A long, long time ago, TDW-Mark I, our children, our dog and I lived basically right down the block from where I type this today. This particular tale is about the dog. The children had been allowed to name him, thinking that we would spell the name the way that they would, as “R-E-X”. However, TDW-Mark I was possessed of a considerable sense of humor (at one time…) (after all, had she not been married to me for nigh onto 20 years?). SHE determined the spelling, “W-R-E-C-K-S”. This was due to the fact that he resided in a household with adolescent males, who were, themselves, high spirited. Therefore the dog was, himself, well, energetic is a kind way of phrasing it.
So, TINS, one morning we awakened, let the dog out on his chain, and settled in for breakfast. After several hours, we noticed that the dog had not barked to be let back in, his usual practice once he had had enough of The Great Outdoors. We looked to see what was up, discovering that the chain had broken, and the dog was not in evidence.
We searched the neighborhood, finding no trace of the dog. We produced “lost dog” flyers, and mounted them at intervals about our corner of our small town. That produced no results.
After a day or two, TDW-Mark I sent me to the local police department, The County Seat Police Department, and I learned that one of their officers had encountered a dog resembling our missing Wrecks, who had been struck by an automobile, and had been transported to a local vet.
I traveled to the vet’s office, and asked after our dog.
This vet confirmed that he did, indeed, have my dog, and that the dog was surprisingly uninjured after his encounter with the car the previous evening. This was determined after x-rays and examination. I asked him how much I owed him for his care. “Nothing. You don’t owe me anything.”
I persisted. “You spent no small amount of your time, and your expertise, on a dog that you had no idea if he would ever be claimed. I get that you do so out of the goodness of your heart, and as a service to the community. On the other hand, I can pay for the care you lavished on my dog. Indeed, if you insist on thinking of it this way, you can imagine that I am paying for the other critter, that goes unclaimed, such that you are not required to pay out of your pocket, for performing a public service, simply because you can do so, and it needs doing.”
I took a deep breath. “It offends me to think that you are going to be leeched off of by some schlub. I am not going to be that schlub. If for no other reason, please take my money because you ought no be penalized simply because you are a nice guy.”
He told me, “Thank you, but, really, you do not owe me anything. Thanks for the thought, but, we are good!”
I smiled and replied, “So, in that case, here is a check for $150. The next time somebody’s dog gets injured, and they cannot pay you for their care, let me help defray the expense you incur.”
And, he has been my family’s vet ever since, going onto 25 years.
4 thoughts on “The “Wrecks” Story (or) How I Met My Vet”
[ hey Diogenes ! Theres one over here….]
It *DID* take me a while to “get it”.
Sad commentary on my declining mental faculties, I suppose.
Been there . Got a Dobie Shepherd cross at a crack house one night at 5 months old. The crack heads had beat him to the point with sawed off broomsticks that his backbone was visible in three places . When I took him in to Doc Taylor the next morning his jaw quivered and he got tears in his eyes as he asked me who had beat this puppy . He was the best guard dog we ever had . He worshipped my 5 year old Grand Daughter and nobody except her could ever touch him with both hands without a warning growl . We called him the Big Shep-a-roonies .
Damned dusty in here.
Reltney, your vet has a least one great customer.
There is a Special Place in Hell for animal abusers.