Since Dr. Weston had retired six months ago, the clinic had been closed and Hope residents had to go to the other clinic for animal care. Bruce Weston had been a wonderful veterinarian. He’d taken care of Emma’s terrier, Soupy, and her collie, Max, when she’d been a kid, and she’d loved him. She’d always been eager to come here and look at all the pictures of animal breeds on the wall of the exam rooms, check out the charts and the models of the insides of dogs and cats. She’d been curious and he’d always been more than happy to answer all her questions. Besides her utter love of animals, Dr. Weston had been one of the primary reasons she wanted to become a veterinarian. He was kind and patient, and had taken just as much care of the owners as he had of the animals.
She’d been sad to hear about his heart surgery and subsequent retirement, but happy for him now that he and his wife, Denise, were moving closer to their grandchildren in Colorado. She’d been ecstatic that he’d been amenable to her buying out his practice. It had taken a whirlwind trip from South Carolina back to Oklahoma so she could meet face-to-face with him to iron out the particulars once she’d learned his practice was for sale. He’d been generous in his price and had helped her work out the loan details so she could get it done.
Maybe her luck was finally changing.
At six forty-five they cleared out the remnants of donut nirvana and Rachel, ever efficient, booted up the computer, while Emma and Leanne set up the rooms and instruments, ready for the first patients to start rolling in.
And did they ever. The first clients started coming in as soon as they opened the doors at seven. The clinic offered drop-off service for people on their way to work in Tulsa. Since they were on the main road leading to the highway, it was convenient. People could drop off their animals, Emma would diagnose and treat them throughout the course of the day, and their owners could pick them up on their way home from work. She charged a minimum boarding fee to house them for the day.
By eight o’clock, the appointment customers started piling in, and Emma reacquainted herself with the people in her town. She’d been so busy renovating the clinic, updating inventory, and working with her staff since she’d come home that she’d had no time to visit with anyone. She wished she’d had a chance to see her sister, but Molly didn’t come home. Ever. Period. If she wanted to see her little sister, she had to first track her down because Molly was as mobile as they came. And then she had to fly or drive to whatever location Molly called home that particular month.
They talked on the phone at least once a week, and that would have to be good enough for now.
At the moment she had her hands full with a hundred and forty pounds of very exuberant Newfoundland, who was happily slobbering on her neck as she performed an exam.
“He’s very healthy, Mrs. Lang,” she said, as she and Leanne wrangled King, who was determined to play with them. He stuck out his tongue and slurped her face.
Good thing she appreciated dog drool.
“He’s eating my pear tree. Bits of bark at a time.” Mrs. Lang did not look happy.
“Do you take him out for walks? How big is your backyard? Do you have other dogs for him to play with?”
“King is our only dog, and the yard is small. And well . . . he’s kind of a lot to handle. It was my husband Roger’s idea to get him.” Mrs. Lang looked mournfully at King. “He was such a cute little puppy.”
Many people thought puppies were so cute. The problem was, cute puppies often grew into giant dogs. Like King. She glanced over at King’s chart to check out the Lang’s address. “He needs exercise and stimulation. There’s a great park over on Fifth near your house. Does he walk on a leash?”
“Yes. Very well. I made Roger take him to those classes.”
“Excellent. If you walk him twice a day and take him to the park, it will help work off all this energy he has. Also, I highly recommend neutering him. You don’t want him to get out and father a bunch of unwanted pups, do you? And it will help settle him.”
“Oh, of course. Let’s do that.” She smirked. “Roger won’t like that. Men and their . . . equipment, you know. They take it so personally. I’ll tell him it was your suggestion and he’ll do it. And I’ll make sure we walk him.” She patted her stomach. “We could all use the exercise.”
The morning flew by in a blur of shots, exams, worming, and one tiny and filthy pit bull puppy someone had found in a ditch. She was a mass of flea-bitten adorable, a brown-and-white baby who’d either been abandoned or lost. The person dropping her off said she couldn’t keep her because she had two rottweilers at home and couldn’t possibly handle one more dog, but she couldn’t leave her shivering in the morning cold, either. Though it was late spring and the days were warming, the nights were still cool.
Emma assured the woman they’d clean her up and find her a good home. She examined the pup, and other than needing a serious flea bath and a good meal, she was healthy, thankfully. She gave the pup to Leanne, who took her away to give her the flea bath and her first round of puppy shots.
She only had time for a quick bite of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich she’d packed for lunch when the second round of afternoon clients came in. Daisy wound her way around the clinic, checking in on Rachel and Leanne as they did their work, too. Emma was so thankful to be this busy, she had no complaints. They were jammed all afternoon until the last pickup at closing, when her staff finally left.