I stepped into the veterinary clinic and sat in one of the chairs in the small waiting area, to the left of the desk and counter, placing my cat Ella, in her carrier, on the floor between my feet. Past me was the door of the consulting room, and I turned my head to see who was there, and with what animal. Though I couldn’t see him, I recognized my vet, the owner of the clinic, by his pleasant voice and slow, easy delivery. But I could see the customer, whose back was to the open door. The animal on the examining table was a cat, I gathered.
In the waiting area, the other vet—a woman named Sonia who has been at the clinic for about a year—said hello. She was busy doing something, moving about. “Claudio will be with you in a minute,” she told me. No hurry, I signaled with a nod and a smile. Of course not, she signaled back. “How is she?” she asked of my cat. “So-so,” I said. I like the office, the relaxed attitude of the vets, the open consulting-room door, the way everyone smiles at everyone else’s pet. I was fine waiting. Ella was, too—not in any hurry to leave the safety of her carrier.
A man came in holding a small dog in his arms and went straight to the counter. The animal appeared to be a young dachshund, and the owner a newcomer to the clinic. Overhearing his conversation with Sonia, I gathered that he had come to continue treatment started in another clinic. They also talked about a vaccine and booster his dog had received. Sonia went to fetch something through another door. Almost immediately, a large, fluffy, whitish-gold husky appeared from behind the counter and sauntered calmly past Ella’s carrier and went straight to the man holding his dachshund. The man stepped back, raised his dog a little higher in his arms and held it a little tighter while staring down at the big husky. “Fute fute,” he said in a silly voice. The word was Asturian for scram. I watched. The dog ignored him. Sonia reappeared and sat at the desk. The man looked at the husky, now yawning, then at me. “Is it friendly?” he asked, imagining the dog was mine. Before I could decide what to answer, Sonia responded. “Yes. He wouldn’t be free if he weren’t.” The man promptly forgot me.
I wondered if he’d expected to see Claudio. Now here he was, facing the “lady” vet.
“My dog is sensitive,” he informed Sonia.
“It’s not good to overprotect your dog. Dogs need socialization.”
The man murmured something, glanced at the husky now seated at his feet, and the conversation returned to the matter of the vaccines. I listened with particular interest because I admired how Sonia handled the client’s concerns about the two dogs, his and hers—no apology, no coddling. But before I could gather much more information, another client entered the clinic, and to clear the room, Sonia ushered me into a second consulting room, immediately behind the desk. Again she told me that Claudio would be with us very soon. We waited.
A minute later, Sonia popped back in. “Is it okay if we weigh an animal?” she asked, and I said of course. And so the new client followed Sonia into the room, carrying his dog. I overheard more of their conversation. Some people seem determined to mention everything they can think of and want an answer to every point, rather than making do with a general reassurance. This man seemed to be that sort of person. To every treatment Sonia mentioned, he raised an objection—not rudely but carefully, as if examining a package for loose strings. She briskly answered, explained, clarified, and reassured. Never did she become impatient or flustered.
When he asked about the safety of letting his dog mix with others without fear of exposure, she told him clearly that his dog was not fully protected by the vaccine and single booster already administered. It would need the third shot. The man said his previous vet had told him that the dog could mix after only the first two. If he preferred his previous vet’s counsel, she said, that was fine, but if he came to her, it was to obtain her guidance. He pointed out that the advice he’d relied on was from a professional. “I’m also a professional,” she said.
Then she pointed out the error of seeking advice from someone whose opinion you don’t want. If that is the way it is, go somewhere else—that was the message. For his own peace of mind. Excellent advice, I thought. I remembered my own choice of Claudio’s clinic over the other clinic in town. Peace of mind was what I wanted and paid for: a clinic with open doors, a house dog allowed the run of the place, a pair of experts who consulted each other openly, not behind closed doors. And in Sonia, a second vet both confident and sure-footed. She pointed out to her doubting client that if two shots provided full protection, what would be the sense of the third?
Whether the dachshund owner was satisfied or not I don’t know. Claudio entered the small room at that moment, took in the situation, suggested we withdraw into the adjacent room through the connecting door, and held it open for Ella and me. That voice! Calm, easy, soft as a patch of moss. Soothing. But if Claudio were ever unavailable, I would without a qualm put myself and my animal in the care of Sonia, brisk and breezy, so competent, so professional.
