Hey Luna!

Just survived my debut as Terrier Town’s newest junior vet – and I was on fire (minus the fur-singeing, thankfully)! From lemon-pie mishaps to tick-tempests, I’ve navigated the beastly brouhaha with some wit and a whole lot of zeal. I’m more than just Rio now – I’m Nurse Pawsome in the making. Catch you at firefly hour to spill all the details.

Stay waggy,
Rio 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

As I thumped my tail against the cool tile floor of Terrier Town Veterinary Clinic, I couldn’t help but think it was ridiculous to feel this nervous. There was a murmuring all around as dogs of every size and breed shuffled in with ailments and wagging tales of woe. I, Rio of the tri-color mane and profound love for roast chicken, was here for my very first day as a junior vet.

The sunlight broke through the window, painting strokes of gold upon my coat, and I remembered the fireflies of summer twilights. But that was a thought for another time, a distraction that wouldn’t assist in the delicate dance of diagnostics.

Scents of animal worry and antiseptic invaded my nostrils, a far cry from the wildflowers of my idyllic Pawsburg life. But here, under the florescent lighting, amongst the clatter of leashes and the symphony of barks, this was where new adventures would unfold.

My mentor, Dr. Barkley, a grey-snouted Lab with a limp that spoke of too many tales to tell, greeted me with a knowing nod. He was legend at Pyrenean Peak for rescuing a mountain St. Bernard twice his size. I fantasized about such heroics, to be woven into my secret tapestry of dreams.

“Woof-up, Rio,” Dr. Barkley barked, in the no-nonsense dialect of canines who’d seen it all.

I straightened my posture, shaking off any semblance of a shiver. Beagles and Boxers alike watched with a cocktail of expectation and respect as I trotted after him to meet our first patient, a Cavalier King Charles with eyes brimming with the drama of the real Grey’s, you know, human-style.

“Alright folks, what’s the emergency?” Dr. Barkley’s booming voice cut through the tension.

“Maggie ate a whole lemon pie from Pom’s Pies!” exclaimed a panicked poodle. “We thought she liked citrus, turns out NOT.”

My eyes went wide, remembering my own citrus betrayal, my lips instinctively curling back in distaste. Lemons were deceitful, but a whole pie? Poor Maggie.

I chimed in with what I hoped was a Mindy-Kaling grade quip, “Well, as long as she didn’t start with dessert – dietary faux-paw,” before swiftly addressing Maggie. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you purring like a kitten in no time.” Oh, Sir Whiskerton would’ve howled at that bit.

Hours slipped away as Maggie’s lemon plight resolved with none but the gentlest of hiccups, and we moved through the clinic cases with a sense of purpose that thrilled me down to my freshly manicured claws. But as the day drew to a close and the sun began to dip low, creating silhouettes of us heroes against the clinic wall, I realized how alive I felt in this place.

By the time the evening kissed the sky with its cool breath, I had wrangled a rogue round of tick attacks, negotiated neutrality with a nervous Newfie, and even deciphered the curious case of a Corgi’s hairball – clearly, cavorting too closely with the felines of Cavalier Cove.

In those gripping moments of care and camaraderie within the walls of Pawsburg’s prime puppy hospital, I found a new layer to my purpose. I even carved out a moment between the mayhem for a squeaky frisbee break – professionals need play too.

And soon, under the grand old oak where fireflies blink their enigmatic code, I’ll boast to Luna about the day’s theatrics, and she’ll laugh that infectious golden giggle.

Tonight, though, I’ll lie in my bed – a hero to some, a friend to many, a pet to one. A tri-colored Collie with stories to bark and dreams to chase. This is my anatomy, a pet’s life through laughter, lemons, and the love of the game.

The End.