The pink hand-written envelope had my name  on it and the  official stamp of the  North Western Veterinary clinic. 

“ Why would the vet be writing me?” I wondered as I opened the envelope.  Then I figured it was probably a second receipt for services rendered 2 weeks before, when my husband and I found our doe-eyed pompek, Luigi, lying still and prostrate in our driveway and rushed  him to the clinic.

I was wrong about the contents of the envelope. It contained a card. 

“ Please accept my condolences on the death of Luigi,” it read.  “You must miss him very much. God Bless.”

It was signed by  the same veterinarian who I had called frantically at 10 p.m.  asking if the St James based clinic  was opened. It was the same vet  who left her home immediately on getting my call and  who administered shots, IV and urgent medical attention. 

She understood too that my dog was an  integral part of our family and  was loved and cared for as all family pets should be. But she was also realistic. When she told me that Luigi may not make it she understood  when I declared that if that was the case  then he should pass in his familiar environment surrounded by love.  It was she  who tucked Luigi into the back seat of the car next to me with with needles  and  IV drips.

As I read the card, I thought, 'Wow!' 

Service should never be impersonal and faceless. It should matter, even if the end result as in my and Luigi’s case was not favourable. 

People will pay for personalised and meaningful interaction. They  pay for a feel good experience. They will pay for  sympathetic words   on an unexpected, pink hand-written envelope with words that mean, “I care."  

 They will pay for 'Wow'.