Read Online Bad Hair Day 2 - Hair Raiser by Nancy J. Cohen - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nancy J. Cohen
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collection?"
"Not today, thanks. Moss, let's go." Grabbing the old man's elbow, she turned away and stumbled down the steps. When she heard the door close behind them, she muttered, "Where did he come from -- the zoo?"
Moss grinned, revealing a row of uneven crowned teeth. "Works as a dog groomer. You'd better keep a close eye on your pooch."
"Dear Lord." Marla shuddered at the thought of her precious pet in that man's clutches. "Speaking of dogs, I've got to take Spooks for his shots. How is Emma doing today?" His wife had spent the afternoon at Macy's yesterday, then complained about her legs aching.
"She's well enough to meet her bridge group for lunch."
"Say hello for me, will you? And Moss" -- she touched his arm -- "if you see that blue car again, let me know."
* * * *
Walking into the vet's office always produced a maelstrom of smells and sounds. As a chorus of barking and high-pitched yelps assaulted her ears, Marla approached the front desk. A friendly golden retriever leapt at her, bouncing into her leg. She jumped back, tugging Spooks away on his leash. Animals were such close analogies to humans, she thought, keeping a wary eye on the large dog. Golden's overeagerness to greet new arrivals reminded her of car salesmen who wait in parking lots slobbering as prospective customers drive by. If you actually stop, they hound you to make a sale. Worse is the owner who allows the obnoxious behavior, like this guy who let his pet's leash trail on the floor.
Careful to keep Spooks from the larger animal's path, she gave their names to the receptionist. Sniffing, she wrinkled her nose. A strong pet odor tainted the air. Doubtless, the staff members were immune, just as she was used to the chemical scents from her salon.
Eager to complete her business, she was glad when a uniformed tech arrived to lead them into an examining room. Scooping Spooks into her arms, she cuddled his trembling body.
"Poor baby," she murmured. "This won't take long. You'll be okay." Her fingers stroked his soft coat of creamy hair while she examined the tan-and-gray squares designed in geometric swirls on the linoleum floor. Looking as though it had seen better days, the linoleum continued halfway up the walls. Splash guard against pet accidents, she presumed.
Resigned to a long wait, she sank onto a built-in bench against the wall. Its Formica surface was as cold and hard as the examining table in the center of the room. Her gaze roamed to the wall hangings, a color diagram displaying the anatomy of a canine eye and a notice about rabies vaccinations. Spooks, held in her arms, quivered as though he knew what was coming.
A folding door that led to the staff area in the rear creaked open, and a white-coated doctor emerged. Since it was a group practice, Marla never knew which veterinarian she'd be assigned. A perky redhead who appeared young enough to be a recent college graduate washed her hands at a sink unit and then turned to face them.
"How are we this morning?" the doctor asked brightly.
_We are anxious to be out of here,_ Marla felt like saying. Why did medical personnel always insist on using that royal pronoun? Annoyed by doctors who didn't address her directly, she'd developed her own theory about their rationale. Perhaps it helped them maintain distance from their patients. After all, they were taught in medical school not to get emotionally involved. Inquiring about how _you_ are feeling might imply that they really cared.
"Spooks is a little nervous," Marla understated, lifting him onto the examining table.
"Well, this won't take long." The vet turned away to prepare a couple of syringes. Marla's gaze fell upon a rectangular red plastic container on the counter. It had a transparent cover and a sticker with the international biohazard waste symbol.
"What goes into that box?" she asked the veterinarian, her interest aroused. Maybe she could learn something about medical waste while she was here.
The doctor
"Not today, thanks. Moss, let's go." Grabbing the old man's elbow, she turned away and stumbled down the steps. When she heard the door close behind them, she muttered, "Where did he come from -- the zoo?"
Moss grinned, revealing a row of uneven crowned teeth. "Works as a dog groomer. You'd better keep a close eye on your pooch."
"Dear Lord." Marla shuddered at the thought of her precious pet in that man's clutches. "Speaking of dogs, I've got to take Spooks for his shots. How is Emma doing today?" His wife had spent the afternoon at Macy's yesterday, then complained about her legs aching.
"She's well enough to meet her bridge group for lunch."
"Say hello for me, will you? And Moss" -- she touched his arm -- "if you see that blue car again, let me know."
* * * *
Walking into the vet's office always produced a maelstrom of smells and sounds. As a chorus of barking and high-pitched yelps assaulted her ears, Marla approached the front desk. A friendly golden retriever leapt at her, bouncing into her leg. She jumped back, tugging Spooks away on his leash. Animals were such close analogies to humans, she thought, keeping a wary eye on the large dog. Golden's overeagerness to greet new arrivals reminded her of car salesmen who wait in parking lots slobbering as prospective customers drive by. If you actually stop, they hound you to make a sale. Worse is the owner who allows the obnoxious behavior, like this guy who let his pet's leash trail on the floor.
Careful to keep Spooks from the larger animal's path, she gave their names to the receptionist. Sniffing, she wrinkled her nose. A strong pet odor tainted the air. Doubtless, the staff members were immune, just as she was used to the chemical scents from her salon.
Eager to complete her business, she was glad when a uniformed tech arrived to lead them into an examining room. Scooping Spooks into her arms, she cuddled his trembling body.
"Poor baby," she murmured. "This won't take long. You'll be okay." Her fingers stroked his soft coat of creamy hair while she examined the tan-and-gray squares designed in geometric swirls on the linoleum floor. Looking as though it had seen better days, the linoleum continued halfway up the walls. Splash guard against pet accidents, she presumed.
Resigned to a long wait, she sank onto a built-in bench against the wall. Its Formica surface was as cold and hard as the examining table in the center of the room. Her gaze roamed to the wall hangings, a color diagram displaying the anatomy of a canine eye and a notice about rabies vaccinations. Spooks, held in her arms, quivered as though he knew what was coming.
A folding door that led to the staff area in the rear creaked open, and a white-coated doctor emerged. Since it was a group practice, Marla never knew which veterinarian she'd be assigned. A perky redhead who appeared young enough to be a recent college graduate washed her hands at a sink unit and then turned to face them.
"How are we this morning?" the doctor asked brightly.
_We are anxious to be out of here,_ Marla felt like saying. Why did medical personnel always insist on using that royal pronoun? Annoyed by doctors who didn't address her directly, she'd developed her own theory about their rationale. Perhaps it helped them maintain distance from their patients. After all, they were taught in medical school not to get emotionally involved. Inquiring about how _you_ are feeling might imply that they really cared.
"Spooks is a little nervous," Marla understated, lifting him onto the examining table.
"Well, this won't take long." The vet turned away to prepare a couple of syringes. Marla's gaze fell upon a rectangular red plastic container on the counter. It had a transparent cover and a sticker with the international biohazard waste symbol.
"What goes into that box?" she asked the veterinarian, her interest aroused. Maybe she could learn something about medical waste while she was here.
The doctor
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