The Secrets Pets Bring Us

 The hidden world.

The best part of the job. Hands down.

I was always trying to get there. That other place. The place just on the other side of the fence. The end of the rainbow along the road I hadn't yet gone down. The woods on the other side of ours. Another state maybe? What about a country? I suppose I should start practicing their language now? You know just so I could find the loo should the need arise.

I was that kid. The kid not settled on here and now. There was no value in it; The present. This place I am already. It isn't a terribly detrimental character trait for a kid, but, these kids should try to grow out of it for fear of being trapped in 'never good-enough-land'. No one wants to grow old feeling like a foreigner. A nomad without a home to call your own. This feeling of not belonging in a world already full of coldness.

Frippie. Our morning wake up ritual.

But reality is that I was always this kid. I keep, and always have kept her alive inside of me. Albeit quiet. No one wants to build a relationship with a gypsy. 

Stealing a kiss before surgery. Maybe after too?

Well, almost no one. For me, then, now, always, the companions who left me feeling grounded, belonging, were just my animals. Named or not, they kept me at a constant. They provided the only place that I wasn't feeling alone.

I never let her grow up into any other kid. The kid who had relationships so deep that you grow deep like the roots of a Sequoia. Strong, formidable, permanent, present. It was never that I didn't value fortitude, strength, and mightiness, it was that I could never decide if here was where I belonged. If the exchange for staying-a-while was worth the potential of not being able to go again. What if staying here meant I had to forego the greener grass elsewhere? Was I ever ready to take such a gamble? 

Looking back I don't know why I was so unsettled. It wasn't so much the loss, or absence of what I didn't have, it was a longing for always something more. More in the way of experiences, places, people and all of the stories that they brought. It was the stories. Making them, finding them, living them and amassing them. More in the way of options, freedoms, liberty, and self-reliance.

Elvis. One of the 54 cats we helped rehome from a hoarding case.
He was brought to us with 4 littermates, 3 had died over the weekend the owner was away.
The previous owner had no idea how many cats she had, or how many were spayed/neutered and she begged us to allow her to keep him, "because he was the healthiest." He would have died like his siblings had he not been taken away. We spent months trying to keep them all alive. We did. He was here to be neutered marking the end of his kitten struggle saga. After this litter we realized that the problem was far bigger than our clinic could manage and we called Animal Control. They have removed dozens of additional cats from her property.

There were very few constants in this life of meandering. There was a dream, a goal, and, a constant companion beside me. Those pets were my guide as much as they were my inspiration to keep moving forward. It was the pets. As a young girl who only wanted to be surrounded by animals all pets held a place of great importance, but very specifically, my pets were of paramount importance. They were my constant. My grounding, the reason for understanding who I was and wanted to become. The sense of belonging in this world I never fit into that provided meaning and substance. They were everything in my world that I saw as just passing by.

My parents, more accurately, my mother, decided to leave Long Island, New York when I was very young. They moved to the country for all of the imaginary wonders and miracles that they believed a country life afforded, and were not attainable in the city. Grass, trees, land to get lost in, and peaceful discussions about days lacking agendas and human bustling. For me it felt more like being removed. I was being removed from some place with lots of lives, to a place without humans lives to interact with. It was the first time I ever felt lonely and alone. Lost and taken away. It was the beginning for me, and I think my mom too, that there was a world we were without within.

Autumn, one of our technicians, and the lead for the 54 cat rescue, kept Oaken. He was one of the 54 cats we helped from a hoarding case 2020.

My mom countered the cricket cacophony and automobile silence by amassing pets. Her little farmette crawled slowly with the menagerie to make it look like a legitimate country living poem. There were two dogs, three cats, a pony of my very own, and a sheep she bought unknowingly at the county fair. The little cottage-cape in the country my parents had purchased came with  shabby two car garage and a field, but, no barn for the livestock to cohabitate. They never fully planned much of the jumping into they did. They tended to jump, best intentions in hand, and land wherever the free-fall dropped them. The barn, or lack thereof, was a very good example. The idea that you would purchase a horse and a sheep and not have a barn for them to be safe in snowy-laden New Hampshire is ludicrous. And yet that is what happened. My parents converted the well house, a wooden structure about 8 feet by 10 feet into a barn-ette for their newly Christened farmette. Few creatures are born into immediately having to flee the nest and wander alone the rest of their days. How would one survive if they awoken from delivery, set off swimming, and hoped for the luck of the draw to magically and successfully make it to a ripe old age? Unless you are a single-celled organism you need a buddy to help walk you through the perils of life. For all of the alone-ness I felt, there was a togetherness that these pets supplemented to dispel the solitude. We weren't put together to remind each other of the holes we had as individuals. We came together for the friendship of each other, Maybe the sheep, her name was Lambie (as original as the thought process in acquiring her had been), or Memory,, the pony that my parents helped me purchase,, a lifetime of savings for the gift I wanted more than anything I could have ever imagined. Memory was $500. Five hundred dollars to a ten year old girl in 1980. Memory, was short for Sweet Memory, and that she still holds firmly. 

