It’s a Vet’s Life by Duncan, Alex

of the brand of dog biscuit Pookie favoured, the way Pookie liked his steak prepared, his favourite walks and his favourite trees. ‘Could you please bring me some water for him?’ I interrupted at last. ‘Just drinking water.’ Mrs Topper gave me an I-knew-you-were-a-young-fool look, but she did leave the room. ‘Pookie,’ I said to the poodle, ‘if I had to listen to that nasty little voice all day long I would probably roll on the carpet, but’ – I picked him up by the scruff- ‘you are going to learn self-control.’ By the way Pookie’s ears arched up I could tell that he perfectly understood my tone of voice. To emphasise my point I gave him a good wallop where it hurts but doesn’t harm. ‘Now, sit!’ I put him down, and he sat, ears up, one forepaw raised, indicating an engaging preparedness to obey. ‘Pookie, down!’ I ordered, as Mrs Topper came in with the water. Pookie flattened himself on the run, his four paws stretched out, head innocently turned up towards his mistress. ‘Have you given him something?’ asked Mrs Topper. ‘Yes – would you let him have the water now.’ ‘Is he all right?’ ‘Perfectly.’ ‘Come to Mummy, darling,’ coaxed Mrs Topper. To her obvious surprise Pookie obeyed. ‘What was the matter with him?’ ‘Hysteria.’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ ‘Nerves.’ ‘Yes, he’s highly strung – still he can’t have been really ill if he’s recovered so quickly; how much are you going to charge me for his – treatment? ‘Ten pounds, Mrs Topper.’ ‘We pay cash, you know.’ ‘Ten pounds,’ I repeated, fi