Michael A. Obenski, DVM

Breaking through to Iva Granite-Head.

A case of worms and Mr. and Mrs. Panic.

Some clients seem to go through the Yellow Pages looking for a veterinarian who will answer the phone at 3 a.m. to handle or discuss a problem that easily could have waited for daylight. That's how you play the game of veterinarian roulette.

Meet practical joker Josh Kneeslapper, a man who claims to have tricked, outsmarted and sabotaged the veterinary profession successfully for four decades.

As you may recall from last month's column, my friend Arnie is America's foremost pioneer in the field of client categorization.

Was this kitten born without the right stuff? Of course not! Dr. Pursuit ... I mean you...No, I mean all of us...were spaying a tom cat.

It was during a visit to my friend Arnie's hospital that I learned of a fascinating new hobby that, strangely enough, is available only to veterinarians.

Recently, I had the opportunity to enjoy several thousand miles of our federal interstate highway system. So, I figured it would be a great time to try a fun experiment.

It happened just as I entered the exam room. Wham! I was hit with a brilliant and unexpected flash of light.

I am about to reveal one of the great truths about veterinary practice.

My receptionist had a certain look on her face. "The lady on Line 1 needs to talk to you. She says it's very important."

The natural history of mankind in general, and veterinary medicine in particular, may need to be rewritten. Arnie and I have uncovered dramatic new evidence indicating that the formal practice of veterinary medicine may be as old as the use of spoken language.

Pill bottles seem designed to keep the freshness in and the doctor out.

Anna ... thinks a person is obese if every bone in his or her skeleton is not prominently displayed.

I have heard some people say there is no such thing as a stupid question.

My secretary was apologetic but firm.

I could almost hear the "twang" when Blitz hit the end of his leash and it stopped him short. The snapping sound of his big mouth almost catching my arm followed immediately. Mrs. Whiteflag was quick to apologize.

Now, I've known Jim Panzee for years. You couldn't teach him to peel a banana.

My receptionist was choking, but there was no need for the Heimlich maneuver.

I was just about to begin a serious consultation with a jelly donut when my receptionist brought the news that Mrs. Frazzle was on the telephone. She sounded very upset. (So, what else is new?)

I was about halfway through my brilliant explanation of spinal disc disease when, suddenly, the exam room filled with the thrilling sounds of the William Tell Overture.

Mrs. Dizzy is one of my best clients. However, when you first meet her it doesn't take long to figure out that she doesn't have both oars in the water. Each and every office visit with her is a bit time-consuming because explanations must be simplified and then repeated several times. We don't mind. She's cooperative, loves her pets and, most important of all, pays her bills. (Everyone can't be a rocket scientist, you know.)

Sometimes this gift of prophecy seems like a curse.

Meanwhile, Honey Sweets growled, barked and snapped repeatedly at imaginary veterinarians.

It was Feb. 14, Valentine's Day. Because of a raging snowstorm, appointments were being cancelled left and right. With the slow schedule, I was entertaining thoughts of enjoying a second jelly doughnut. Unfortunately, a telephone call interrupted me.

Strange noises were coming from my examination room.

It took three of us to help Mr. Hamerswing bring his cats in from the car. That's because Porky and Jumbo were riding in their brand-new, homemade cat carrier.

One day last month, I made a stupid mistake: I looked at the appointment calendar first thing in the morning. As a general rule, I don't do that because it might cause me to read a name like the one I saw that day – one you remember for all the wrong reasons. I spent the next two hours suffering anticipation anxiety as I waited for a confrontation with Mr. Kenny B. Worthit.

Arnie is one of those people who believes he knows everything. What irritates me is that I think he may be right. In our 30-plus years of friendship, he has remained unfailingly one step ahead of me.

Over my four decades as a veterinarian, I have been privileged to meet and retain many fine clients. You know the type – those who seem more like close friends than a source of practice revenue. I feel a loyalty to those pet owners, and have a notion that the feeling is mutual.