Cali. Here for a knee injury repair. Always smiling!

I think that there are a lot of small animal vets by default. We start out as a little seedling intent on animals, but most specifically it is the horses. The vast majority of little girls love horses. We love them so much we want to fill our lives, every minute of them, with more horses. As kids we might grow up with dogs and cats in our homes. Closer to them in proximity, but, there is some allure to horses. Little girls love the idea of the smell of the hay. The aroma of the flat coat that can be brushed for days and still never luster. Horses are big, yet gentle. Soft muzzles always inquiring for a peppermint snack. It is a feeling of belonging that horses give to little girls. Solid, strong, yet soft and safe. You can wrap your arms around their necks. Breathe in the musty, earthy, perfume of their massiveness and still cuddle up near them as they graze contentedly by your side. Horses capture and transport. It is the glitter of every little girls dreams.

It was that horse, Memory that started it all. The cement of a relationship that I hadn't yet ever figured out started with her. A horse vet was born from the days on that farm that was so far away from everything I thought I needed to have more. 

Dexter waits for me to come visit.
Here for his annual exam and a hug, of course.

The isolation that moving to the country also brought me a kindled a purpose. I learned from a very young age that where these pets brought me the only true friendship I had known. But this friendship came at a price of being vulnerable that I was not prepared to accept. A farm animal, and to this designation my parents cast a wide net (all pets, i.e. all animals, were pets for as long as they were healthy and free of trouble) when a medical need, or a behavioral nuisance presented their stature on the ladder of importance fell to below my parents being designated as responsible for. I joke about it now, twenty years into being a veterinarian myself... that my parents had to be the worst pet parents my poor childhood vet, and lifelong mentor, ever had. They were the clients who called him at home at 2 am to notify him that our dogs had just returned from their all day expedition with a face, and frontal chest-full of porcupine quills. The dogs were muddy, bloody and keeping my parents from being able to get back to sleep. My dad asked if he "could drop the dogs off now (at his clinic conveniently located downstairs from where he and his family slept each night) so they could try to get a few more hours of rest before work the next day?" That saint of a veterinarian, said "ok." I remember listening from the top of the stairs, (these were the days of one corded to the wall phone per household), and feeling so relieved that the dogs were A) going to get veterinary help, and, B) they weren't going to have to suffer with a face, chest, and mouth (yes they were in the mouth and tongue) of sharp quills. I know now that Dr. Barsanti opened the door at 230 am, pajamas and robe on, took the dogs by their leashes. Placed them in the dog cages in the back of the main floor kennel area and immediately aced the dogs into a few hours long nap to face the task of pulling them out one-by-one the next morning. It is what I would do now. Who starts a 3 hour quill removal surgery at 2 am? Heck, who answers a phone, and their door at 2 am? Not me. (Damn, I hope he charged my parents out the nose for that one. I'm sure he didn't my dad would have never paid for it if he had tried).

Jenn is the office manager in her office. Never alone with our clinic house cat;
Seraphina, and my pup Storm.

I have written about it before. The pivotal place where my childhood trauma of feeling like my most beloved, and often only friends, were continually at the mercy of another humans decisions transitioned into an adult obsessional determination to find that the place where my destiny rested was in protecting these, and all others, pets. I would never be left sobbing in the corner while someone else decided who was, or was not, worth the effort, or expense, to heal them. It would become only mine to decide. That place where no animal in my purview would be denied care based on anything other than fate, and even she would be dealt blows to humble her if not frighten her away for at least a few more moments. If I had to give up, travel on, and never have left a footprint behind, then so be it. Is there isolation when there is purpose? I think I learned very early on that to have my dream of becoming a veterinarian to come true I had to have dedication and determination to a level that no one else possessed. I had to make sacrifices and decisions based on the long game. Always the long game. Every relationship I had was based on that premise. There was a here and now but I was not going to get stuck in it. Not for longer than that semester allowed. I lived my life for many years, a decades worth, in semester blocks. One at school trying to maintain straight A’s to dilute the Academies implicit bias and baseless defamation via the measure of academic and excellence. And the other at sea, working as a deck officer aboard a cable laying ship to fund the quest into its next chapter. There is very little chance at life, its tapestry of relationships on a schedule built like this. Going to sea for a decade was the most challenging, and even lonelier existence than moving to rural NH brought. No pets out there. Not much of anything except hard work and too much time to self reflect.

