“Those were my prize Azaleas, you know,” I hear him mutter under his breath.
And there it is. “Oh my God, Gavin. It’s been thirteen years, can you just let it go?” I know he won’t.
But tonight is not about Gavin, it’s about saving my clinic. So I plaster on my best fake smile and turn on my heel to greet my wonderful and appreciated volunteers.
But not before I mutter something of my own as I leave. “From what I hear, I’m not the only one who’s been accused of weed-whacking under the influence.”
Then I stride off toward the makeshift stage.
“What did you say?”
That got his attention. I hear Gavin’s voice behind me in between coughs, sputters, and choking noises. I don’t feel bad, he doesn’t deserve Kaylee’s chocolate anyway.
I fake-cough gently into my hand as I turn back to reply, “you heard me, Gavin.”
Is pissing him off smart? Probably not. Will he screw me any chance he gets no matter what I say? Ding, ding, ding. Therefore I regret nothing.
As I turn around and survey the stage, I feel like I’ve fallen into a time warp and it’s twenty years ago. Long, fake wood tables line the back of the room with lime green resin chairs set up behind them. On the tables, there are throwback landline phones. I stare at them for a moment, sure that I’m hallucinating. “Seriously?”
Mia sidles up next to me. She’s my front desk clerk. “What are you freaking out about, boss? Gavin the hoarder, ancient telephones, or the little notepads we’re supposed to take the pledges on?”
“All of the above,” I answer. “The nineteen-eighties called and they want their stuff back.”
“Is there any chance this is going to work?” Mia asks.
“Well, as Cara tells it, this is the elderly cherry on top of the rest of the telethon. She says everybody under the age of sixty-five has already donated online, but the publicity push from this time warp will keep us in the news a little bit longer.”
I’m not lying. Cara said the online donations were making a difference, but we need more.
Gwen, my other Veterinarian, appears at my side. “We ready for this or what?”
I catch her smirk as she joins Mia and I staring at the stage setup.
“Oh, I’ve been ready for this for a decade or two,” I answer as the three of us take our places among the other volunteers at the table.
I scoot myself in feeling like a third grader in science class and then stare at the cameras that are setting up across the room. Gavin is directing them.
It doesn’t take long before Gavin points in our general direction and then mouths a countdown. “Three, two, one,” and then he goes silent and points forward.
I see a green light begin to glow as the cameras go live. The important segments of the telethon such as my Welcome and Thank You messages were pre-recorded and are being added-in remotely by Channel Fourteen.
This is mostly a dog and pony show for an exceedingly small live public television audience. And also, to get a bunch of live shots of us answering land-line phones to entertain people who have either never seen this sort of thing before, or people for whom it is nostalgic.
Either way, I’ll do it if it’ll save my clinic.
Doing my best to ignore Gavin, I fiddle with my notepad and pencil. The notepad has my St. Tropic Vet logo on top. Cool. I make a mental note to take it home with me.
That’s when a very loud noise startles me. The phone in front of me rings. The noise is seriously jarring, and the vibration rattles my insides.
Okay, so these old phones are going take some getting used to. "Hello," I answer, picking up the receiver, "welcome to Puppy-Thon. This is Angie, how can I help you?"
"I want my money to go to cats,” says the older lady on the other end of the line.
I take a deep breath. "Well, I like cats too, but the money goes to animals in need. Cats, dogs, ferrets. It's really a small animal medical care drive."
I’m the only clinic in town that provides free and low-cost emergency care to animals in need. Otherwise I wouldn’t be in this financial jam. In theory I could solve my problems by refusing to do small animal charity, but it’s not going to happen. Since I won’t give it up, funding the charity will go a long way toward saving my practice.
"Then why is it called Puppy-thon?” I hear the voice on the other line continue, “it's a dumb name."
I’m not really sure what to say here. I love all small animals, but Puppy-Thon is an adorable name. Seriously, who complains about a name that cute? I decide to try to bring the conversation back to a sane and rational place. "Um, would you like to make a donation?"
"Now you're demanding money? What kind of scam is this?"
As I listen to the voice crackle across my earpiece, I frown. "Whoa, hold on. You called me. It's a telethon. For the animals, remember?"
"Oh yes, can we get back to the cats?"
I sigh and close my eyes. "Sure, I'll do my best to make sure that your donation amount will only go to cats if it matters that much to you. How much would you like your donation to be?"
"Five dollars."
Five dollars. Swallowing, I worry even more about the future of St. Tropic Veterinary Practice.
More animals than ever need help, and I'm running on emergency funds as it is. If things don't turn around soon, I don't even want to think about what's going to happen. The heartless, faceless, corporate entity known as Animal Universe Incorporated, who is trying to put me out of business, doesn’t contribute a single penny to the emergency fund.
Five dollars? I'll be paying a large portion of that just in credit card fees.
I make a last-ditch effort to
