Adventures in Veterinary Medicine:

What Working in Veterinary Hospitals Taught Me About Life, Love, and Myself

by

Ingrid King

While all the incidents in this book did happen, the names and personal characteristics of some of the animals and people have been changed. Any resulting resemblance to animals or persons living or dead is entirely unintentional and coincidental.

For Feebee, who led me to the wonderful profession of veterinary medicine, and for all the cats who have inspired me to follow my bliss.

Table of Contents

Introduction: Finding Your Bliss in Unexpected Places

Beast

Diesel

Virginia

Oliver

Jordan

Jake

Kennel Work

Finding a New Vet

Life after Veterinary Medicine

Acknowledgments

Introduction: Finding Your Bliss in Unexpected Places

I wasn’t one of those lucky people who knew from an early age what they wanted to be when they grew up. It took a lot of trial and error before I found my path.

I started my professional life by translating manuals for a computer manufacturer. Then I wrote and translated ad copy for a magazine about diesel and gas turbines. (Can you stand the excitement?) After that, I worked as a travel agent for a while. Eventually, I ended up at a financial services corporation, beginning as a receptionist and working my way up into middle management. After fifteen years in corporate America, I had had enough. At that point in my life, I was looking for purpose and meaning in all areas of my life, including my work. And that’s when I discovered veterinary medicine.

Feebee, my first cat and the love of my life for almost sixteen years, who got me through a period of great upheaval in my life in the mid-90s when my marriage of thirteen years ended and my mother died, all within a four-month period, developed bladder stones—most likely as a result of absorbing much of my stress. Cats are sensitive creatures, and cats and their humans often mirror each others’ physical and emotional states. Cats are natural healers and sometimes take on their persons’ problems, often in an attempt to heal them. Because of the shared energy in such a close relationship, energetic imbalances are shared as well.

Feebee and I ended up spending a lot of time at various veterinary hospitals while he was going through treatment and ultimately, surgery (he fully recovered and lived for several more years before succumbing to lymphoma at age sixteen). One afternoon, I was sitting in the waiting room of an animal hospital while they were taking X-rays of Feebee in the back, and I looked around and found myself wondering what it might be like to work in that type of environment. The thought wouldn’t let go. I started to do some research and saw an ad for an office manager position at a nearby vet clinic. I knew my business background more than qualified me for the position, even though I knew very little about the inner workings of a veterinary practice at the time. I applied and was invited for an interview. The clinic’s owner offered me the position. Sadly, I couldn’t afford to take it at the time. The one aspect of veterinary medicine I hadn’t researched very well was the pay; the salary offered was not enough for me to support myself. So I asked whether I could volunteer at the clinic instead. The owner laughed and said, “Sure, why not?”

My first day as a volunteer at the clinic arrived. I was so excited. I didn’t really know what to expect. I was introduced to the head technician, whom I was going to be shadowing all day. I was told that due to insurance restrictions, I wasn’t allowed to touch any of the animals, which was a bit of a disappointment. I had sort of figured that if I was going to be allowed to do anything, it wouldn’t be too terribly glamorous. I was prepared to do lowly things like cleaning cages and emptying trash, if that’s what it took. I just wanted to be in a clinic environment and learn as much as I could through observation and by osmosis.

The first thing the technician showed me how to do was to set up a fecal test. In retrospect, I think it was a test on her part to see how dedicated I was to this volunteering gig. She showed me how to separate out a small amount of stool from the (giant! smelly!) sample the dog’s owner had dropped off, and how to set it up in a small plastic vial with a solution that would allow any parasites that might be in the sample to float to the top. Icky, stinky, nasty work.

I was in heaven.

That’s when I realized it: I had found my bliss. If I could feel this happy playing with a fecal sample, surely I had found my calling!

It was the beginning of a twelve-year journey. I was eventually hired as a part-time receptionist at the clinic, and then I went to work part time at my own vet’s clinic, where I was trained as a veterinary assistant. I did everything from cleaning cages to answering phones to giving injections and monitoring anesthesia. I reduced my hours at my day job as a business analyst at a financial-services corporation to part-time status, and for the next three years I worked pretty much seven days a week at either the day job or the vet clinic. Being at the vet clinic never felt like work, though, no matter how many hours I spent there—another sign that I had found my passion! In 1998, I quit my corporate job and took a manager position at a vet clinic, in essence combining my business background with my newfound love for veterinary medicine.

You really can find your bliss in the most unexpected places!

This collection of essays features some of my experiences during the twelve years I spent working in the veterinary profession. From special cats and dogs that touched my heart to heroic veterinarians and staff who are in the business of saving lives every single day, I will give you a close-up and personal glimpse into the world of a veterinary clinic. I met some pretty amazing cats, dogs, and people during those years. The memories of some of these animals—as well as the lessons they taught—have stuck with me, and have influenced my life in big and small ways. I’m calling this collection Adventures in Veterinary Medicine because for me, that’s what my journey in this wonderful profession was: a never-ending adventure. No two days were ever alike, just like no two animals were ever the same.

All of the essays are based on true stories. In some cases, the names and some of the details have been changed, either to protect the privacy of the animals and people involved, or because my memory may be a little fuzzy after all these years.

Beast

Beast was a big bruiser of a cat. He was a brown-and-white tabby with a huge head, giant paws, and caution stickers all over his veterinary record. Most veterinary clinics won’t actually write “beware of cat” or “killer cat” in their records. Instead, they use a sticker system to indicate whether an animal may be challenging to work with: aggressive, fearful, a biter—you get the idea.

Beast’s chart had the highest number of stickers I’d seen in any of our charts.

