“That’s right,” the receptionist nodded. “You did the right thing bringing him here. And well done for looking after the poor little guy last night. Not everyone would do that.”
“We weren’t about to leave him to wander off on his own when it was obvious he seemed lost,” Grace said. “He’s a sweet little guy and I’m sure there must be someone out there who’s desperate to get him back.”
“Let’s hope so,” the receptionist said, a little cryptically. She tapped at her computer screen for a minute. “One of our vets, Joe Whitaker, has a free slot in his diary right now, so I’ll just go and have a quick word with him and explain what’s happened, and hopefully we can get Stanley scanned straight away and see what’s what.”
Grace remembered that Olive had mentioned this particular vet last night when she’d recommended the practice.
The receptionist hurried off and returned a few moments later, waving them off in the direction from which she’d just walked.
“Mr Whitaker’s consulting room is just down there, the last door on the left,” she said. “He’ll see you right away.”
Grace thanked the receptionist and followed her directions. Stanley didn’t look happy to be venturing even further into the veterinary surgery building, and planted his feet on the ground in an effort to remain where he was. The smooth vinyl flooring meant it would’ve been easy enough for Ryan to haul the dog along behind him, but she was glad when he instead paused at the sight of the cowering animal and said a few words of encouragement to him before scooping him up into his arms.
“I don’t think he likes it here,” Ryan said as Stanley panted in his arms, his eyes darting everywhere.
“It’s funny how they sense where they are and decide they don’t like it,” Grace said. She’d noticed many of the other animals in the reception area didn’t look too pleased to be there either, perhaps dreading a visit to the vet the same way humans dreaded a visit to the dentist.
She was worried about whether Stanley might become hard to handle now that he was in this apparently terrifying situation, but as soon as they arrived inside the vet’s consulting room and Stanley saw the smiling man who was waiting there to greet them, the little dog’s cheerful disposition returned.
“Good morning,” said the vet. “I’m Joe Whitaker. My receptionist said you’ve got a stray dog on your hands? Let’s have a look at him.”
While Ryan deposited Stanley on the examination table, and Stanley attempted to lick the vet to death, Grace explained the circumstances about how she’d come to have the dog in her care.
“The council has an out-of-hours service you could have called last night,” Joe explained as he examined the dog. “But they only collect stray dogs during regular business hours, so unless you’d wanted to drive him to the boarding kennels the council use to look after their strays, then you would’ve been stuck with him overnight, anyway. Did you have any trouble looking after him?”
“None,” Grace said. “He’s a cute little guy. I gave him a bath because he obviously needed it, and a neighbour popped round with some dog food to tide him over. I’ve never owned a dog before, so I was a bit clueless.”
Joe smiled as he listened to the dog’s chest with a stethoscope and completed the rest of his basic checks. “He seems to be in good health overall, from what I can see, although he is underweight, as you already noticed, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s been straying for a week or possibly longer.”
Setting aside his stethoscope, Joe lifted a handheld digital device from the counter and switched it on. Stanley cocked his head at the beeping noises the device made and gave it a good sniff.
“This is a microchip scanner,” he explained. “If the dog has a chip beneath his skin, this should find it.”
Joe slowly moved the device across Stanley’s body. After a few moments, he frowned and adjusted the settings on the device before going through the process again.
“Bad news, I’m afraid,” Joe said at length. “I don’t think this little guy has been microchipped.”
“I thought it was the law for all dogs to have a chip?” Ryan asked.
Joe nodded. “It is, but that doesn’t mean everyone complies with it.”
“So, what does that mean for Stanley?” Grace asked.
Joe’s lips quirked at her use of the name they’d given him. “Well, it means the local dog warden service will probably find it hard to locate his owner. Of course, it’s entirely possible that his owner has already been in touch with the warden’s service and explained that the dog is missing and given a description. So, the next step is to phone the dog warden, explain you’ve found this dog and that you’ve brought him here to be scanned, but without success. They’ll then arrange to pick him up and take things from there.”
Grace looked at Stanley, who was now back down on the floor and sitting at her feet, peering up hopefully and wagging his tail.
“Here’s the number for the dog warden,” Joe said, handing her a card with the details printed on it.
The dog warden was based quite some distance away, Grace noted from the address information. Glancing at the time, she only hoped the warden could get here soon, so she could get off to work.
“I’m glad you were able to look after the dog overnight,” Joe said as they turned to leave the consulting room. “It was good of you to take pity on him.”
“We couldn’t have left him wandering on his own, could we?” Grace said, glancing at Ryan, who nodded his agreement.
“And we’re grateful you could squeeze us in to check the little guy over,” Ryan said. “Shall we pay at the reception counter for the appointment slot?”
Joe waved this off. “Obviously, there’s no charge.”
