This story was told to me by a solemn and penitent vet I met outside the confessional on the occasion of my first confession following my recent conversion to Roman Catholicism. We had plenty of time to chat as the priest had suddenly said he was going to have a break in the middle of hearing my furtively whispered fifty years worth collection of little peccadilloes and was going for an aspirin and to lie down for half an hour. Strange, you would have thought he would have heard that stuff before but he said he had not in rather a sharp way. Anyway be that as it may, on with the story, though it is told in the first person I did not happen to me, oh no indeed not Dear Readers ...
A great many years ago I did the odd locum for a fine ginger haired practitioner in Glasgow, lets call him " Mac ". Mac was from a devoutley religious family background and may well have been one of the few Roman Catholic vets in the area at that time, this was apparent as there were often priest and sometimes nuns in the waiting room with their pets. One day he was called to house visit to treat a dog belonging to a closed order of nuns and he decided to take me along for the ride, I was glad of this as I was curious to see the inside of a convent, this would be a new experience for me.
On the way I asked Mac what the problem was with the dog and he told me it was some form of skin irritation, " Should be easy to sort out " he said. Presently we arrived at the convent which was a large imposing sandstone building set in its own grounds with large gates. We were met by a personage of no less than the Mother Superior flanked by two lesser nuns, they all seemed very small to me, about five feet in height, and very old, perhaps in their seventies and curiously they all had a gray skin complexion perhaps caused by staying indoors this being a closed order of nuns. Mother Superior graciously shook hands with us and flanked by her cohorts led us through a veritable maze of corridors to where the convent dog was waiting ...
The convent dog turned out to be a large and cheeky looking Glasgow mongrel who on our arrival proceeded to mount the table leg in a fervour of sexual excitement, " There " said the Mother Superior " See how itchy he must be, look how he scratches his tummy ", this sentiment was echoed in stereo by the two lesser nuns, no doubt due to their years of isolation these ladies had no idea what was truly going on. I looked at Mac, how was he going to explain this to the nuns? He was at this point with some difficulty bravely managing control a desire to broadly grin as indeed I was myself, probably as an attempt at self control he decided to try and change the subject by asking the Mother superior what was the dog's name, " Spunky " came the reply. At this information I am sad to report we could not control ourselves and fell about uncontrollably in gasping fits of almost controlled laughter for some minutes watched gravely by the uncomprehending diminutive gray nuns.
Eventually Mac regained his composure and asked the Mother Superior why the dog was so named, " It showed such spirit " she said in chasing away a fox at the chicken coop one night. Mac chickened out by telling them that if the dog was neutered the skin condition would go away and promised to phone back and make the arrangements. The nuns watched us leave still perplexed by our behaviour, clearly they had been in the company of two mad men. In the car Mac said to me " Best flipping name for that dog, how could I have explained to them what was really going on? " and continued to chortle for some time, at least I think it was flipping he said, it must have been because Mac was a gentleman and never swore.
Footnote : British reader will see what was funny here without any explanation, reader elsewhere in the world may need to refer to this link which defines the word spunk in its formal and colloquial use in the United Kingdom : LINK
Scott Nimmo
