The vet scanned Charlie’s chip and frowned.

“That can’t be right. It says he was chipped in 1989. That would make him 36!”

“Few years off.” I smiled.

“Yeah, maybe. When was he born?” The vet asked curiously.

I thought about it. “I think sometime around 1830, but I can’t be sure.”

The vet laughed, clicking at her keyboard.

“He was my great - great -great -great - great - … great? Grandfathers. Passed down ever since.”

“I’m sure.” The vet nodded with a wide smile.

“He looks great for being 194, if I got my math right. Look, here he is…”

She went a bit pale. “Excuse me.”

So Charlie and I were left in the small examination room as she left quickly.

When she returned, it was with a big folder and a older vet wearing a bow tie.

“Ah, you must be Mr. Jenkins. I remember your mother, when she would take Charlie here in for check ups when I first started. Before computers, you understand. I compiled a folder that has yet to be digitised.”

The younger vet flipped through the file.

“I guess you were right. He was bought over from South America in 1845. There’s a newspaper clipping here. It doesn’t say his breed, through.”

“I’m not too sure myself. He seems to like raw meat and mangoes.” I replied as the older vet pulled out his most recent records.

“Hmm. Anyway, it looks like it’s his yearly vaccinations. Does he have any issues that are worrying you?” Asked the younger vet.

“Well, he has been drinking goats blood a lot…”