We exchange the usual pleasantries.
“So, have you heard about the new doctor?” she asks.
And here we go again.
“Only vaguely,” I mutter.
“Moira MacTavish threw him out!” Denise exclaims scandalized. “Apparently he doesn’t know how to talk to people. Too cold. Too distant. Nothing like McKinnon.”
I kneel to examine the lamb’s leg.
Minor sprain. Nothing serious.
“Moira can be... demanding,” I say diplomatically.
“Demanding? She’s a perfectionist, yes! But she’s right. This Dr. McLeod looks at people like they’re medical files instead of actual human beings. McKinnon knew our names, our birthdays, our stories.”
I carefully wrap the lamb’s leg while wondering if this poor Dr. McLeod has even the slightest chance of survival in this village.
“He needs to rest for a week,” I say, handing the lamb back to Denise. “No pressure on the leg. He should heal just fine.”
“You’re wonderful. Unlike certain healthcare professionals who come here thinking they know absolutely everything.”
I leave the Campbell farm with growing sympathy for this doctor I’ve never met. Apparently he’s just become the latest replacement doomed to never live up to his legendary predecessor.
My third visitis to Old Angus MacDonald—no relation to the MacDonalds from this morning; the Highlands are simply overflowing with MacDonalds—to examine his dog, a border collie with a tick.
Angus greets me with his usual charm.
Meaning none whatsoever.
“Ah, little Miss McGregor. My Bess has something in her ear.”
“Lovely to see you too, Angus.”
I kneel beside Bess, who’s an adorable dog wagging her tail enthusiastically. The tick is easy to spot and remove. Naturally, while I work, Angus starts talking about the doctor.
“That Dr. McLeod came to see me yesterday.”
I carefully remove the tick with my tweezers.
“Mmh.”
“He wanted to send me to the hospital over a cough. A cough! Like I’m dying or something. McKinnon knew I was sturdy. Knew a Highland man doesn’t need a hospital for something that small.”
I disinfect Bess’s ear thoughtfully. A cough serious enough for a doctor to recommend hospitalization probably isn’t just a cough.
“He may have had his reasons,” I suggest carefully. “Doctors don’t recommend hospitals for no reason.”
“Bah! Man’s paranoid, I’m telling you. Always seeing terrible diseases everywhere. McKinnon knew the difference between a simple cold and something serious.”
Or maybe McKinnon was wrong and Dr. McLeod is trying to save your life, you stubborn old idiot.
But I say nothing.
Angus wouldn’t listen anyway.
“Bess is fine,” I announce while putting away my equipment. “Keep an eye on the ear for a few days. If you notice redness or swelling, call me.”
