Vet à Paris

Years ago, I sat in the vet's office with jaw dropped and glazed eyes. She spoke such rapid, provencal French I could not follow. "I just want to take my dog home," I kept thinking. Visit after visit, I cringed as my money fell from my wallet to her pocket, and Tequila acquired passport and paperwork and further instructions.

I can't say the vet in the south of France was the best experience of my life with Tequila. Naturally, I was therefore hesitant to visit the vet in Paris.

I knew that even though my French is better than it was four years ago, an English-speaking vet would make the whole flying-a-dog thing much easier. So I consulted the online forum that frequently saves my life and learned that it is illegal to publish which vets are English speaking in France. Because the French hate making my life easy.

Alas, I wondered the streets of Paris looking for a vet close to my house and found two or three within a reasonable distance. On the morning walk yesterday, I decided to just do it. I hadn't showered, I was still wearing a pajama shirt, and Tequila is in desperate need of a bath herself. But we needed to see the doctor if we were going to get her home.

I marched in expecting an appointment weeks away. "How about tomorrow?" the receptionist asked in French. "Mais bien sur!"

"Vous êtes américaine?" she asked when I told her I needed the paperwork for her to travel to Boston. I told her yes, and she said en français, "You will be happy. The vet tomorrow is anglophone."

Lucky guess.

"She's such a happy dog," the vet kept saying as he gave her shots and drew up her paperwork. I looked at my pup with glowing eyes. Someone in India called me "gypsy lady" from time to time and it made me smile; I liked that I identity. Tequila had been drawn into it too. In our years together, she had never spent more than 9 months in the same location.

I asked the vet what he thought of this. "Look at her," he replied. "She's a really happy dog. I think whatever you're doing, you're doing it right. She seems to like the bohemian life too."

I smiled at Tequila Rose. "Ok, Babe," I asked. It was only fair she gets to participate too. "Where we going next?"

Ah, if only she could speak.