Heaven Is A Deal by Michael Gerber

Griselda was firm on one point. “Whatever we do, they can’t remember,” she said. “Priscilla will never let me forget it.”

I stewed and prayed and asked for guidance, and as always, something came to me. I told you earlier that I’m a volunteer dentist. What that means is, if someone in the community has a dental emergency outside of regular dentist’s hours—in the middle of the night, say, or Easter—a couple of us show up at their house and do the job. Big city people find this quaint, so I’ve learned not to mention it. But when you live two hours from the nearest oral surgeon, it makes a heap of sense. And people are very forgiving if you give them enough nitrous oxide.

Anyway, there was a guy I knew, a fellow volunteer dentist, named Bob Gunderson, who worked nine-to-five as a vet. I know he had laughing gas, because last New Year’s, a bunch of us had gone to his house and…well, I don’t really remember what happened, but it sure was fun! (I think.)

Bob’s a member of my church, so when I called and explained what we were trying to do, he wasn’t only willing to help, he insisted. That’s just how small-town folks are. If you have to plow a field, or fix a boiler, or sedate a preschooler up to but not past the point of asphyxiation, people are there for you. You keep your bright lights and big city; I’ll take that kind of people any day of the week.

 •     •     • The trip to the vet was uneventful—I told Philip that we were going to see some penguins. God would forgive the little white lie; after all, I was doing this all for Him.

And don’t get the wrong idea when I say “vet.” Bob used to treat people. He’d been a darned fine dentist for fifteen years, then some snoop from the Government caught him giving Vicodin to the local high school football team. Sure, it was illegal, but how else was the team going to get to State? The star quarterback’s knee was practically bone-on-bone! They came to Bob, Bob did the Christian thing—and the government punished him for it. We all prayed for him to get his license back, and God answered our prayers by making him a vet.

“Hiya cowboy,” Bob said, slapping Phil’s narrow little back. “Which horse did you take tonight, the palomino or Old Paint?”