I answered the phone this morning prepared to hear my mom ask me to bring milk for Bethany (yes, we still have frozen breast milk stored up). It wasn't my mom. It was Debbie, a friend who I work in the same building with. She was asking for my husband. I was confused. Ryan is their veterinarian but why would she call him rather than call the clinic and let it transfer? I heard a few bits of the conversation but what I found worth of sharing was when he said "find the cat, kill the cat, cut its head off, bring it to the clinic and we'll send it in". Having been around him long enough and familiar with different veterinary issues, I knew that meant an issue of rabies.
My poor friend was asleep at 4am when she heard glass crashing to the floor and her son screaming. She thought someone was in the house. No, it was a farm cat that managed to get inside. In the process it attacked Matthew and bit him multiple times drawing quite a bit of blood. Debbie wrapped up his wounds and sent him off to work. My guess is that some time today Matthew showed up at the clinic with the head of a dead cat!
How's that for a fun story from the the countryside?