Del stood at the front counter of the Winga Veterinary Surgery, remonstrating with Dr Stringer, drawing curious glances from others in the waiting room.
‘You don’t need my details.’ Del was sick of repeating herself. ‘It’s not my dog.’
need‘Yes, I understand that,’ said the vet. ‘He’s emaciated – probably a long-term stray. But he does need urgent surgery.’
‘So?’
‘So, I’ve given him pain relief, but I can’t operate without someone taking responsibility for him. It’s a little unorthodox, but I was wondering . . . Would you be willing to?’
‘Would I be willing to what?’
‘Take responsibility for the dog.’
‘Can’t you just ring the council ranger?’
‘He’s too badly injured for the pound, and no RSPCA inspectors are available to collect him.’
‘That’s not my problem.’ Del wasn’t really lis
