By Thursday, Thomas had learned a few things about his new assistant. She arrived late but worked efficiently. She challenged his methods but deferred during actual procedures. She knew more than her credentials suggested but bristled at being told things she already knew. And she had very strong opinions about willow bark extract.

  Thomas could sense that his new assistant was touchy about the instructions he was giving, but he didn’t know the details of her training, and she had to learn his way of doing things. If she couldn’t tolerate that, well…

  A new challenge came with a cat exam later that day

  “I’m going to need him declawed,” the client, a burly red stallion named Firethorn, commented.

  Thomas gave him a piercing look, and there was a moment of uncomfortable silence. “I don’t declaw unless it’s medically necessary,” he said at long last. He noted an almost imperceptible lifting of Tabby’s eyebrows, or it might have been his imagination. “There are other… humane options to try,” he said carefully, “such as claw covers--”

  “My building manager says no claws, period,” Firethorn interjected, frowning. “Why can’t you just declaw? Dr. Martingale in Neighberry does it all the time.”

  “Dr. Martingale is--” A hack, Thomas wanted to say (his one encounter with the neighboring veterinarian had not made a favorable impression), but settled on, “--not a specialist in small animals. Declawing is not good for the animal.” Firethorn looked unconvinced, and Thomas continued, “It’s equivalent to having part of a hoof amputated, and can lead to chronic pain and motility issues. The procedure is rarely done in New Pony--only for therapeutic reasons.”

  “Well, maybe that’s where you should be,” Firethorn huffed. “If I’d known you were gonna be like that, I would have just gone to Martingale in the first place.”

  “Who is your building manager?” Thomas asked, hoping to placate him somehow. “Let me talk to them before you go to Dr. Martingale. Maybe they can be persuaded to adjust their policy.”

  “Name’s Bramble. He’s a stubborn old coot, so good luck with that,” Firethorn snorted. “But fine, do what you want. I can keep Simon at my sister’s for the rest of the week. But by Monday…”

  “I’ll be in touch,” Thomas promised.

  * * *

  Later that day, Tabby waited outside Thomas’ office door, debating whether to ask the questions her mind was brimming with, or to leave well enough alone. She didn’t really need to instigate more conflict between them, but…

  Unexpectedly, the door opened, and Tabby was forced to explain her presence when faced with Thomas’ inquiring glance.

  “Is there something you’d like to say?” Thomas asked, tilting his head as if that would help make sense of her.

  “No… yes!” Tabby burst out, then paused. Was she crazy for thinking that this big city transplant was someone who wouldn't talk down to her for asking questions, for trying to understand all sides of the issue? Rallying her spirits, she jumped in: “You’re not going to make any friends coming in here and putting down local customs.” She winced, bracing herself for a set-down. That had come out more adversarially than she had intended, but she hadn’t been able to think of a better opening.

  “Is this about the declawing?” Thomas said, frowning. She nodded mutely. “Why don’t you come sit down.” He ushered her in, and they resumed their positions from yesterday’s interview. His gaze was hard to read. “Well, I’m not going to just compromise my ethics if someone asks me to,” he stated firmly. “The animal’s welfare is my primary concern.”

  “Hmm,” said Tabby, picking up a pen from his desk and twirling it in her hoof. She settled into silence, but kept darting glances at him, considering her next move.

  “Is there anything else?” Thomas finally asked.

  “I know you consider us barbarians,” Tabby stated, “but we’re not as black-hearted as you would paint us.”

  “Not that. Just…” Thomas hesitated.

  “Ignorant? Misguided? Irresponsible?” Tabby suggested.

  “Well,” Thomas said, looking at her speculatively, “we know that claw removal causes irreversible damage and lifelong pain.”

  “But is the incident rate of pain greater than unexpected negative consequences in other surgeries?” Tabby said in a rush. “I’ve known many of Dr. Martingale’s patients who have been declawed, and I’ve never seen one of these supposed cases of chronic pain and lameness. Have you?”

  “Well, no,” Thomas admitted. “Like I said, the procedure is rarely done. But that doesn’t mean such cases don’t exist. And it’s a natural instinct to scratch; you can’t just take it away.”

