Page 31 of Knot So Sweet
"You're welcome, Tom. See you Tuesday."
"Perfect," I tell her when she hangs up. "Going the extra mile to help solve his problem instead of just saying no. Exactly what good customer service looks like."
"Really?" She looks almost surprised by the praise.
"Yeah, you're getting the hang of this. You really are a writer, the way your fingers just tapped so quickly on the keyboard."
She keeps beaming as the afternoon continues with a mix of successful calls and minor catastrophes. Violet accidentally schedules two appointments for the same time slot, quotes the wrong price for vaccinations, and somehow manages to hang up on Mrs. Henderson in the middle of discussing Whiskers' dietary needs.
But she also successfully handles a distressed cat owner whose pet is showing signs of illness, calmly takes down information for an emergency call, and manages to reschedule three different appointments without any scheduling conflicts.
"I think I'm getting better at this," she says during a brief lull around three o'clock.
"You definitely are. It just takes practice."
"I hope I’m better at it already. I used to write marketing copy for small businesses, so I'm used to dealing with clients. But somehow this feels different."
"Because you care," I observe. "It's one thing to write about someone's business, but when you're dealing with their beloved pets, the emotional stakes are higher."
"Exactly." She looks at me with something like relief. "These animals mean everything to their owners. I don't want to screw up something important."
"The fact you understand makes you perfect for this job."
The front door chimes, and Frank Stern shuffles in with Buster padding slowly beside him. The old golden retriever looks tired, and there's something in his gait making my professional instincts kick in.
"Afternoon, Frank. How's Buster doing?"
"What I'm here to find out," Frank says, his usually cheerful demeanor subdued. "He's been moving slower than usual, and Dorothy noticed he didn't finish his breakfast this morning."
I crouch down to examine Buster, who greets me with his usual gentle tail wag but doesn't get up from his lying position. His breathing is a bit labored, and when I listen to his heart, there's an irregularity wasn't there at his last checkup.
"How old is Buster now?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
"Thirteen this past spring. I know it's getting up there for a big dog."
It is. Golden retrievers typically live ten to twelve years, so Buster's already beaten the odds. But doesn't make this conversation any easier.
"I'd like to run some tests," I tell Frank gently. "Blood work, maybe an EKG. See what we're dealing with."
Frank nods, his weathered hands stroking Buster's head with infinite tenderness. "Whatever you think is best, Doc."
I glance at Violet, who's been watching this exchange with obvious concern. "Could you get Frank set up with some paperwork while I take Buster back for his tests?"
"Of course."
An hour later, I'm reviewing test results confirming what I suspected. Buster's heart is showing signs of failure – not immediately life-threatening, but definitely a decline we'll need to manage carefully.
I find Frank in the waiting room, chatting quietly with Violet about his late wife's famous cinnamon rolls. There's something comforting about the scene – two people of different generations finding common ground in shared memories of good food and better times.
"Frank, can I talk to you for a moment?"
We discuss Buster's condition, treatment options, and realistic expectations. Frank takes it all with the stoic grace of someone who's lived long enough to understand everything has its season. But I can see the pain in his eyes when he thinks I'm not looking.
"How long?" he asks quietly.
"With medication and careful monitoring? Could be months, could be a year or more. Dogs are remarkably resilient, and Buster's got a strong will to live."
"He's been my companion since Dorothy passed," Frank says. "I don't know what I'll do without him."
