Back in the day, like a lot of people, I was a big fan of “Cheers.” Except my “Cheers” wouldn’t be an overly bright, lowbrow sports bar . Even in my youth that seemed sad, depressing and creepy.

I envisioned a darker, more literary place filled with smart snarky people. You know, like the Algonquin except with who actually liked me, or at least pretended to.

Certainly during my years as a music journalist, when I spent most nights at clubs checking out bands, that there were places that sort of fit that description. (Anyone remember Club Lingerie? Rajis? Cafe Largo? Even The Coconut Teezer?) I was particularly popular when the bands playing were unsigned or the flavor of the week and they wanted me to write about them.

When I was a label publicist I was often swarmed by people as I walked into shows. Okay, those were usually journalists who wanted free drinks or extra plus ones. But still. They knew me and only occasionally mispronounced my name. My first name.

Things have changed. I rarely frequent clubs any more and if I do, no one gives a crap about me as long as I pay the cover .

But there are still two places where everyone knows my name: the small animal vet and the equine clinic.

Obviously I have way too many pets. That’s a given. So it shouldn’t be a surprise that when I walk into the small animal hospital at least three people greet me by name. They also know the names of all of my dogs. And the cat. And my Mom’s dog.

It’s the same story at the equine clinic. When I call about routine appointments there is a roll call of horses, both dead and alive. While I would really like a frequent user card, (after three vet calls, your fourth is free!), I do get some perks.

When I acquired David Letterman, the alpaca it became obvious he needed to be neutered. Now there aren’t a ton of vets that treat alpacas. They are considered “exotic” animals.

Still, I called the clinic to inquire if they would do it. There was a pause, because, well, they are an equine hospital. They decided to do it because, hey, it’s me. And I begged.

They lived to regret the favor. David screamed and carried on for the full three days he was there. Much like his namesake, he could be a bit of a jerk. He’s gone on to be part of the clinic’s legend. Whenever I’m introduced to someone new, they always add, “She had the alpaca.” Then everyone nods.

Currently I’m visiting a lot, because Faith temporarily lives there. She’s back in the stall where she was born four years ago. She’s waiting to have her foal which after 11 months of gestation, was due last week.

She is currently the size and shape of a hippopotamus and seems to be in no hurry to deliver. Helpful people keep telling me that 5% of mares can go a full year. Thanks.

The only thing that is certain is that she will deliver at the most inconvenient time possible, probably at 4 AM.

She and I have been waiting long enough that everyone I know asks me about the baby. Some of my friends have a betting pool going on. Yesterday was a big pick. Ooops. Try again.

Even when I speak to my mother the conversation goes like this:

“Is there a baby yet?”

“Nope.”

“Well call me when there is one.” Then she hangs up.

I’m beginning to take it all personally.

Faith has been there for a couple of weeks, so it’s no surprise that I know all of the many doctors, the numerous vet techs, even the new ones , the entire office staff (who are bless them, generous with their coffee) and the barn help.

Everyday when I walk into the clinic the first thing I hear is,

“Sharon!”

Apparently I’ve found my “Cheers.”

It’s not exactly the Algoquin, but my barn clothes would be inappropriate around Dorothy Parker.