It had to happen. A relationship had to evolve from a lonely girl who lived for the tomorrows she lived to see and she wished the present day away.

My kitty Magpie. A cuddle in the sunshine.

My parents never understood my chosen path to get to vet school. They never accounted for veterinarian in the same light as lawyer, doctor, politician. My mom loved animals, to be sure, but she never wanted me to have to deal with the clients the likes of my dad. Too much heartbreak in vet med she thought. Animals might die, (she didn't waste time on the ins-and-outs of why, how or by who's hand), they died, it was sad. I should avoid sad, and poor. My dad knew the kind of people he was to his vet and he thought I would be far happier being far wealthier and steered me away from vet med at every chance he got. He got about 3 decades of chancing me out of this profession. In the end I was always more determined than he to not live the life he wished for me. It has made all things possible. And an even lonelier girl on the other side of it. 

I think it is a deal many vets make. I am not alone. My story is not unique. So many veterinarians left humankind to stay firmly grounded in the pet loving world. We left our souls tied to the hearts of the pets who never live long enough, never hurt your sense of not belonging, and never question your life choices even when you aren't quite sure of them yourselves.

There are secrets we all hold. For me, and the little girl still living quietly by herself inside of me, the secrets are in the days, years and lifetime that I shared with the creatures who always mattered more than everything else could. 

Seraphina. She loves me, and more importantly, we need each other.

I think that while I recognize now the cost of the sacrifices I made to make this dream my profession, I am not sure it was an even exchange. So many of us forego relationships, friendships, two legged children and even our too compassionate souls for this profession. We die, or at least sacrifice so much along the way to help others who will never enunciate a human "thank you." All for the power of this purpose. It is the secret so many of us share, and one of the many cracks that remains us we are all too human and ever fragile.

Related blogs;

We All Need Options.

Remembering The Vet Who Inspired Me.

Safe Harbor Vet Style

Hoarders, Surrender, and the Worst Fate of All.

The hardest part is looking into the eyes of the patients who want to live and knowing you can't do anything to save them.

New Beginnings and Old Responsibilities.

The Measure.

This is a blog about my life. A place to put the feelings, experiences, troubles, and many of the great successes of the lives we share with our patients, and furried family members. It isn't a testimony, a plea for help, or a call out to the profession that struggles so much. It is a diary. An open love letter to the life I live and the choices made to stay alive and happy here. It is about purpose and contentment, and these often feel mutually exclusive while you serve the human public who "own" pets.

"I Just Couldn't Do What You Do." The publics misperception of why being a veterinarian can be painfully hard.

I was in a shoe store today. One I have been going to a few times a year for decades. I go there because they have fabulous shoes at affordable prices AND because they have dogs. Resident Shih Tzu's live here. (Not that I care what breed they are. I just love dogs). 

I am a veterinarian. Don't all veterinarians LOVE dogs?! (Well, most do. Another topic for another blog).

The store owner loves her dogs. It is obvious in so many aspects of the visit. There are dog toys strewn about the floor like this is a daycare center. Dog beds hidden under every clothes rack and a hidden home base behind the check out counter. The owner is a tiny little lady with jet black hair who wears clothes that I feel more aptly belong on a spit-fired little Italian godmother residing in central Brooklyn; The kind who knows everyone's business and points her finger, cigarette sidecar on bottom fish-hooked left corner lip, once tightly lines in fire engine red outliner. She is frills with razor edges. And, yet those little coiffed pups make her melt. My Italian grandmother Grandma Magnifico was a lot like this. Trying to look like she's still got it, tight (too tight) black velvet pants, overly shiny sweat jacket attempting to pose as formal dinner attire, not too chatty, always too skeptical of anyone she doesn't know, and yet loves dogs in a manner that almost makes her certifiable. My grandmother would find dogs roaming in Brooklyn, throw a leash over their head and drag them home to safety. In other words she stole them, yet always harshly believing she was providing them all a much better home. 

Back to my shoes..

