Flea Surgeon, a five minute freewrite

Mr Dog, the surgeon, was due to see me at eight in the morning for a final assessment before my operation.

"You'll like him," April, the kindly nurse, said. "He looks a bit funny, but his heart's in the right place."

I nodded. At this point, I didn't care what anyone looked like. I just wanted my gall bladder out - it hurt!

Just after eight in the morning, the door opened and I looked up to find a strange creature entering.

"Hello," the creature said. "I'm Mr Dog. I'll be operating on you this morning."

"Errr," I spluttered.

"Don't worry about my appearance," the creature said. "I'm aware I look unusual. It turns out one of my unhappy patients was a witch and cursed me, transforming me into a giant flea! Don't worry, though! I can still hold a scalpel!"

My mouth was open and I didn't know what to say. I let the flea surgeon poke at me with his strange appendages and listened as he hummmmed and haaard.

"I think it will be a simple matter to take off your foot," he said.

...