Chapter 15 Liam
LIAM
The phone at Mairi Veterinary Services has been ringing nonstop for three days straight, ever since Violet's article about her went viral. Violet has been working solid on her articles, which is fine because she wasn’t really cut out to be a receptionist at the clinic, and Mairi’s done this type of work so many times before all over town.
From the car showroom to the doctor’s surgery.
I pace between the sterilization room and reception, catching snippets of Mary fielding yet another call. Her auburn ponytail bobs as she jots notes, the strain of the day creeping into her posture.
She’s small but solid, the kind of receptionist who can sweet-talk a skittish collie one second and shut down an irate horse breeder the next. Right now, she looks two calls away from throwing the phone into the parking lot.
"Mairi Veterinary Services, this is Mary. How can I help you?"
Mary's eyebrows shoot up, and she grips the phone tighter. "I'm sorry, did you say a photo shoot?"
I abandon my sterilizing and move closer, my protective instincts prickling.
"Ma'am," Mary says, "this is a working veterinary clinic, not a photo studio. We provide medical care for animals, not Instagram content."
She rolls her eyes at whatever response she's getting, then pinches the bridge of her nose. Her scent shifts slightly, professional patience starting to fray.
"If your dog needs medical attention, we're happy to help. But we don't stage photo shoots with animals." Mary pauses, drumming her fingers on the desk. "I'm quite sure. Thank you for calling."
She hangs up and immediately grabs the notepad she's started keeping, making another tally mark. I can see several marks already on today's page.
"Let me guess," I say, leaning against the reception counter. "Someone wants to turn their pet into a social media star?"
"Goldendoodle named Precious. Thirty thousand followers, apparently." Mary pushes back from her desk and stretches her neck. "They wanted 'authentic mountain vet photos' for their Instagram."
"Well, that settles it." I straighten and gesture broadly around the clinic. "We clearly need to pivot into the influencer pet business."
The phone rings again before she can respond. Mary's shoulders slump briefly before she steels herself and reaches for the receiver.
"Mairi Veterinary Services, this is Mary."
Her posture goes rigid. "I'm sorry, what about the cat?"
My stomach drops, and I stop pacing. I know exactly which cat they're referring to. Mrs. Henderson's beloved Mittens, who lost a leg in an accident as a kitten but has lived a perfectly happy life for eight years.
"Sir," Mary knuckles whiten around the phone then she puts it on loud speaker, "are you asking to purchase someone else's pet?"
I can hear the caller's response about relocating to a better environment and offering five thousand dollars. My protective instincts flare, and I stride over to the desk.
"Let me," I say quietly, extending my hand.
Mary practically throws the phone at me, relief flooding her features.
"This is Dr. Mairi." I pace behind the counter, trying to keep my voice steady. "The animal you're referring to is a beloved family pet who receives excellent care from her current owner. She is not available for purchase, try the local shelter. Have a good day."
I slam the phone down harder than necessary, my hands clenching into fists.
"People," I shake my head and move toward the window, needing space. "Animals are so much easier to understand than humans."
"That was the worst one yet," Mary says, adding another tally mark with sharp, angry strokes. "Though yesterday's call asking if we could 'authentically age' their puppy to look more 'mountain rustic' was pretty special."
I whip around to stare at her. "Please tell me you're making that up."
"I wish." Mary stands and starts tidying the already organized desk, nervous energy in her movements. "They wanted some kind of weathering treatment to make their six-month-old Pomeranian look like it had lived a hard mountain life."
The absurdity hits me all at once, and I start laughing. Really laughing, the kind that makes my whole body shake and forces me to grab the counter for support.
"Stop," I gasp, wiping my eyes. "You're going to make me lose it completely, and I still have three appointments this afternoon."
"It gets worse," Mary grins, perching on the edge of her desk. "Mrs. Peterson called asking if tourists have been bothering Duchess because she's 'Internet famous' now."
I lean against the wall, crossing my arms. "Are they?"
"Someone knocked on her door yesterday asking to pet 'the famous Persian cat from the article' and take selfies."
The phone rings again. We both freeze and stare at it like it might explode.
"Your turn," Mary says, pointing at me while backing away from the desk.
"No way. You're the one with natural talent for handling crazy."