Each shoe store visit is, and has been, the same. She never remembers me from the last time. I walk in, the dogs run to greet me, I bend down hoping the door has securely closed behind me and I say hello to each of them individually. I ask them, "how are you doing?" "What's new around town? Any new/latest shoe store gossip?" and, "if they have any selections to show me?" I treat them as people. This whole exchange is super vital to my shoe shopping experience, and, they in return spend the rest of  the time I cuddling with me. We are kismet. 

At some point their mom comes over, tells me that I shouldn't feel obligated to pet them, and that she will put them away if I need her to. I remind her they are the reason I come. And, she leaves me to shop.

Today was a snow day. Most of Maryland was closed. When I had to go out for a baby gift I just happened to see she was open. The store was otherwise quiet and empty. Today the conversation met its chapter two.

"Are the dogs bothering you?" As the black one jumped on the couch and sidled up behind me. I was trying on shoes and he wanted to be center stage.

"No, he's helping. We are doing fine."

"Oh, well,,,, if he is let me know." 

"Umm, ok, well, he won't I'm used to dogs all over everything. So, he won't intrude. I have no personal space when it comes to dogs."

I knew it as it left my lips. I said too much. "Yes.", "No.", "Ok." Those are the simple answers I should stick to.

Most vets I know, (I am going to say all but one), will never tell a stranger that they are a veterinarian. The "work-life balance" thing is important to preserve. We don't like being asked for advice. Although I don't mind so much as long I feel people really care about their animals. What I do take offense to is being the arm chair vet-quarterback to the people who think they want help in caring for their pets, but, just want to pass on responsibility. There's a difference between asking for help because you simply don't know, and, shirking responsibility for a pet that is exactly yours to be responsible for. You know the kind; They want to sound like they care so they don't seem like they might be perceived as a shitty person, but not actually go out of their way to do anything about it. That kind. They share their self-admitted stories of neglect, idiotic scenarios, and remind me to go back to my one word answers. Don't know what I am talking about? Let me give some examples of this kind:

    "I have this cat in my yard who keeps having kittens. I don't really want her. DO you know anyone who will come and take her?" I had a subcontractor working on our new clinic renovation, for which he was paid about $70,000 to do, tell me this. I fired him.

    "I had a dog once, she got hit by a car, and, eventually died." Thanks for sharing that one. Let's hope I never meet you again.

    "We had puppies once. They all died. My dad thought it might have been parvo. Or, maybe something got to them, like a snake bite." Umm,,,,

    "You know my vet told me that my dog should be on heartworm prevention. He doesn't really need it, does he?" 

Yes, I get these all the time. Stick to "Yes." "No." "Ok." Feign ignorance. Be a damn closed book for five minutes of your life.

Nope. Not today. Today I confessed, "Well, I have to love animals I am a veterinarian."

She stopped and withdrew her internal stoic stern governess sourpuss face to transition into an inquisitive detective.

"Oh, I could never do what you do. It must be so hard."

Once again I should have just nodded a reply.  A simple; "No" or even throw her a bone, just say "Yes." keep trying on shoes. Why do I have to open my mouth? Instead,, this happened.

"It isn't. I am only the vet to people who love their animals like you do."

Her sourpuss face looked like it bit hard on a lime. Her face collapsed inward. A black hole suction of air left the room, vortexed into her thorax and she left me feeling as if I was a freak.

It took me a few minutes to realize that her idea of "hard" was not my idea of "hard". She believed that every pet was loved like hers. That her rescues (one was) were all just orphans awaiting Daddy Warbucks and happy endings happen. It was the mortality part she defined as "hard" as if that was some aspect of life found only in pet dogs.

No, the hard part is killing pets no one wants. Or killing a pet that has a treatable condition. Or seeing how awful people can be. Suffering, yeah that's hard. Indifference that's harder. She didn't understand a thing I said in my brief two sentences. She 70-ish. What is the point of explaining how hard this job can be? She would have to live it to understand it.

My dog Storm. Rescued 2 years ago by our friends at Animal Rescue Inc minutes before he would have been euthanized. His family had dropped him off at a NC shelter the day before as they evacuated from Hurricane Florence.

No, there isn't one honest vet in the world who will tell you that the dying is the hard part. Life is unfair. Every vet knows that. Cruelty, neglect, abuse, indifference, disposable views of pets that kills you. That's "hard"er than anyone could ever know.

"She's just a barn cat." Apparently there is a breed known as "barn" (aka "outdoor") that requires no veterinary upkeep? (yeah, I never knew that either).

