As we pulled into the empty lot of the closest vet in town, I tried to still the trembling in my stomach. Jumping from the car, I rang the emergency bell, hoping desperately that it would wake a cranky vet student from sleep on his books. It didn’t work.
Back in the car, my girlfriend was busily searching for phone numbers to vet clinics, looking for one open on weekends. We called several, but each directed callers to dial the an on-call pager, so she called.
The three-minute pause waiting for the vet to call back was terrible. Outside by the useless emergency bell, I paced like a caged lion. So I moved to the car and texted updates like a mad woman to my husband. Time. Empty space. Waiting... nothing. It was pure madness.
“Beep, beep.” The return call from the vet flashed through my text, scaring the bageezes from me so that I began stumbling with my phone like a hot potato. Managing to get a firm grasp, I answered a feeble ‘hello.’
“This is the on-call vet. I received a message to call this number. Is everything ok?” a young, female voice asked.
“My dog’s been hit by a car. Where should I take her?” Think Crissy! It a good thing I’m required to have directions to my house and emergency numbers posted next to my home phone to become licensed! For the first time, I doubted my ability to reiterate anything coherent in a crisis.
“Do you know where Associated Veterinary Clinic is?” the friendly vet replied.
Saying I did not, I listened to quick instructions and repeated them so my girl friend could begin driving. Taking the cue, she put the car in gear and sped beautifully out of the parking lot.
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