Chapter Text
“Toby?” Wilhelmina stepped out and called the name, looking around for a response. “Toby Baker?”
A young man with brown hair raised his hand, with a leash in it. “That would be my dog.”
That certainly looked to be along the lines of a seven-year-old Basset hound. “I see - right this way, Mr. Baker, and we can get started.”
The man stood and followed her directions, his hound following at his heels. The hound looked up and barked politely at Wilhelmina, who beamed. “Oh, isn’t ‘e cute? I always wanted a hound, growin' up.”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure growing up on a farm put a damper on those plans.”
She blinked. “… ‘Ow did you know about the farm?”
“Your hands,” he said, as if that explained everything.
“What?”
His eyes flicked from her name tag to her eyes. “Ms. Tweedy, we’re here about my dog.”
“… Right,” she said. “Um, just in ‘ere.”
They walked into the room, to the scale, and she smiled at Toby. “Alright, ‘ere, boy! On ‘ere!”
Toby hopped up onto the scale.
“My, my, such a well trained dog you ‘ave!” She looked at the scale. “Fifty-four pounds. Very ‘ealthy weight for a male Basset hound. What ‘ave you been feedin' ‘im?”
“Nothing!” the man said quickly.
Wilhelmina blinked. “Sorry?”
He shook his head. “Oh… sorry about that. I was… not quite myself just then.”
“That’s alright…” She followed his eyes to the wall, and the place where a few magazines had been stacked up, along with some older newspapers.
The front page of one issue bore a name all the city could recognize.
PADRAIC RATIGAN.
This was what Toby’s owner was staring at.
“Um… would you like me to move those magazines for you? If they’re bein' a bother…”
“No! No, I, um, I’m fine.”
He most certainly was not…
“I… see… Well, if you’ll just step this way towards the tables, we can begin the examination proper.”
Baker followed at her heels and Toby followed his as she looked at her clipboard. “Anyway, would you mind telling me what you feed ‘im? Diet is very important in determinin' ‘salty issues…”
“Oh, yes - dry food, mostly. I think it’s the brand you sell here. I feed him twice a day, before I leave for work and after I get home.”
“And ‘ow much?”
“Roughly one and a half cups each time.”
“Good, good…” She wrote that down, then adjusted the examination table to the ground. “Can you come ‘ere? ‘Ere, boy!”
The dog bounded up, his tail thumping every which way.
“Such a good boy!” she crooned, patting Toby on the head. “ ‘E’s very well trained. I’m impressed.”
“Yes, well,” the man spoke a little awkwardly, “he’s a guard dog. It was rather imperative that he be well-behaved.”
She nodded, bringing the examination table up. “Of course, of course. Good boy!” She put her stethoscope in her ears and listened for a minute. “Strong, steady ‘eart rate and respiratory rate…” she noted. “Now, I realize that this is a wellhealth checkup, but are there any concerns about your pet’s ‘ealth you’d like to bring up while you’re ‘ere?”
“Nothing of much merit…”
“But…?” She cocked an eyebrow.
“He is getting on in years…” The man swallowed. “I worry for him.”
“As you should. Senior pets do tend to develop more ‘ealth problems, but your dog is remarkably ‘ealthy for his age. If you’re worried, though, you may wish to feed ‘im a senior diet, which would lessen the chances of ‘im developin’ obesity and other ‘ealth risks. We also generally recommend switchin' to twice a year for checkups in seniors.”
He nodded. “Of course. Of course. Thank you, Ms. Tweedy.”
She smiled.
He did not come in again.