Fancy a good chat? Head for your vet's waiting room | Steve Canavan

Out in the countryside, for example.

For that’s where ramblers on a lonely fell will, without fail, always stop to have a cheery exchange with any walker they happen upon.

The standard conversation will go something like this:

‘Lovely day for it. Where are you heading?’

‘Lower Snodgrass.’

‘Parked at Blackrabbit Head then have you? Yes, thought so. I'm doing the circular walk from Damp Bottom.’

‘Are they Berghaus GTX211 trousers? Very nice.’

‘Ok, good to talk to you, have a nice day.’

Bus drivers always wave at one another as their vehicles pass, so too Eddie Stobart truckers on the motorway.

And this week I've discovered another friendly little club - the waiting room at the vets...

I took Bobby Canavan – our cat, not my second cousin from Doncaster – to have some staples removed from her belly.

Why did she have staples in her belly, I hear you ask?

Because she had been pounced upon by another, clearly far stronger animal.

This is not the first time she has come off second-best in a scrap.

I clearly have a wimp for a pet and, as a result, have signed her up for a month’s membership at a nearby gym and started her on a course of steroids.

‘Could have been another cat or it might have been a fox,’ said the vet, as he prodded Bobby’s wound.

A rather annoyed Bobby then attempted to take his right hand off at the wrist using a lethal combination of teeth and claws.

‘Fiesty one isn't she?’ remarked the vet.

I then found myself apologising for the behaviour of my animal and feeling very much like a parent who has discovered the child they thought was angelic and sweet is actually a vicious, bloodthirsty bully.

But I digress.

The real revelation during this trip was the 15 minutes I spent in the waiting room prior to Bobby being seen.

The place was empty when I arrived.

I sat, placing Bobby – who was inside his cat carrier making angry noises (as I would too had I been whipped off the settee where I was lying on my back enjoying a deep sleep and shoved headfirst into a tiny plastic cage) – on the floor beside me.

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A moment later a middle-aged woman entered with a small spaniel on one of those extendable leads.

As she waited to be seen at the counter, she either didn't notice or, more likely, didn't care that her dog had wandered across to where I was sitting and was showing an uncomfortable amount of interest in my left groin.

She eventually turned around and saw her canine attempting to sexually assault me.

She called out, ‘Ooo Tanya, I hope you're not being a nuisance’ before I'd even had time to remark, 'yes she bloody well is’.

Tanya's owner turned back to speak to the receptionist.

Eventually she came over and sat down.

And then, for reasons unknown, began to tell me Tanya's life story.

‘Six months old and a bag of bones when we got her.

‘Barbara, that's my sister, found her at the back of the school.

‘She just sat there shivering and whimpering, making this dreadful high-pitched noise.

‘No collar. She'd just been left there. Left there. What kind of person would do that?'

I smiled politely and made the right noises while, never one to be judgmental, privately dismissed this lady as insane.

But then, blow me, over walked a fella with another dog.

He sat between the pair of us and announced: ‘Tanya did you say? This is Billy.

‘Come to have your back leg looked at haven't you Billy.’

Tanya and Billy's parents got on like a house on fire.

They exchanged various anecdotes about their dogs (‘do you know, one time Billy got his head stuck in the shower cubicle. The shower cubicle! Can you believe it?’ … it really was hilarious stuff), and were possibly on the verge of swapping numbers and embarking on a vigorous and very physical long-term relationship when a young lad and girl, holding a cat carrier, entered the building and took their seats.

There was silence.

At last.

Then, from the lad who'd just entered: ‘What lovely dogs.

‘I used to have dogs when I was younger.

‘Got my first in 1993, he was called Dougal...’ and off they all went again.

Now I am more sociable than most and love a good natter but I have to admit it was a blessed relief when the receptionist shouted Bobby’s name and I was able to leave the merry little group for the sanctuary of the vet's room.

The moral of this tale is this…

If you are feeling lonely and want someone to talk to, buy an animal and head to the vets – it's the perfect place to make friends, even if you weren't planning to.

A message from the editor, Mark Waldron.

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