5. Animal
ANIMAL
NOAH KAHAN
JORDAN
I’ve been working in veterinary medicine for about six years now.
More if you count the fact that I grew up in the little vet office my mom founded before I could talk.
But if I thought working with animals would be easier than working with humans, I foolishly didn’t consider the owners of the pets I’d be treating.
I’ve obviously encountered this basic truth from time to time over the years, but the last three days have been a flagrant reminder of that lapse in knowledge on my part.
Mrs. Leigh Cotten sits in an exam room, for the third time this week, dressed like she’s headed to church in heels and a crisp red pantsuit, with her lapdog—a seventy-pound greyhound named Veronica—regally perched on her legs so that I can barely see much more of the woman underneath.
Veronica, who I learned on her first visit is named for some sort of TV, teen detective Mr. and Mrs. Cotten enjoy, refuses to make eye contact with me.
Though if I were what is arguably considered to be one of the most noble of dog breeds, dressed in a strawberry outfit that says, “Berry Sweet” and being hand-fed string cheese by my owner, I guess I’d avert my eyes from onlookers as well.
“How are my two favorite ladies?” I ask, leaning against the examination table that, if their other visits from the last three days are any indication, will not be put to use.
Mrs. Cotten hugs the dog’s long neck, popping her face from behind to talk to me, human to human. “She just isn’t herself, Doc.”
That’s the same reason Mrs. Cotten visited for an after-hours appointment on Wednesday—catching me on quite possibly my worst day in years, post Emory’s hand-greeting—and then again yesterday afternoon.
“You said that, Mrs. Cotten, and I don’t want you to feel dismissed at all.
” I stroll across the room, reaching my hand out for Veronica to sniff and feel at ease before I begin another quick examination.
“But Veronica is, by all accounts, healthy. She’s strong, a great weight, has a beautiful coat and…
” I let my hands begin to pass over her snout, up the length of her face and ears, and then down her back, methodically checking each area in case I’ve missed abnormalities in the last appointments.
“As far as I can tell, and after the blood work we ran on your first visit this week, Veronica is in perfect health. She’s obviously a very loved and well-taken-care-of pet,” I add for good measure.
Mrs. Cotten deadpans, “She is my child,” while holding another string of cheese out for Veronica to reach for.
“Of course.” I listen to the dog’s heartbeat, counting the rhythm of its thumping in tandem with the number of minutes left in this day. One hundred beats per minute for her, and roughly one hundred and twenty for me. But who’s counting? “And you are a wonderful pet parent.”
Mrs. Cotten blushes, suddenly much more agreeable with the honest feedback, and swats her hand my way. “Oh, I bet you say that to all the fur mamas.”
I really don’t.
“No, ma’am. You and your husband have taken excellent care of this Berry Sweet girl.
” Veronica actually rolls her eyes. “And clinically, there is nothing wrong with her. Have you considered changing her exercise routine? Or…” I’m terrified to even mention it.
“Maybe giving her a day or two without an outfit? It’s very possible she’s uncomfortable in these restrictive clothes. ”
Veronica’s mother cannot believe I suggested such an idea.
“She chose this outfit herself. My Veronica loves her closet. And this dress is her daddy’s favorite.”
One hundred and fifteen minutes to go.
Yesterday, Veronica wore a beret, red scarf around her thin neck, and a striped T-shirt that read, “Bonjour, y’all!” A bold choice for anyone in my opinion, dog or human. But who am I to argue over pet couture?
“Now, since we’re getting to know one another so well,” Mrs. Cotten says, moving our appointment right along as she pats Veronica with one hand and grasps mine with the other before I even know what’s happening, “how is it that you are single? A handsome, young physician like yourself. I mean… you are single, right? I told Mr. Cotten after the other night that I didn’t see a ring on your finger, and of course, I asked your mama, but she’s a tough cookie to crack.
God bless her. And the ladies in our bridge club have speculated, but no one can be too certain, even after our little visits here. ”
That definitely explains the influx of elderly women bringing in their pets for out-of-cycle appointments in the last forty-eight hours.
“Umm…” Heat travels up my throat. I knew coming back to small-town medicine would mean the locals feel a sense of entitlement—for lack of a better word—to my personal business.
It doesn’t make it any less shocking or invasive, though, especially coming from a large practice in a large city where I was one of many doctors and rarely had repeat patients. “I am single. Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, goodie.” Mrs. Cotten’s excitement is palpable. “And where have you been for all this time? Your mama mentioned you’ve practiced elsewhere.”
