Pets in a Pickle by Malcolm D. Welshman

Author:Malcolm D. Welshman [Welshman, Malcolm D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Metro
Published: 2011-05-01T23:00:00+00:00

A FÊTE WORSE THAN DEATH

Mandy, in one of her more affable moods, had warned me not to. Eric said they were a minefield. And Beryl commented it wasn’t the wisest thing to consider doing. But it was Crystal who was most adamant about the dangers of being a judge at a pet show. And that surprised me, as I would have thought the publicity generated for the practice would have been a good thing.

‘Not so, Paul,’ said Crystal as we sat discussing the possibility one lunchtime early in August. ‘Some years back, I was persuaded to judge the dog classes at Westcott’s August Bank Holiday Show. It was a real nightmare, believe you me.’

I tried to visualise the cool, calm, collected woman sitting in front of me, not a hair out of place, her neat, manicured fingers daintily folded round her bone china mug of herbal tea as being in a nightmare situation. Crystal ruffled? Never.

She continued, ‘The thing was, I never heard the last of it from those clients who didn’t win rosettes. Not that they said anything, of course. It’s just that, for months afterwards, undercurrents of resentment could be felt whenever they came into surgery. I’ve no wish to jeopardise the special relationship I have with my clients. So I now leave judging of shows to the practice down the road.’

So there; I had been warned. No excuse. But then I hadn’t reckoned on the persuasive powers of a child to disarm me.

I’m not sure who had given my phone number. I suspected it could have been Reverend James from our local church in Ashton passing it on to the church in the neighbouring village. Some sort of clerical networking – I’ll ring your bells if you ring mine.

The voice down the line was high-pitched, with a slightly nervous tremor. A choirboy perhaps – ready to sing my praises? No. It sounded more like a girl, and one anxious to seek salvation. Straight away, I was asked if I could judge the pet show at their church fête. ‘It’s just that we hadn’t realised our usual vet would be away on holiday next weekend.’

Next weekend? It was Thursday now. It was hardly giving me much notice. But why should that concern me? I wasn’t going to do it. The warnings from Beryl, Eric and Crystal rang in my head louder than …

‘Which church is it?’ I found myself saying.

‘St Augustine’s in Chawcombe.’ The voice sounded a little more hopeful.

Now why had I asked? I’d just told myself I wouldn’t do it, so what did it matter which church it was?

‘You should try one of the other vets in the area.’

There was a pause and some muffled conferring. ‘We already have,’ said the girl coming back on the line. ‘Six in fact.’

Six? For a brief moment, I was miffed to think I was that far down the ranking of vets in the district. But come on, Paul, why worry? I wasn’t going to be involved.

Yet I was unable

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