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Silly Human tricks
Veterinary school textbooks and classrooms present vast amounts of information about nutrition and diseases and the care and handling of all common species. Except for one. Humans. Those books don’t mention the variety of client personalities and lifestyles a vet might blunder across, in the course of an average workweek. Nope, the new grad is dropped off, on Planet Real World, without an instruction manual for working with the most unpredictable species of all, the patient’s owners. It’s strictly O.J.T. but it seems common sense to try not to piss too many people off as you do your job, especially the odder ones in the bunch.
To my mind, it’s a toss-up as to which of the two of us is more relieved as I drive down Bobby Ray’s driveway towards the road. The cherries must have lined up in that old boy’s internal slot windows about the same time as mine. He never calls me back to collect feed samples. The visit to pig holler is off the wall unique, an experience with a fifty million to one shot of ever materializing again, over my career, but please, don’t Crayola me in as disappointed at not hearing from the recluse again. I’m pleased there won’t be a second trip to his holler and am confident most of the week’s allotment of good luck was burnt through on that initial visit.
It’s bad Karma to waste nutritious manufacturing by-products. It’s instant Karma to anger a paranoid redneck, certain to be engaged in illegal activity like, say, operating a moonshine still, hid back in those woods behind that briar patch. The deft, linguistic agility cultivated whilst tap dancing around with an aggravated, eight hundred pound gorilla, without once setting it off by looking it in the eye, is priceless. The smooth people skills developed during this type of encounter are valuable. Their true worth later in life in a variety of business and social situations is not to be underestimated. I’ve always wondered though. Did those drunken pigs wake up the next day with hangovers?
Why do I prefer horses and cows over pets?
Some days sure suck more than others.
“You have to understand before we proceed. Betsy is very sick. Her liver and her kidneys aren’t working like they should. The infection is poisoning her system.” I sighed before continuing. “Odds are she won’t survive a surgery to remove it.”
“But she’s only six years old,” wailed Charlene, the woman in front of me.
The couple were ready to collapse. Their emotions filled the room, a cloying, invisible fog. I could think of at least twenty-two other places I’d rather be. Anywhere would have done as long as it meant not having to deal with the crushing grief.
It wasn’t promising. Their golden retriever had slowly lost her energy and appetite. Two days ago, the vomiting began. Case history, the physical exam and all blood work pointed to one thing. Pyometra, a seething bacterial infection, trapped inside Betsy’s uterus for months, was leaking its toxins into the dog’s bloodstream. Her flame was beginning to flicker as multiple body organs were overwhelmed by the toxic brew.
I’d poured the facts of the case through Doctor McKinnon’s experienced filter of wisdom, fingers crossed, hoping I was wrong. Never had I been as sorry to be right. Charlene’s husband Sonny had purchased Betsy as a floppy bundle of ten week old fur for his wife, a month after they were told they were infertile, would likely never be able to conceive a child of their own. And they hadn’t. The loving creature landed in her heart with its first bound across the threshold, making itself right at home. Sonny was close behind. My grim diagnosis was a vicious jab to their emotional body.
The roundhouse knockout punch followed forty five minutes later when poor Betsy died on the surgery table, even with a double team by both doctors. Pan in on standard grief scene. Doctors, vet tech and clients doing group hug. Tears all around, sniffle and pass the Kleenex please. Sorry to disappoint but there can’t be a happy ending every time. I was devastated.
This sucks hind tit. How do medical doctors do it? How do you approach someone and tell them a loved one has died or is as good as dead? I mean, this is a dog and its humans. I met them four hours ago for Christ’s sake and this is still tough. Damn it. I’m not going to let it zing me.
I attempted the rationalization route around the pain.
Don’t be childish. Thank goodness at least, it’s just a dog.
My side step didn’t work and their grief smacked into me.
Not to Charlene it isn’t. Betsy is her beloved, surrogate child. Damn, this sucks.
The term bedside manner is well understood as it relates to human medicine. Physicians are fortunate in that regard. With the exception of pediatricians, most medical doctors deal with only the patient’s personality but, to be most effective, a veterinarian must develop rapport with the patient and the patient’s owner.
The bond between pets and their humans is a unique relationship. People are willing to give their love to their pets without the hesitation that can exist in human to human relationships. I’m a veterinarian, not a behavioral psychologist, but my take on that is this. It’s a trust issue. People bond with their animals because the fear of rejection often present in a close, person to person situation is nonexistent. People communicate in an honest direct way with their pet transferring far more trust than they would to other humans. Aware, on a subconscious level at least, the animal can never tell their secrets.
Because of this freedom from the fear of betrayal, a tremendous love bond can develop between owner and pet. It’s apparent people sometimes transfer human qualities over to their pets. In turn, the animals seem to mimic some human emotions. I’m a skeptic about such anthropomorphizing, but it’s not my intent to outrage or insult the large group of people who believe animals have emotions and maybe souls. It could be the sum total of my life experiences prevents me from grasping the concept. My stance doesn’t mean animal emotions aren’t real. It means I choose not to participate. The potential for pain is more than I care to deal with. Because of this possible shortcoming, I’m competent but not a warm natural as a companion animal veterinarian. I’m more comfortable working with the sturdy bovine and the neurotic horse. In their world the pain inflicted by terminal disease or accidents is financial rather than emotional. Unless women and horses are both involved. Women tend to invest a lot of emotions into their horses. Such diversification of devotion doesn’t always sit well with the two legged males in their lives. Some of the hyper jealous assholes go to extremes to display their displeasure.