Everyone Needs a Pet But Beware the Swiss Vet

My sister once had a rabbit called Rosie whom she loved very much so much so that when she recently had a massive show-down with her ex-husband known to the rest of the family as FUB – Fat, Ugly…….you get the picture – in front of her Solicitor over custody of her son, she heard herself shout,

“You left me, Myles, the dog AND the rabbit to run off with your floosy…”

Last night Mr. Jules was woken up by our 11 year old Golden Retriever, Molly.  (I don’t hear animals, I am radar attuned to the children: Nightmares, falling out of bed, drunken stumbles, furtive giggles etc. and have managed to zone out any other noise).  Molly had obviously been barking for a while because by the time he got downstairs she had already left him a large steaming pile of poo and had a look on her face that said,

“Did you think I was barking at the moon?”

As dogs go, our Molly is not your typical hound. I seriously believe she is the reincarnation of some 1950s film star – a very demanding, grande dame such as Mae West or Joan Collins (wait is she dead yet?).  She uses her voice to bark commands at us.  Bark: It is my dinner time NOW.   Bark: I fancy a pigs ear RIGHT NOW and make it quick.  Bark: Open the door NOW or you’ll be so-rry.  I have never heard her growl or bark out of protection towards the house or defend any of us, the lowly inhabitants.  Most dogs go ballistic as soon as the doorbell rings or a stranger comes knocking, throwing themselves at the door and at least giving the impression that they are willing to die to protect their owners.  Molly saunters over, tail wagging, eyes glinting with anticipation of a free cuddle and within no time she is flat on her back.  Definitely Mae West or perhaps one of the Mitford sisters, hard to tell.

You should see her at Altweg the vets.  Monsieur Altweg has a deep voice of golden syrup so syrupy even I melt in his company but it is nothing compared to the effect on Molly . 

“Ah Molly, il n’y a pas de chien plus gentil que Molly.”

He never fails to say her name twice, Mo-lly in that sexy French-voiced way and this is her cue to start putting the moves on him. (Now here is a fundamental cultural difference.  I was brought up on that TV series with the three vets set in no-nonsense Yorkshire.  Not once did I hear any of the vets go all gooey over an animal.  But as a marketing ploy it works wonderfully, soft pet owners such as myself being their market segment.  The Swiss are a canny lot all innocent appearing on the outside ruthlessly business-like underneath.  Never underestimate a Swiss and never, ever underestimate a Swiss vet.)

In Monsieur Altweg’s presence every muscle in Molly’s body softens into a slink and head down, eyes peering coyly up at his she saunters (I swear she wriggles her hips) onto his little ramp and waits grandly, snout in the air, whilst she is elevated to the correct height.  Once arrived she nuzzles up to him with an enormous sigh leaving a glob of slobber on his green scrubs.

Needless to say Molly’s annual vet bill is higher than my and Mr. Jules’ combined medical bill.  She’s had many fanthom ailments that mysteriously clear-up after a dose of Mo-lly, Mo-lly.

I don’t know if I would ever get to the point where she would appear as a key witness in a custody battle but still I would miss being in the company of such a diva.

Copyright Jules Ritter April 2008

PS Molly was having a bad hair day having been down to the river so that’s Cookie, V and R’s dog looking very Diva-ish.