Mary sighs dramatically but answers on the fourth ring. "Mairi Veterinary Services, this is Mary."
I’m already anticipating where this is going based on the pattern we've established.
"Sir, what exactly do you mean by authentic mountain vet experience?" Mary asks, her free hand gesturing incredulously at nothing.
I cover my mouth to muffle silent laughter as she continues, watching her sit behind the desk.
"Sir, this is a fully licensed veterinary clinic with modern equipment because that's what's safe and effective for animal care. We don't have a barn, and we don't use outdated tools that might harm your pet."
Mary plants her hand firmly on her hip, scowling at the phone.
"I'm absolutely sure. Would you like to schedule a normal veterinary appointment, or should I save both of us some time?"
She schedules a normal appointment and hangs up, then immediately grabs her pen and starts writing furiously.
"What are you working on?" I ask, pushing off from the wall and settling into the chair across from her desk.
"A FAQ sheet for tourist calls." Mary looks up from her writing, eyes sparkling with mischief. "I'm calling it 'Things This Veterinary Clinic Will Not Do For You.'"
I lean forward, intrigued. "Read me what you have so far."
Mary clears her throat and holds up the paper dramatically:
"Frequently Asked Questions:
Q: Can you make my pet look more 'mountain rustic' for photos?
A: No. We provide medical care, not makeovers.
Q: Do you offer 'authentic barn-style' examinations?
A: No. We use modern, sterile facilities because we care about your pet's health.
Q: Can I buy the animals mentioned in local articles?
A: Try the local shelter.
Q: Will you stage fake medical procedures for my social media?
A: No. This is a real veterinary clinic, not a movie set."
I'm grinning so widely it almost hurts. Mary's captured both the absurdity and the professional response perfectly.
The front door chimes, and we both turn to see a woman in pristine hiking gear entering with a golden retriever. I stand and assess the dog immediately. Obviously in perfect health, bright eyes, glossy coat, alert posture.
"Excuse me," the woman says, approaching the counter with her phone already out and recording. "I called earlier about bringing my dog for the authentic mountain vet experience?"
Mary and I exchange glances. She raises her eyebrows and gestures toward the woman as if to say 'all yours.'
"Ma'am," I say gently, stepping forward and crossing my arms, "your dog appears to be in excellent health. I'd be happy to do a wellness check, but there's nothing rustic about routine veterinary care."
The woman shifts her weight from foot to foot, clearly frustrated. "But can you maybe use some older equipment? Make it look more traditional?"
I take a step back, shaking my head firmly. "I'm not going to use outdated equipment on your healthy dog for aesthetic purposes."
"What if I pay extra?" She pulls out her wallet and waves it.
"Ma'am, the answer is still no." My tone remains gentle, but I straighten to my full height, letting steel creep into my voice.
She huffs and looks around desperately. "Fine, but can I at least get pictures of him on the examination table? For my blog?"
"Five minutes. No flash photography, don't touch anything, and your dog stays on the floor unless I put him on the table for actual examination."
We go to the exam room, the phone rings again.
"Don't answer it," I call over my shoulder to Mary, pausing in the doorway. "I'm not emotionally prepared for whatever fresh hell that's going to be."
But I can already hear her reaching for the receiver. The woman has more patience than I do.
"Mairi Veterinary Services, this is Mary."
I hear her adding another line to her FAQ sheet because the phone is on volume, and I catch her saying it word for word. Smiling to myself, I move to the exam room and go through the motions of examining a perfectly healthy golden retriever for an audience of one disappointed blogger.
After the woman leaves with her photos, I emerge to find Mary slumped in her chair, looking emotionally drained. I walk over and lean against her desk.
"I went to veterinary school for eight years," I tell her, rubbing my temples. "Eight years studying animal anatomy, disease pathology, surgical techniques. And now I'm apparently running a petting zoo for influencers."
"I'm sorry," Mary says, looking up with genuine regret in her green eyes. "I never imagined Violet's article would create this chaos."
I push off from the desk and start pacing again. "It's not her fault that people are idiots. Violet's article was beautiful. Some people just read 'authentic mountain experience' and translate it to 'exotic photo opportunity.'"
