Page 63 of Knot So Sweet
I lean forward, intrigued. "Read me what you have so far."
Mary clears her throat and holds up the paper dramatically:
"Frequently Asked Questions:
Q: Can you make my pet look more 'mountain rustic' for photos?
A: No. We provide medical care, not makeovers.
Q: Do you offer 'authentic barn-style' examinations?
A: No. We use modern, sterile facilities because we care about your pet's health.
Q: Can I buy the animals mentioned in local articles?
A: Try the local shelter.
Q: Will you stage fake medical procedures for my social media?
A: No. This is a real veterinary clinic, not a movie set."
I'm grinning so widely it almost hurts. Mary's captured both the absurdity and the professional response perfectly.
The front door chimes, and we both turn to see a woman in pristine hiking gear entering with a golden retriever. I stand and assess the dog immediately. Obviously in perfect health, bright eyes, glossy coat, alert posture.
"Excuse me," the woman says, approaching the counter with her phone already out and recording. "I called earlier about bringing my dog for the authentic mountain vet experience?"
Mary and I exchange glances. She raises her eyebrows and gestures toward the woman as if to say 'all yours.'
"Ma'am," I say gently, stepping forward and crossing my arms, "your dog appears to be in excellent health. I'd be happy to do a wellness check, but there's nothing rustic about routine veterinary care."
The woman shifts her weight from foot to foot, clearly frustrated. "But can you maybe use some older equipment? Make it look more traditional?"
I take a step back, shaking my head firmly. "I'm not going to use outdated equipment on your healthy dog for aesthetic purposes."
"What if I pay extra?" She pulls out her wallet and waves it.
"Ma'am, the answer is still no." My tone remains gentle, but I straighten to my full height, letting steel creep into my voice.
She huffs and looks around desperately. "Fine, but can I at least get pictures of him on the examination table? For my blog?"
"Five minutes. No flash photography, don't touch anything, and your dog stays on the floor unless I put him on the table for actual examination."
We go to the exam room, the phone rings again.
"Don't answer it," I call over my shoulder to Mary, pausing in the doorway. "I'm not emotionally prepared for whatever fresh hell that's going to be."
But I can already hear her reaching for the receiver. The woman has more patience than I do.
"Mairi Veterinary Services, this is Mary."
I hear her adding another line to her FAQ sheet because the phone is on volume, and I catch her saying it word for word. Smiling to myself, I move to the exam room and go through the motions of examining a perfectly healthy golden retriever for an audience of one disappointed blogger.
After the woman leaves with her photos, I emerge to find Mary slumped in her chair, looking emotionally drained. I walk over and lean against her desk.
"I went to veterinary school for eight years," I tell her, rubbing my temples. "Eight years studying animal anatomy, disease pathology, surgical techniques. And now I'm apparently running a petting zoo for influencers."
"I'm sorry," Mary says, looking up with genuine regret in her green eyes. "I never imagined Violet's article would create this chaos."
