Dr. Neu and the fleas

Annie started scratching last week. She spent a lot of time rolling around on her back making frantic, almost erotic whimpers. I hoped this distracting behavior would go away, but it heightened each day to the point that I finally rummaged around, found a spray bottle and doused her entire body with its supposed medicinal contents.

Then, the red rash from incessant scratching started showing up on her rear end. The spray bottle contents obviously did not work, and it was also clear that Annie's discomfort had turned to out-and-out misery. I called one doctor's office in hopes of help for Annie. The conversation went as follows:

"My dog has been itching a lot lately," I told the receptionist. "I even sprayed her with a flea remedy a couple of days ago, but it's getting worse. Could I bring her in and have someone look at her?'

"Whatcher name again?" the receptionist asked.

"Marianne Love," I said.

"Okay, now what's wrong with your kitty?"

"It's a dog," I said. So, I explained the situation again, asking once again if I could bring her in. I was told that Monday was out but that I could bring her in late Tuesday afternoon.

"Have you been a customer here?" the receptionist asked.

"Only for 30 years," I said with a tone ranging beyond mild disgust.

"Okay, we'll see you tomorrow," she said.

I hung up, thought a few minutes and decided that she would not see me tomorrow. I'd go elsewhere to get rid of Annie's fleas. I called another office, only to learn they also had no slots open until the next afternoon, but, at least, the receptionist did know my name.

Then, I acted on a hunch.

"Maybe Cherise does dogs too," I thought, grabbing my cell phone which had her number. I'd been at my sisters' several times during the Fourth of July when Cherise, a large-animal specialist, had come to treat their mare Molly. She has a mobile veterinary unit, and she spends extra time with her patients---at that time, she even stopped by one time, late at night, went to my sisters' barn on her own and checked out Molly's status.

I was impressed. My sisters were really impressed.

Cherise had been one of my shy, soft-spoken English students back in the early '90s. Her great-grandfather, Bill Neu, had the land at the base of Schweitzer where my dad pastured his cows back in the early '50s. Her maternal grandfather, Sam Wormington, worked the slopes of Schweitzer as its manager when the resort first opened in the early 1960s. I'd also taught Cherise's parents, Larry and Colleen, during my student teaching stint in 1969.

Calling the cell phone number, I reached Cherise's voicemail. Two minutes later she called back.

"Do you do dogs?' I asked.

"Sure do," she answered, "and I'm in the Selle Valley today."

"I've got a dog with a skin problem," I told her. She said she'd squeeze me in between two other appointments. An hour later, Cherise and her vet tech/sister-in-law Kate Siemers Neu, rolled into the driveway. Fifteen minutes later, I had a handful of flea medicine for two dogs and five cats, complete with instructions for treatment. I wrote a check, and Cherise was on her way to the next patient.

"This is still the James Herriott ideal," she told me while treating Annie. "I hope I can continue to have fun with it." Cherise loves what she's doing, and I loved the fact that I didn't need to load Annie up, sit in a vet hospital reception room, watch the doctors check her for fleas and perform tests for three dozen other possible ailments, and listen to the virtual "ka-ching, ka-ching, ka-ching" as the bill for this hospital visit increased by the second.

I hope Cherise's refreshing passion for making house calls and taking care of people's pets continues. Then, I won't have to go through any similar conversations with brand-new, hearing-impaired receptionists who wouldn't know a longtime customer when they saw one.

By the way, Annie scratching and whimpers have subsided dramatically. Thank you, Dr. Neu.