say, following him. ‘This isn’t your practice, in case you haven’t noticed. Arnie’s my patient.’
    ‘There’s no need to make a drama out of it,’ he says, shutting the door in my face.
    ‘All right then.’ I yell at the door, my cheeks burning with fury. Not only is it none of his business, but I’m responsible for the safety of everyone on the premises, and unfortunately, that includes him. ‘On your head be it! See if I care.’
    ‘I’ve found it.’ Izzy rushes into Reception with the dog-catcher, an