"He was a free puppy." (It's cheaper to get another than fix his vomiting/diarrhea/prolapsed rectum, blah, blah..)

I bought 5 big dog beds at TJ Maxx yesterday, (and when I say BIG, I mean 3ft by 4 ft and about 8 inches thick. They required a palate cart to move). At the check out the girl asked, "how many dogs do you have?" "Three," I replied, "but we have 23 dog beds in the house and a few are 10 years old and impregnated with dog smell no matter how much I try to wash. (How do you wash those big beds?) 

"Wow, that's a lot of dogs." (No, it isn't I thought). How can you afford them?" 

Shoulda shrugged. I didn't. "I'm a vet," fell out.

"Oh, that's such a hard job. I don't know how you do it?" At least she smiled at me with a genuine interest in my answer.

So what do you think? 

Do you agree? Do you think that my job is "hard"? If so, why? I would love to hear your perspective.

I really would love to hear your thoughts. Please share them in a comment below. (Just so you know they have to be approved by me before I post.. the whole FB video rant three years ago left me no choice. Vets can be vicious, just an FYI).

Here's where my head is headed next, and how this topic is related to where my current blog topic lies;

It's truly a matter of perspective. Isn't it?

Here is a FB post I saw today that reinforced the misconceptions of perspectives. It is a fellow vet in a FB page where vets share their vet life experiences.

"I was recently trying to buy a new home. Obviously, I haven’t done this much. Not many people do. I have 7 kids. So, we all went to the house to view it with the sellers realtor because that’s what the seller told me to do. My kids were respectful, took off their shoes but they are loud and excited (who wouldn’t be?). I got home and my husband and I discussed it and then called my own realtor to make an offer on the house. The sellers realtor was very offended that he took the time to show the house and then we chose to use a different realtor to represent us. Looking back, that’s an understandable reaction given the time and patience he took with us on a weekend to be able to work with our schedule and tolerate our noisy bunch. However, he then proceeded to make it extremely difficult to put an offer on the house-not communicating, putting in road blocks and in general being a jerk.

Here’s my point. I did not know enough about that realm to understand my actions were offensive. I apologized and followed all the recommended protocols after I realized my offense and was still given a hard time.

❇️ How often do we do this to our own clients? Do we think badly about them because they don’t know any better? How many times have I said on ER “Why do people expect x,y,z?” when we have not explained the situation thoroughly because we are busy and overworked and frustrated with the industry in general.

❇️ How much of the clients reaction has come from our own inability to show compassion (because, hello, compassion fatigue is a real thing) or explain the process in our industry to yet one more clueless person?

❇️ Is this their fault? Is it ours?

We ABSOLUTELY still have a**hole clients that expect too much and are unreasonable.

But...can we improve our outlook and communication and make some of those borderline pain-in-the-a** interactions maybe be a bit less stressful for everyone involved if we just show some understanding and forgiveness?

Just a thought process I had when faced with the same prejudices in another field."

...from a colleague on Facebook, Dr Jennifer. (Shared with permission). 

The questions keep rolling.. the answers,, well,,,

My kitty Magpie enjoying the sunshine.

Related blogs;

Losing My Beloved Jekyll. He came to me as an 8 week old puppy whose breeder owner had given him so much cow dewormer he prolapsed his rectum (he literally strained so much with the diarrhea it caused him he pooped out his colon). The breeder reasoned it was cheaper to euthanize than treat. He came home with me that day. Two surgeries fixed him.. He was my beloved dog for the rest of his too short life. He died of prostate cancer at 8. See this one too; Coming To Terms With the Death of My Beloved Dog Jekyll. 

The video rant that will mark me forever. And one of the reasons I am who I am. The Impact Of A Rant.

Drugs, Drink, or Die. The Shitty side of being a veterinarian. Here are some of the real cases that I think make my job devastatingly hard.

Giving Up On Loving, The Ultimate Cost Of Grieving A Pet.

Watching People Ruin Their Pets.. When Do You Intervene?

Don't Forget To Put Your Heart Into Every Euthanasia. How being a compassionate vet keeps us alive instead of stealing our ability to care.

The hardest part of being a vet is not being allowed to help those you know you can. This blog here.

If you love pets and want to be a part of a pet loving community that gives back please join me on Pawbly.com. We are looking for pet experts who want to pay compassion forward. Free to use and join.

Learn more about my veterinary clinic at Jarrettsvillevet.com

Or follow us on Facebook. 

YouTube is Krista Magnifico, DVM. Meet my real cases and my real-life responses.