"Maybe she should write a follow-up piece explaining that these are real businesses, not theme park attractions." Mary spins in her chair to follow my movement.
I stop and point at her. "That's not a bad idea."
The phone rings again. We both freeze and stare at it with the dread usually reserved for natural disasters.
"Rock, paper, scissors?" I suggest, walking back to the desk.
"Best two out of three."
Mary wins, which means I have to answer. I grab the phone with resignation.
"Mairi Veterinary Services, this is Dr. Mairi."
"Hi! I was wondering if you could provide a 'wilderness veterinary experience' in an actual wilderness setting?"
My patience finally snaps. I stand abruptly, nearly knocking over the chair. “No. A wilderness setting would be dangerous for everyone involved.”
"But it would look so authentic! I'm willing to pay extra."
"I don't care." I grip the phone tighter. "Ma'am, I'm hanging up now." I slam the phone down and whirl to face Mary. "That's it. We're making an official policy."
Mary perks up in her chair. "What kind of policy?"
I start pacing behind the counter, gesturing as I think out loud. "The 'We Are Not A Tourist Attraction' policy. I'll write it up and post it on the website."
I stop and start dictating while Mary types:
"Mairi Veterinary Services is a professional animal hospital dedicated to providing excellent medical care.
We are not a tourist attraction, photo studio, or entertainment venue.
We do not stage medical procedures for social media content, provide fake treatments for healthy animals, or participate in 'authentic experience' roleplaying.
If your animal needs medical attention, we're here to help.
If you're looking for Instagram content, please look elsewhere. "
"Perfect," Mary says, her fingers flying over the keyboard. "Direct, professional, and absolutely clear."
I lean over her shoulder to read the screen. "And if people still don't get it, we'll start charging a consultation fee for answering stupid questions."
By closing time, Mary's tally sheet has twenty-three marks, and her FAQ has expanded to include questions I never imagined anyone would ask.
As Mary gathers her things and locks up, I appear from the back room with two cups of coffee from the kitchen.
"Peace offering," I say, extending one to her. "For surviving your first week as Cedar Ridge's most unwilling tourist information center."
Mary accepts the coffee and takes a grateful sip as we walk toward the front door. "I still can't believe this is what supporting local businesses has become."
I hold the door open for her, then follow her outside into the late afternoon air. "It's not Violet's fault that some people don't understand the difference between authentic and performative."
"She should probably warn Garrick about what's coming." Mary stops walking and turns to face me. "If today was any indication, the bakery's going to get hit with even weirder requests."
I grin at the thought, taking a sip of my coffee. "Garrick can handle weird. He's had plenty of practice with difficult customers."
"Not this kind of difficult." Mary shakes her head and starts walking again. "These people are living in fantasy where local businesses exist solely for their entertainment."
"Then they're about to get a very educational encounter with Garrick's customer service philosophy."
Mary laughs at that, and I can practically see her imagining Garrick's reaction to someone asking him to stage a "rustic bread-making experience" for YouTube.
"You know what?" Mary stops abruptly and pulls out her phone. "Violet needs to write that follow-up article sooner rather than later."
"What's she going to call it?" I ask, pausing beside her.
"'How Not to Be a Tourist: A Guide to Respecting Local Businesses.'"
"Perfect." I start walking again, and Mary falls into step beside me. "And if that doesn't work, we'll just refer everyone to your FAQ sheet."
As we head toward downtown, I can see Mary's already mentally drafting ideas, her brow furrowed in concentration.
"Violet's created a monster," I say, though there's no real blame in it. Having Violet around had seemed like such a good idea initially.
Her articles were bringing positive attention to local businesses. But Garrick's grumpier than usual about the increased crowds, and his profit margins are getting slimmer because customers keep showing up with multiple discounts.
Violet didn't realize they could stack the promotional codes from different articles.
Xaden's having to cook to order rather than just preparing what's on his regular menu, as if he's auditioning for a spot on Hell's Kitchen.
And now with my vet clinic turning into some social media pet zoo, I'm starting to wonder if maybe we were too quick in letting things ride with Violet's growing influence.
I hate to admit it, but maybe, just maybe, Garrick was right all along. I wanted to help Violet, our pack feels complete, and so does the town, but now I think maybe I made a mistake.