I was walking Goblin the other night when we encountered a man wearing a leisure suit and carrying groceries. He was delighted to see my little Boston terrier and called her over to say hello. Goblin acted as if the man were her best friend until the moment he squatted down to pet her, at which point, she ignored him and practically jumped into the exposed bag of food. Horrified, I tried to pull her away, but the man laughed and said, “No, she’s perfect! She reminds me of my future ex-wife . . . acts all lovey dovey to get me in the mood and then goes for the wallet. The perfect woman, that’s what you got there. Good dog!”

At the vet’s office this morning, the news was inconclusive. The doctor definitely identified the problem area on Goblin’s abdomen, but it was too small to test effectively. We made an appointment for later in the month for another test and possibly surgery.

Rob and I, despite the potential health danger, were relieved by the experience. Goblin may or may not have cancer again, but she definitely did not transform into a snarling wolverine in the presence of this vet as she had the last one. We decided it was because this one was a woman and the last one was a Playgirl model, uh, I mean, a man.

Thank goodness for veterinarianesses.