  “Yes, well, reproduction is also quite a natural instinct, and we have no qualms in taking that away,” Tabby pointed out bluntly.

  “Those procedures lead to considerably higher quality of life, with small incidence of adverse effects,” Thomas said, standing his ground.

  “It’s a biological imperative of an animal to pass its genes on, and you’re not doing it any favors as far as it is concerned. Don’t disillusion yourself into thinking you are doing it for the animal,” Tabby continued, impassionedly. “Spaying and neutering are all about convenience for the owner, not the animal, same as declawing. If you are against one modification procedure, you should be against all. But that usually isn’t the case.” She gave him a challenging look.

  “I see the point you’re making,” Thomas conceded. “But--”

  “And,” Tabby forged on, unable to stop now, “what if it’s a choice of being provided for in a home, like Firethorn’s, and being sent to an over-crowded shelter, slated for euthanasia? Isn’t that quite a change in quality of life? I suppose you’ll say that humane euthanasia is kinder than a lifetime of pain. But what if there isn’t pain?”

  “You’ve given the topic more consideration than most,” Thomas admitted judiciously, “and I respect your line of reasoning… even if it doesn’t change my position.”

  “It’s hard to get answers without being condescended to,” Tabby said after a pause. “I’m treated as a monster just for asking. But when has being condescending ever changed anyone’s mind?”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “If you want to understand it more from my perspective, I’d recommend that you spend some time with comparative anatomy.” Thomas walked to a bookshelf and ran a hoof along the spines before selecting one. “Study this,” he instructed, “and we can discuss it.”

  “Claws are made of keratin, not bone, so it’s not a direct comparison,” Tabby insisted, but took the volume from him. She had half-believed that this conversation would lead to her early dismissal, but Thomas had retained a surprisingly respectful attitude. She didn't quite know what to make of him, but she felt a begrudging twinge of... something.

  * * *

  Thomas left her perusing the textbook and paced across the room to the window, gazing out. That had been a challenging discussion with a fresh viewpoint to consider, and he liked a challenge. Still, would it make it difficult to work together if they were diametrically opposed on such an issue?

  But these thoughts flew from Thomas’ mind when he caught sight of something outside his window. “What is that!” he exclaimed.

  “What?” Tabby asked, looking up from studying a diagram.

  “There’s some kind of wild beast prowling around outside,” Thomas said, watching it warily. “It looks dangerous.”

  “What kind of ‘wild beast’?” Tabby looked skeptical, but walked closer to the window.

  “Greenish, horns, fangs, spiked back…” Thomas listed its attributes.

  “Ohhhhhh,” Tabby said knowingly. “That’s just Othello.” Standing next to Thomas, she waved out the window with a wide grin and then went back to the book as if that had cleared everything up.

  Othello… he had heard that name somewhere recently… where? “Is he… dangerous?” Thomas asked tentatively.

  “Oh, Othello wouldn’t hurt a--” Tabby cut herself off. “Never mind, you should see what he does to rabbits,” she amended. “But he wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “Is he your... pet?” Thomas queried. Fairies, that was it. Othello had dealt with the fairies. The story from this morning suddenly took a more macabre spin.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that, exactly.” Tabby shrugged. “He is his own master. But he keeps an eye out for me. He’s just here to walk me home.”

  “That’s very conscientious of him,” Thomas said, but winced as the beast looked him in the eye and bared his fangs. “Uh… what is he, exactly?”

  “Don’t you know a hodag when you see one?” Tabby looked at Thomas in disbelief, and turned to walk out into the hallway.

  Thomas trailed along behind her, still not fully convinced that she wasn’t walking to her death, or at least a mauling. “I’ve never seen one in the flesh,” he admitted.

  Tabby opened the clinic’s back door, and the hodag bounded over, meeting her on the steps. “Who’s a good boy,” she cooed, scratching him behind the ears. Othello rumbled deeply.

  “I didn’t know they were so friendly.” Thomas still looked doubtful.

  “They’re not, usually,” Tabby said cheerfully.

  Thomas held out a hoof for the hodag to inspect. Othello sniffed it and snorted in disgust, shaking his horned head. Thomas drew back. “I don’t think he likes me.”

