Client taxonomy: Strange new varieties of Soursa income

My friend Arnie and I have been categorizing veterinary clients (Soursa income) based on behavioral characteristics. However, we cannot take all the credit for these advances in pet-owner taxonomy. New varieties are discovered every day by keen-eyed practitioners. This month, I'd like to share some of their letters to me.

(ILLUSTRATION: RYAN OSTRANDER)

Dear Dr. Obenski:

I recently noticed a new client type — the pet-care hypocrite. He came to my office accompanied by a skinny, intact, unvaccinated, flea-bitten mongrel with a maggot-infested hot spot. The condition had been going on for three weeks, and it wasn't getting any better. "I believe if you're gonna have a pet," he told me, "you oughta take good care of him."

Perhaps we should name this sub-species Attitudus absurdum.

I changed this doctor's original idea for a name. It involved an end product of bovine digestion.

The next letter comes from a receptionist at a veterinary hospital in California. She described an encounter with Whoos-dogzit dystime.

Dear Dr. Obenski:

The other day, Mr. His-name came in to get a tapeworm pill for his dog, Pretty Boy. After a futile search for the file, we had to ask if the dog had any other name. He began lecturing us on our incompetence and poor record management. Apparently, the last time his girlfriend, Ms. Her-name, was in, we couldn't locate the file either. Under Ms. Her-name, we found Pretty Boy's temporary file that we made up when she was here. After we gave him the medicine, Mr. His-name inquired as to when vaccinations would be due.

"He was here in September," he said.

Unfortunately, our temporary record showed April as the last appointment. We pulled all of the files under the names His-name and Her-name.

"Could it have been your dog, Long-gone, you brought in?"

"No, he's been dead for eight months."

"How about Sir Poopsalot?"

"No, we gave him away."

"Well, how about New-name?"

"That's who we're talking about. That was Pretty Boy before we changed his name."

By comparing the records of Pretty Boy Her-name, New-name His-name and New-name Her-name, we traced the dog's history for two years. We explained the problem, but all we got for our trouble was another lecture.

"If the doctor wasn't such a tightwad, he'd hire better secretaries to keep track of things."

Lastly, I'd like to share a letter from a colleague in Ohio. He ran into an impulsive time consumer: Domea favor.

Dear Dr. Obenski:

It was the hottest day of the summer. The air conditioner had been tripping circuit breakers for three days, and the service man wasn't returning our calls. The lights were out in two of the exam rooms, so we had extension cords running along the floors. At one point, I was so busy I would have needed to schedule an appointment just to talk to myself. Then, right in the middle of what should have been a routine booster vaccination office call, Mona Synaptic came up with a brilliant idea.

"Doctor, I just thought of something. My new camera is out in the car. Let's get some pictures of you giving the shots."

She ran to the car before I could stop her. After that, she insisted on several different poses. Then came the flash. The pooch hit the roof. From that moment on, he was uncontrollable. It took three technicians to hold him for the injection. He urinated and defecated in four places, two of which were not my shoes.

Following the fight, Mona had another idea. "Doctor, as long as we're here, do you suppose we could trim his nails?"

I politely refused.

Dr. Obenski owns Allentown Clinic for Cats in Allentown, Pa.

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