Hey Dad,

Just aced a Splenectomy Series Finale, totally McDreamy in the OR! The Spencerville crew and I saved another furball. Possum says hi (well, if he could talk). Catch ya later for tail tales over a bowl at Bow Wow Bistro. #PawsThatBind

Your hero in scrubs,
Rocco 🐾

Episode 17: “The Paws That Bind”

I barrel through the squeaky double doors of Spencerville Veterinary Hospital, the scent of antiseptic oddly comforting. The buzz of the ER doesn’t faze me; chaos is a mistress I’ve come to schmooze with aplomb. Nurse Scruffles, a particularly snippy Schnauzer, rolls her eyes at my lateness, but I give her a grin. Disarming is my middle name—well, not really, it’s actually Gérard, but you get the picture.

Our pack of pet practitioners is a motley crew, each with a tale surely pulled from the bowels of improbability and fashioned for the gasp-inducing pleasure of our two-legged gods. But we know the secret handshake, the unspoken bond that ties our fates. That, and the shared hatred for the sterilization autoclave beeping like a Friday night at Bullmastiff Boardwalk.

Doc McSniffins, the leading canine cardiologist and a Scottish Terrier with eyebrows so impressive they deserve their own billing, is already on round eighteen of “stethoscope vs. heartbeat.” I nose my way into Prospective Diagnoses, my favorite part of the game. I’m not just muscle and spiral tail, see. I’ve got this noggin packed with more than just disdain for vacuums and rain.

A Labrador flat on his back whines like heartbreak as I gently push past the gossiping Poodles—one’s perm is a theory Einstein couldn’t untangle. I ponder what maladies may have struck this packmate down, forming an arc worthy of drama, scandal, and the fluffy poultice of meaningful glances that could warm even the coldest kennel floor.

Mrs. Flufferbottom, an overindulgent Hamster Nurse who’d give you diabetes with her sweetness, hands me Possum—my comfort toy, doubling as an assistant. Endlessly agreeable, Possum never squawks when flung across an OR or dunked in a pint of sorrow. Prepped for surgery, I’m every bit the canine McDreamy, if I do say so myself.

The Lab, trembling on the table, gives me the eyes. You know the ones—full of silent history and begging for reprieve. I’ve seen those eyes on rest stops before motorcycle rides, while battling my post-bath existential crisis, and in every reflection that promised another day of tomfoolery.

Today, we tackle the Splenectomy Series Finale—a feat that’d have Grey’s Anatomy fans clutching their pearls and spilling the kibble. With a scalpel as my sextant, I navigate the abdominal oceans like a captain born of turbulent seas.

We listen to his heartbeat, a rhythm promising future romps across the majestic dog parks of our hinterlands. I operate with the finesse of a maestro conducting an orchestra of floppy-eared virtuosos. It’s delicate work, and I’m cautious, for one wrong move and we could be dining in the Lower Dalmatian Desert awaiting the dinner bell of eternity.

While Scalpel dances and Forceps fetches, and Clamp… well, clamps, I allow myself the briefest of daydreams—my nose aloft in the breeze, the salt tang from East Pug Palace, a well-earned nap in the warm embrace of the sun. But duty yanks me back, stern as a leash catch.

Post-op, the packmate’s tail wags, a subtle Morse code of life: dot-dot-dash, ‘thank you.’ My tongue lolls in a goofy, affable attempt at humility—it’s a sloppy mask I wear.

Shift’s end finds me at Bow Wow Bistro, licking caviar off my lips—because I implore you, who needs opposable thumbs with a tongue like mine? I gaze at the setting sun through the restaurant window, the lens flare creating a dream-like aura—a fine ending tableau to this escapade.

I clink my water dish with Possum—who’s had one too many squeaks—and ponder the theatrical unveiling of the secrets tucked behind our wagging tails and perked ears. But those tales are for other days or maybe never, woven as they are into the very fabric of Spencerville.

For now, I curl up under the table, Possum by my side. We’re spun from the same cosmic yarn, he and I, tumbling along towards the great reunion in the sky. But until that day comes, we’ll hold court in the myriad adventures here in Spencerville, where every heart beats a testament to the paws that bind.

The End.

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