At the vets

 

On the way uncle’s jokes pester our silence

like flies on a wound .

Parking I observe a woman with wag appearance leading

her perky little terrier towards the surgery doors

as if showing  it at ‘Crufts’.

We tenderly assist our elderly Airedale off the back seat.

In the waiting room, the woman’s slender body has caught me out,

her pretty face is a crumpled picture spread out again.

The terrier flirts with us

but anything other than a brief smile in return is betrayal.

Uncle and the woman exchange particulars with dog owner etiquette,

then an uncanny  game of snap,

they are both 10

they both have a ‘lump’,

suddenly we are glad of the company,

although only have energy for our own pet’s fate.

Tapping her dainty sandal

the woman continues to clutch at conversation

my aunt and I forcing responses through letter box mouths.

Vet and nurse arrive with dog snatcher swiftness,

but Henry digs in like a cartoon canine

sliding across the ice rink tiles,

our keystone cop pursuit

my aunt shrieking  I’ll take him in.

Trudging towards the exit,

we remember the woman ferociously chewing gum

and exchange Good Lucks.