Waiting at the vet’s yesterday with my cat Tikva. A woman comes in with a huge, shaggy dog.
“Oh, wow, she’s beautiful. What kind of dog is she?”
“A Bernese Mountain dog.”
“What’s her name?”
The woman has barely finished replying when another woman walks in with a huge, shaggy, near-identical dog. I do a double-take. Yes, it’s another Bernese Mountain dog.
Her name turns out to be Bailey.
The respective owners of Bailey and Bailey sit down next to each other and start talking. The conversation turns to “So where did you get your Bernese?” Because, see, I went down to Pennsylvania and there was this Amish dog breeder, and etcetera and etcetera…
The other woman listens to this story, and says, “I think I got my dog from the same place!” “It had [the thing] and [the thing] and [the other thing, right]?” “Yes! And there was [the thing]!”
I tune out most of their conversation, focused on my own anxiety. But I do hear Woman #1 say that her Bailey is here for a torn ACL.
“Tikva Stapes?” calls the vet. I get up to leave.
“Are you kidding me?” Woman #2 is sputtering as I walk out of the waiting room. “Mine tore her ACL, too!”