Truly, Madly, Like Me - Jo Watson Page 0,20
to my phone, only to realize that I couldn’t call 112. Do you even call 112 for animals? What the hell was I supposed to do? I rushed around the room a few times. Uber, I could call an Uber to take me to a ve— Shit, no Uber. I raced some more—I could post on Quora: ‘What to do if your dog swallows an immobilizer?” Wait, no Google, and there was probably a subreddit for this too! I threw my arms in the air and called out to no one in particular. And then I stopped rushing as my sister’s face flew into my mind. I could see her rolling her eyes at me now, at this “Frances fiasco” as she was so fond of calling them. She was younger than me and yet she had this uncanny ability to make me feel like I was a child all over again. Blowing things out of proportion. Making mountains out of molehills. So I took a long, deep breath and calmed myself down.
What the hell do you do without the internet? “Right! Be calm,” I told myself as I looked down at Satan’s Little Helper. He’d raised his head and eyed me curiously.
“Can you walk?” I asked, which was ridiculous. Why was I talking to a dog as if it were a human? A dog I still wasn’t one hundred percent sure was even real. I’d seen a small vet’s practice on the main road when I’d driven into town, it was only a few blocks away, on the same road as the hotel now that I thought about it. I clicked my fingers together a few times and Satan’s Helper rose to his feet as if he understood me.
“Okay, let’s go.” I turned and walked out the hotel room, the dog hot on my heels.
CHAPTER 10
We arrived at the house that had the small “Vet” sign hanging outside it. Like all the other houses, it was a typical Karoo home; blue and white Victorian, with a tin roof and a big wraparound veranda. This veranda was crammed full of pot plants so there was almost nowhere to sit. The door was closed, and an old brass bell hung from the wall. I rang it and waited for an answer. I didn’t have to wait long and soon the door was being opened by a short, very pregnant-looking woman. I glanced down at the name badge on her white coat. Doctor Samirah Shaik Umar.
“Hi, are you the vet?” I asked, although the presence of the name badge did seem to render this question rather redundant.
She smiled and nodded. “As far as I know.”
“Right! Okay, weird question, before we go any further: can you see this dog?” I pointed down at him and held my breath in anticipation of her answer. The moment where I would discover, beyond a reasonable shadow of a doubt, whether or not I was losing my grip on reality.
She looked at him and smiled again. “Of course.”
“Phew!” I breathed a sigh of relief and then giggled. “That’s good.” She looked at me strangely so I quickly cleared my throat and added, “Just checking, you know?” I’m sure she didn’t know, but anyway.
“What can I do for you?” she asked breezily.
“This dog needs a doctor,” I said.
“Well, come in then. The practice is out back.” She held the door open, and I followed her down a long, narrow passage, wooden floorboards creaking, as if there was something trapped in them, wanting to come out. We walked out the house and into a small garden cottage out back. Not exactly what I’d been expecting, but this was a small town.
She pushed the door open and we entered a little white room with a big silver table in the middle of it. I’d never been into a veterinary practice before, my mom hadn’t believed in animals, growing up. Too dirty. Too costly. Too unhygienic. My mother was a nurse before she retired, and she was always pointing out how full of germs something was or wasn’t. Not to mention how full of calories something was or wasn’t.
“So, you must be new here.” She extended her hand for me to shake. “I’m Samirah, and you are . . .?”
I grabbed her hand and shook it. “Frankie,” I said quickly. “How do you know I’m new?”
She smiled at me. “Small town. I know every person and every pet in this entire town.”
“You do?” I asked.
She nodded. “And I treat them all.