Vet versus GP

My very anxious big sister collected me from school in place of my mother.
'Mummy's in hospital' she began, seeing my worried face she added quickly,
'but she's going to be fine....and by the way Rufus has had a bad fit'.

Actually our mother was pretty bad.  She was now conscious, but with a blinding headache and feeling very sick and dizzy. The doctors were baffled.  But I had a small thought that wouldn't go away.  Rufus had a bad fit - which hadn't happened for some time as he was pretty well controlled by his medication - provided he took it on time.  I thought back to breakfast.  Yes. I'd rolled up the pill in butter in the usual way, but in the rush to school I think I might have left it on the side of my plate, along with a unwanted piece of toast.  Surely my mother wouldn't have eaten it?  I whispered my fears to my sister.  She was beyond fury. She asked my mother about breakfast.  Limply my mother agreed that she has spread the lump of butter left on my plate on her toast, before covering it with a generous helping of marmelade.  She hadn't noticed anything strange - it had tasted as delicious as ever.  If the situation hadn't been so bad I would have suggested it as a way forward with Rufus

The vet was promptly called in.  Pompously and rather proud of his position as medical expert, he rocked backwards and forwards on his heels as he stood at the end of my mother's bed..  Indeed, if a human were to swallow a  Phenobarbitone designed for a dog it could have fatal consequences.  A doggy dose was huge.

My mother survived. But never again was I given the dubious responsibility of giving Rufus his tablets.