As far as you know, there haven't yet been any cases of the Ebola virus in Eastern Massachusetts. Before you get the chance to take off your raincoat and arrange your appointment cards on the counter, Mrs. Johnson arrives with Leroy, her extra large cat squeezed into his extra small carrier. She sets the crate down gingerly and bolts for the door, telling you she's already late for work. Next comes Mrs. Obermeyer with Clyde, her Airedale who stops to relieve himself on the welcome mat by your door. Here we go, you think glumly.
Nobody walks their dog on a rainy day.
You make a beeline to the back room to fetch the disinfectant and the paper towels. Now here comes Helen Higginbottom, a lonely retiree and Pomeranian owner with her purse clutched tightly to her breast as if a mugger might be lurking behind the rawhide display. You hate to call this woman cheap but every time she opens that pocketbook, moths fly out. Like a jeweler examining a diamond for flaws, she squints at each chew stick, each all natural biscuit. They're two cents cheaper at that new Woofer's Warehouse down the street.