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I think Maxine is more likely to put up with his grumpy ass than Presley.
You fuckers need to get a life and stay out of mine.
I silenced my ringer and slammed my phone down before rubbing my temples.
“Dr. Reynolds,” Kate said, hovering in my doorway.
“What’s up?”
“Kressa Peterbaken is here with Chester, the latest stray puppy she’s found and adopted. I put them in room two, and that’s the last one for the day. But prepare yourself. I’m not a veterinarian, but something seems a bit off about this one.”
“Great. Of course, it is. This day just keeps getting better.” I pushed to my feet. “Did Mrs. Remington make an appointment to get Mr. Wigglestein fixed?”
“She made an appointment to come talk to you again because she has more questions.”
I fisted my hand and held it to my mouth. How many fucking times could we talk about fixing this fucking dog?
“What is her goddamn issue with getting him fixed? I mean, half the town is outraged by the whole situation.”
“I know. There are going to be little Wigglesteins coming in to see you for years to come,” she said over her laughter, and I shook my head.
“Not funny. I will meet with her one more time, and then I’ll refer her to my mother for emotional help. This isn’t a Mr. Wigglestein issue at this point. It’s a Mrs. Remington issue.”
“Agreed.”
I made my way into room two, and Kressa Peterbaken was standing in front of her small dog crate, talking baby talk to Chester.
“Hey, you got a new pup, huh?” I asked as I closed the door and set the file on the counter before glancing into the crate to see a fucking raccoon looking back at me.
“Isn’t he precious? I think he’s part Maltese and part Terrier. What do you think?”
I cleared my throat. When I graduated top of my class in veterinary school, they could not have prepared me for the shit I was dealing with in Cottonwood Cove.
“I don’t believe that he is part Maltese or Terrier,” I said, raising a brow as I crossed my arms over my chest because I didn’t have time for this shit right now.
“Really? Do you think he’s part bulldog?”
I’d known Kressa for many years, as she used to work for my parents at Garrity’s before retiring a few years ago. I didn’t want to be cruel, but I also didn’t have the patience to make this okay.
“This is not a dog, Kressa. You’ve got yourself a raccoon in there.”
“What? Really? Well, he was hanging out in my yard for weeks, so I decided to get him into the crate and bring him here for shots before I let him in the house with the other dogs.”
“Well, he isn’t a dog, so that won’t be happening.”
“Will he need different shots?”
“No. He’s a wild animal, so he needs to be set free. It’s against state law to keep any wildlife as a pet.”
“Well, isn’t that ridiculous. He seems like a dog to me.”
“But he isn’t a dog. He’s a raccoon.”
And I’m a fucking doctor who doesn’t have time to convince you that you lured a fucking wild animal into your dog crate.
“So, I guess I need to go fight this with the county?”
“I recommend setting him free to live the life he was meant to live.” I pinched the bridge of my nose.
