Today I took one of my cat tribe to the vets for a post-op checkup. Being uncharacteristically organised (and having the unexpected good fortune to have got the cat into the carrier without having to move all the furniture in the house first) I was early, and settled down to wait. A woman came in carrying a young goat. That's not too eyebrow-raising round here since this is The Countryside after all, and the goat seemed placid enough sitting on her lap. So the two of us sat there, exchanging polite chat about the weather and admiring each other's animals. I am very fond of goats indeed, and this one was a real charmer.
Then a man came into the waiting room with a large dog of indeterminate breed and temper. The dog evidently wasn't raised on a farm. It took one look at the goat and went nuts - barking and lunging and dragging its keeper along behind it. The goat did what any sensible potential lunch would have done in the circumstances - it bolted, with its owner in hot pursuit.
I have to say, the receptionist on duty was sterling. She kept her head, ordered the dog taken outside and joined the goat chase with a will, as did I. Now goats are pretty nimble and nippy animals and this one did not want to be cornered and eaten. Every time we thought we'd got it, it shot off like a ping-pong ball, dodging under and over the chairs and the displays of bagged dog food. One of the vets, alerted by the sounds of galloping and panting in the waiting room came out to join the chase. It took all four of us to get that one little goat finally backed into a corner and successfully apprehended.
As relative calmness settled over the waiting room, it was my turn to see the vet, and by now, my poor cat was thoroughly pissed off (probably because he wasn't the centre of attention). I can't really blame him for biting the vet before making his own bid for sanctuary under the table, can I?
When I came out, the woman was still in the waiting room with the goat, which was now placidly sitting in her lap again, looking for all the world like it had never been doing anything else....
Then a man came into the waiting room with a large dog of indeterminate breed and temper. The dog evidently wasn't raised on a farm. It took one look at the goat and went nuts - barking and lunging and dragging its keeper along behind it. The goat did what any sensible potential lunch would have done in the circumstances - it bolted, with its owner in hot pursuit.
I have to say, the receptionist on duty was sterling. She kept her head, ordered the dog taken outside and joined the goat chase with a will, as did I. Now goats are pretty nimble and nippy animals and this one did not want to be cornered and eaten. Every time we thought we'd got it, it shot off like a ping-pong ball, dodging under and over the chairs and the displays of bagged dog food. One of the vets, alerted by the sounds of galloping and panting in the waiting room came out to join the chase. It took all four of us to get that one little goat finally backed into a corner and successfully apprehended.
As relative calmness settled over the waiting room, it was my turn to see the vet, and by now, my poor cat was thoroughly pissed off (probably because he wasn't the centre of attention). I can't really blame him for biting the vet before making his own bid for sanctuary under the table, can I?
When I came out, the woman was still in the waiting room with the goat, which was now placidly sitting in her lap again, looking for all the world like it had never been doing anything else....
