Free Vet on the Loose by Gillian Hick Page A

heart sank when I saw what emerged. Why did it have to be this one? There, in the palm of my hand, lay a large tumour and attached to it was the emaciated remains of a gerbil. I pitied the tiny creature as he squirmed helplessly in my hands. Clearly, there was only one solution for him but I wasn’t quite sure how the stony-faced girls would take it.
    Gently, I explained in terms that they would understand, that Geronimo would not be going home with them. A deathly silence followed, until I noticed a small tear trickling down the grubby face of the younger girl. As I turned to get her a tissue, the older girl also noticed.
    ‘Will ye stop yer whingin’, Sharon!’ and then the silence was shattered as the two of them began to sob hysterically, in long loud gulps, as though the world would end.
    The usual platitudes that ‘He’s had a good life’ and that, ‘He won’t suffer any more’ were lost in the din that they made.
    In desperation, I pushed the bag of money that was still sitting on the table back towards them.
    ‘Why don’t you buy another gerbil on the way home?’
    As suddenly as it had started, the mass hysteria stopped. Beams of delight radiated from the two tear-stained faces and, as though they were afraid that I would change my mind, they grabbed the bag and ran out the door without a further glance at the unfortunate Geronimo. Once they had gone, I put a fiver of my own in the till, and drew up one millilitre of the lethal injection into a tiny syringe. The little body went limp in my hand before I had finished injecting him.
    In the usual bedlam of a Monday afternoon, I had soon forgotten all about my two young clients. The first patient of the evening was a dainty-looking poodle, who trotted in happily on the end of her owner’s lead. Suddenly, as I was lifting her up on to the table, I heard a racket breaking out in the waiting-room. As the commotion grew louder, I tried to smile reassuringly at my client, but then the door burst open and a large, untidy woman entered, followed by Liz, looking even more harassed than usual. A battered cage containing about half a dozen young, fluffy gerbils was thrown on to the table with a violence that caused the alarmed poodle to let out a shrill yelp before jumping into the arms of its owner, who promptly disappeared at speed out the door.
    ‘Ye stupid cow, ye! I never wanted that bleedin’ rat in me house in the first place and now them two bitches of mine come home with six more. If yez ever give dem money again, my Paddy will come down and thump ye one!’ With that she stalked out, slamming the door behind her.
    Liz and I looked at each other in bewilderment before breaking into helpless fits of laughter.
    I got a few funny looks from the remaining clients in the waiting room and finished off the clinic under the watchful, beady eyes of six gerbils.
    Much to the disgust of Popeye, the resident cat, they remained with us until, one by one, we found homes for them – apart from the smallest little fawn one, who eventually gained resident status and was christened Olive.

CHAPTER NINE
     

PRACTISE WHAT YOU PREACH
     
     
    I was a bit taken aback by the man’s request. When he had come into the surgery for a ‘quick word’, I had assumed that it was about something four-legged. However, he introduced himself as the principal of the neighbouring girls’ secondary school, and explained that they had organised a special day in aid of World Animal Week. As part of the event, they usually had the local vet in to give a talk, but, as I was a ‘lady vet’, as he so politely put it, he thought that his students would be more interested in hearing about the career from my point of view. I hesitantly inquired as to the nature of the talk and roughly how many were expected to attend.
    ‘Only a handful of transition-year students,’ he replied. ‘Ten or fifteen minutes at most – just explaining to them about the sort of work you do and how you got started.