  “He does have discriminating tastes,” Tabby said knowingly. “He might warm up to you. But... he probably won’t.”

  That was encouraging. “How did you meet him?” Thomas asked.

  “I took him in as a pup after his parents were killed in a terrible accident,” she said matter-of-factly. She did not elaborate, but straightened up and faced Thomas. “Well, that’s all for today, isn’t it? Can I go?”

  “Sure...” Thomas didn’t think it would be wise to go up against the hodag. That wasn’t a fight he was going to tackle today. “See you tomorrow.”

  * * *

  “...so that’s why it’s the responsible thing to allow leniency for alternate claw control methods,” Thomas concluded his argument. It was the next day, and he had managed to catch Bramble on a phone call, “iffen it don’t take too long,” Bramble had said.

  “It ain’t illegal, is it?” Bramble snorted. “Can’t be that bad.”

  “Not here, I suppose. But, as I said...” Thomas sighed. All his carefully structured arguments, and that was the response?

  “Scratched up carpet and woodwork is too much hassle to repair, even with the security deposit. It’s not worth it,” Bramble said. “No, doc, I’m sorry, but my position stands. Now, I gotta get to work. Bye.”

  So that was that. Thomas stared at the phone thoughtfully as he replaced the receiver, contemplating the next steps to take with Firethorn.

  There was a sudden flash of light, and then Tabby was standing there in front of his desk. “Was that Bramble?” she immediately inquired.

  “Tabby! If you must teleport,” Thomas chastised her, “at least observe common courtesy and knock first!”

  “Sorry, I forgot,” Tabby said, but not sounding like she really cared. “So, what did he say?” She looked at him expectantly.

  “We had an interesting discussion,” Thomas said vaguely. “He has, uh, very strong convictions.”

  “He threw you out on your ear, didn’t he?” Tabby nodded knowingly. She did not verbally say I told you so, but her expression spoke volumes.

  “In a manner of speaking, yes,” Thomas admitted.

  “What will you tell Firethorn?” Tabby pressed.

  “Well, the truth,” Thomas said, “and he will have to accept that.”

  “You know…” Tabby said slowly, picking up a pen from the desk to fiddle with as was her wont, “...you do have more modern equipment than Dr. Martingale. If you did the operation, you’d know it was being done in the most efficacious way possible.”

  Thomas hesitated for only a fraction of a second, then shook his head. “No, I won’t do it. There’s no justification.” He had his own convictions.

  “It’s not the end of the world,” Tabby said, surprising him with her equanimity. “Just give Firethorn a free bag of cat food, and he’ll stop whining.”

  "That's bribery," Thomas said flatly.

  "That's customer service," Tabby corrected. "You stood your ground. Simon won’t lose his claws at your hooves. Firethorn gets something for his trouble."

  "I'm not going to reward someone for trying to pressure me into—"

  But she had already gone, teleported away in a flash of light.

  Thomas stood alone in his office, staring at the spot where she'd been.

  What had that even been about? Had she teleported in just to see if he'd caved? To offer genuinely practical advice? To test whether he'd compromise?

  He picked up the pen she'd been fidgeting with and set it back in its holder.

  Maybe all three.

  * * *

  A few days later, Thomas was leaning on the wall outside the exam room, looking over a chart while Tabby was checking in a patient. Having satisfied himself as to her experience, he had relaxed his micro-management and given her more lead.

  “I hear your boss got an earful from Bramble,” he overheard the client say to Tabby.

  Thomas groaned inwardly. Apparently that account was traveling through the local grapevine, and he wouldn’t live it down anytime soon.

  “They had some matters of business to discuss,” Tabby replied in a cool tone.

  “Well, not that I’m one to critique,” confided the other mare, “but it does seem a little forward of the doctor, if you ask me! He doesn’t know how we do things around here.”

  “Well, apparently no one from ‘around here’ was willing to step in and take care of our pets,” Tabby pointed out. “So he does have that going for him.”

  It was a subtle defense, but Thomas felt inordinately pleased that she wasn’t using the opportunity to vilify him behind his back. There would undoubtedly be more disagreements in their future, but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing, after all. He could live with that.