After the three and a half hours of surgery, Dr. Pells washed out and prepared to give the good news to the owners. After checking with the techs to make sure the spaniel was out of anesthesia and resting, he sauntered to the waiting room, his hands jammed in the deep pockets of his lab coat. The big reveal was his favorite part of the job.
The husband and wife stood up when the doctor walked in. They clasped each other’s hands, fingers meshed. They didn’t ask the question ; they waited for a report.
“Folks,” the doctor said solemnly, before breaking out a smile. “Gypsy is going to be just fine.”
The couple’s puffy faces unfolded with relief. The wife let out a “Ohhh” just as the husband chuckled a sigh.
Dr. Pells let the good news wash over before taking a deep breath. “and now, for the culprit.” He pulled his right hand out of his pocket and held it aloft to complete the choking hazard presentation. From his fingers, he dangled two hot pink thongs. He knew it was a but racy, but the most personal items usually got the biggest response.
He stood, arm extended, waiting. The flushed cheeks came, but the laughter did not. Their hands decoupled, the husband’s shoulders caving. The wife nodded twice before saying flatly, “I don’t wear thongs.”
Pells held his stance for a few seconds before curling his fingers up and sliding them back into his coat. He turned and walked back to the surgery room. No sounds came from behind him.