I had to dash to the ‘best vet in the world’ to get flea poison for the furries this morning, and I smashed into the fabulous Marianne Thamm, who was there getting heart pills for her one small dog. Now, we often compare furry stories and wax lyrical and sometimes not so lyrical about dogs mainly, and their various little things, including breath, operations, smells, and habits, and we also always talk about the brilliance of George Kourie the vet. We have spoken at length about the two receptionists there, the morning Heidi and the afternoon Marcie (who I can’t do). So it was great to see Marianne there, at the vet; where we got stuck into our usual conversation at the counter. When George came through, the ‘nothing phases Marianne’ and ‘speedmouth me’ went quiet, and we turned to greet him with love and respect in our voices.
Then, once he had gone back into his consulting room, we picked up where we had left off. Marianne also has a flea problem, Bayla has to have the same tooth cleaning operation that worked wonders on the breath of Marianne’s aged one. Even Heidi couldn’t get a word in edgeways. I actually had to run away. If I’d stayed for one more moment we would have had to ask Hilary to make us coffee. And Guinness, the vet cat was starting to glare at us from the edge of the counter.