SAY - CHEEP, MIAOW OR WOOF….AND TELL ME WHERE IT HURTS...

I have to say that I find the yearly trip to the vet for booster shots can be quite enjoyable. I suppose I can say that as I'm not the one peering balefully through the slats in the door of the cat carrier. However, I think I am entitled to voice an opinion as I am the one who has had to drive a car with same carrier strapped to a seat and emitting the sort of noises that make you realise where the verb "caterwaul" comes from. Over the years I have tried talking soothingly, not talking at all, and have now settled on turning on the radio which seems to work better than my voice, or else drowns the noise to a degree where it is not so stressful. Topic for the week - "When riding in a car do cats prefer to yowl to Easy Listening, Classical or Talk Radio: Discuss"

It took several trips to the vets before I found out that most peoples' cats make exactly the same sort of noise, and stopped worrying about it. The Fat Girl doesn't make quite so much of a row, but she takes the whole thing as such an affront to her dignity and general Queen-Of-The-World persona, that she pants and huffs so much that I fear she is going to have heart failure. When I anxiously asked the vet about it one time - he just looked at her and said casually that it was OK, that she was just a really huffy cat. He was so right.

Anyway - having survived the journey, as I said, the waiting room can be quite an entertaining place.

The first thing that always strikes me is how much people are devoted to their pets. The scruffiest, most unappealing dog or irritable cat will always have with it an owner who clearly loves it to bits. I suppose at this level and with vets fees being what they are, we must care, as we are willing to cough up for the pooch/moggie. I do realise that tragically there are many animals not so lucky, but here we are dealing with people who care about their pets, and from whom that care radiates for all to see.

One time we were there and the door suddenly burst open and into the crowded waiting room erupted a woman with four black and white border collies. The looks on their faces were ecstatic as they saw a room full of a motley assortment of animals for them to herd from somewhere to somewhere else. The woman gave a terse bark (sorry) of "DOWN!" and they all instantly dropped bellies to the floor. Then they each fixed one dog in the room with an unblinking stare, willing them to make a break for it. There were several uneasy looking mongrels that day.

Another time I got talking to an elegant young woman who was with a very snooty looking Weimaraner bitch. The animal was the most beautiful shade of warm mushroom, and clearly thought that she was too good for the hoi polloi gathered that day. Owner and dog seemed very well matched, smooth and well groomed. However, as she was telling me about the failure of her beloved pooch to fully take to the ethos of dog obedience classes, the elegant young woman let slip - Eliza Doolittle style - that frankly the truth was "She just couldn't be arsed with it all". The Weimaraner had the grace to look embarrassed.

My old ginger boy cat usually just nods off now while he's waiting, and I suppose cats don't provide as much entertainment as the dogs, because they are usually confined to carriers of some sort. We did used to have a budgie who needed his beak trimmed occasionally, and he quite enjoyed the car ride, happily swinging on his perch. But, once he got inside the squawks were horrific - not from pain the vet hastened to assure us - but sheer temper. Once he bit the vet and got away and a merry romp ensued in the examination room trying to get him back in the cage.

Once we were there when a woman came in with a wicker hamper that was fully closed, and put it down on the floor as she waited at the counter. It sat there until an unsuspecting dog sat beside it, and then it sort of erupted in a wicker version of the Tasmanian Devil from the cartoons. There was clearly a very, very hostile cat inside who did not like being within hissing distance of a dog and wanted at it with all claws possible. The dog backed away from the vibrating hamper looking alarmed, and so did most of the people in the queue for the counter. Hope the vet didn't smell of dog that day.

The same time that we chatted to the Weimaraner, there was a sturdy old brindle-coloured mongrel next to us. She lay patiently next to her owner, and just watched everything going on with mild interest. She was a large animal and not very pretty, but clearly well loved and amiable. Suddenly one of the vets came out to use the weighing machine, which was next to us. With him was a pair of Shelties (those miniature Lassie dogs), who you just knew were always referred to as "The Girls". They were petite, pretty and trimmed so that they looked as though they were ballerinas tripping along on points. They also knew that they looked adorable. As they came round the corner the big, plain, serviceable and clearly never-called-Girly mongrel made a deep sound of jealous disapproval. The waiting room was still going "aaaah" and the Shelties never even noticed her, but there was a wealth of resentment in that growl.

There have been times when I've seen people come out clearly hiding tears, and everyone feels for them because we all hope our beloved pets will be OK, and it won't be us this time. Yet I still usually feel cheered when I'm driving home with the newly jabbed feline letting rip next to me, because the aura of warmth and unconditional love is still there, and then you understand why veterinary college is harder to get into than medical school, and why a lot of doctors are reduced to treating their patients like sheep.

© Thelma Mitchell 2003