“I went to veterinary school in North Carolina and then popped around a bit here and there for a few years.”
She hums, invested in my vague history. “And, popped around? What does that mean? Were you… involved with anyone while around? Are you here to stay? What are your intentions while you're home in Honey Hill?”
“I don’t mean to be disrespectful, Mrs. Cotten, but I don’t know what this has to do with my care of Veronica.”
I, for one, don’t want to dive into the fact that I’m not sure Honey Hill is even my home anymore.
It hasn’t been for some time, and a quarter of the people who made it home for me are gone.
But after years of hopping from city to city in feeble attempts to find a place that might fill that gap, and a massively failed relationship, I could think of no place else I’d rather be.
“Oh, sugar…” Her smile is, in fact, sweet as sugar. Call me a cynic, but I don’t trust it. “I’m just getting background information on the physician treating my furbaby. That’s all.”
Mrs. Cotten’s thumb strokes the back of my hand. Not in a suggestive way, but one that makes me uncomfortable, nonetheless. So, as any grown, reasonable man would do, I whip my hand from her clutches and fake sneeze as loudly as possible.
“Pet dander,” I say, wiping my hand on my nose a bit, just in case she gets any more ideas. “Hazard of the job.”
Mrs. Cotten purses her lips but gently encourages Veronica to dismount from her lap before standing and slipping a card on my desk. It’s only now that I see she’s got a matching blouse under her red blazer that reads, “Berry Cute.”
“I’m leaving you Mr. Cotten’s business card,” she announces.
“He just finished his trainin’ as a certified life coach.
And let me tell you, honey, your name may be Dr. Love, but my Michael knows what he is doing when it comes to matters of the heart.
” She slaps my arm again then all but straddles poor Veronica, blocking the exit as she rubs her hands all over the dog’s decorated body while she speaks.
This woman’s love language is clearly physical touch.
Veronica gives me a pleading whimper for extraction.
“And might I suggest a necktie when you come to work. My Michael always suggests a necktie when trying to make a good impression. You’d look so smart with that fancy white coat and a nice, patterned tie.
Even with all those trats… That’s what the young people call ‘em.”
“I think you mean tats, ma’am?”
She waves me off. “Semantics, Dr. Love. I’m sure some young lady out there would be absolutely smitten with that sort of thing. And a tie would certainly make you more presentable to the women ‘round here.”
I want to ask her why every woman I’ve met in Honey Hill seems to think I need to make a good impression, but Veronica sighs, and I swear, she shakes her head like, “Don’t fight it, buddy. It's not worth it.”
“I appreciate the advice, Mrs. Cotten,” I say, patting Veronica on the head once more then wedging myself between the counter and Veronica’s mom so that I might escape the room unscathed. “And I’ll be sure to reach out to Mr. Cotten if I ever find myself in need of…”
“Life training,” she finishes my sentence with a nod of approval. “Just like with dogs but for humans. My Michael uses whistles and everything.”
“Right.” I lift my hand in a wave—or a sign of surrender—and begin to slip out the door. “Be sure to visit reception on your way out, and maybe bring Veronica back in about a month from now if she’s still feeling under the weather.”
Veronica’s strawberry body slumps in defeat.
Mom’s waiting around the corner, chuckling, with a Pomeranian in her arms. “Veronica again?” she asks, eyes lit with mischief.
Blowing out an exhausted breath, I run both hands through my hair and meet her just outside her office. “How did you guess?”
“There’s a pool running on who can set you up first with a single woman in the local area.” She chuckles, letting the fluffball in her arms kiss her directly on the mouth. “Leigh Cotten is favored to win.”
“Seriously?”
Mom nods. “Oh yeah. It was all the talk in our group chat yesterday. Joanie Remillard thinks she’ll give Leigh some competition, but my money’s on Leigh. That woman is determined. Not to mention the fact that she and Michael always seem to be in the know around here.”
“I’m not going on any dates.”
Mom ignores me as the dog takes its affections to PG levels of intensity.
“Mom,” I say again, more confidently. “Did you hear me? I’m not going on a date with any of the women they try to set me up with.”
I’ve been single for over a year now and much happier than when I was engaged to a woman who, as it happens, was far more interested in spending her time with other men than she was with me.