Beast’s owners traveled quite a bit, and since Beast had some urinary tract issues, they were not comfortable leaving him at home with a pet sitter, so they boarded him at the clinic with us. Beast hated being confined in a cage. But even more than being in a cage, he hated it when anyone so much as approached his cage, and he made his displeasure known by hissing, growling and throwing himself at the cage’s door. It made taking care of him challenging, to say the least, but we did the best we could, and usually, we’d let our most experienced technicians, our “cat wranglers,” deal with him. But on weekends, whoever had kennel duty had to find a way to clean out Beast’s cage, give him fresh food and water, and change his litter box. At the time, I worked a lot of weekends as a kennel attendant, so the odds were good that I would have to deal with Beast at some point.

I had been trained in safe and proper feline restraint techniques – techniques that made handling safe for both the cat being handled, and for the person handling the cat. But I’d never had to work with a fractious cat without another person to help me. Rather than using the restraint techniques I had been taught, I decided to try a different approach. I completely ignored Beast’s posturing, hissing and growling while I took care of the other animals in the kennel. Whenever I passed his cage, I quietly talked to him, but never acknowledged his aggressive behavior. When I had taken care of everyone else, I walked back to Beast’s cage and just stood and just quietly talked to him for a while. And much to my delight, he calmed down, and just sat at the front of the cage watching me with a puzzled expression on his face. Why wasn’t I afraid of him? Why didn’t I cower in fear like all the other people he’d so successfully scared off? Eventually I slowly unlatched the door to his cage and opened it slightly. Beast didn’t react. No hissing, growling, or lunging. What I felt coming from him, more than anything, was curiosity. I slowly opened the cage door wider, talking to him all the while. He stood up. I remained calm, trying very hard not to flinch. What happened next is not something I could have predicted in my wildest dreams. This big cat, who had terrorized our entire staff, put his paws on my shoulders and buried his face in the crook of my neck and started a rumbling purr. He rubbed his face against mine, never once letting go of his “hug” around my shoulders.

I was eventually able to pick him up and move him to an empty cage while I cleaned his cage and gave him fresh food, water, and a clean litter box. I was able to put him back in his cage without any fuss. He kept rubbing up against the front of the cage even after I had closed the door, purring all the while. The Beast had been tamed.

He was never this calm with any of the other staff members after this experience, but he also wasn’t as aggressive anymore. I often wondered what changed for him that day. Was it that someone didn’t expect him to be aggressive, so he didn’t act aggressive? Had he just finally reached a point where he was so starved for human affection after a few days at the clinic that he realized how counterproductive his behavior was?

Things aren’t always what they seem. A fractious, aggressive cat may simply be starved for attention. A big, intimidating tom with a name that is meant to inspire fear may be, in reality, a great big teddy bear.

The lesson for me in this story was to trust my instincts. It may not have been the smartest choice on a rational level, but it felt like the right thing to do. Intuition never lies.

Diesel

Diesel was brought into the animal hospital by a client who had found him by the side of the road, barely breathing and clearly in pain. His long black and white coat was matted, and he was covered in gasoline and motor oil. The fumes coming off of him were enough to warrant wearing a gas mask—and yes, you guessed it, that’s how he got his name. Veterinary clinic staff members sometimes have a warped sense of humor when it comes to naming strays.

When our veterinarian examined him, it turned out that he had a broken pelvis and multiple contusions. They gave him pain medication, and then the staff went to work with a mild detergent, washing the gas and oil off of him. Diesel was patient and didn’t resist any of these treatments; he simply seemed relieved that his ordeal by the side of the road was over.

He was set up in a cage with a soft blanket, plenty of food, and a warming lamp. Once his fur had dried from the bath he was given, he got a gentle brushing. The cat underneath all that gasoline and motor oil was a beauty. He was a bit emaciated and had clearly been living outdoors fending for himself, but he had a loving and affectionate disposition, which made us believe that at some point, he may have been someone’s pet. His wonderful personality got him plenty of attention, petting, and being fussed over by everyone on the staff while he was recuperating.

The type of pelvic fracture he had did not require surgery, he simply needed to be kept quiet to allow the bones to heal naturally, and he received supportive care during his recovery. No owner came forward to claim him during this time, so after a couple of weeks, he went to Casey’s House—coincidentally, the same private rescue group where Buckley, the subject of my book Buckley’s Story: Lessons from a Feline Master Teacher, came from. Given Diesel’s personality, we didn’t think it would take long for him to be adopted.

A few days after he went to Casey’s House, Diesel began to develop some disturbing neurological symptoms, so he was brought back to our animal hospital for observation and care. Since he initially came to the hospital covered in gasoline and motor oil, there was certainly the possibility that absorbing these toxic chemicals through his skin could have caused these symptoms. However, since his vaccine history was unknown and he had clearly been a stray, rabies could not be ruled out.

Rabies is zoonotic, which means it can be transmitted from animals to humans. The only way rabies can be diagnosed with 100% certainty is through a test on the animal’s brain tissue, and for this, the animal has to be euthanized. The thought of euthanizing a beautiful cat like Diesel without being sure that he really had rabies was emotionally challenging for all of us, but we also had to think of the risk to the humans who had come into contact with him. Rabies is transmitted by the saliva of an infected animal, and contact with even a minor skin wound on a human can present a risk. Rabies, once contracted, is always fatal if prophylactic injections are not started within 24 to 48 hours after infection. Our hospital had a policy that only staff members who were vaccinated against rabies could handle the occasional injured wildlife that was brought into our clinic, but we had not enforced this policy for stray cats, even though in hindsight, we should have. Almost everyone on our staff had at some point petted and touched Diesel, whether or not they had been vaccinated.

The thought of euthanizing this beautiful cat if there was even a chance that he could recover was devastating. Thankfully, Diesel made the decision easy for us. He declined so rapidly, and it was clear that he was suffering, so euthanasia was not only the right thing to do for the humans involved, but also for him. His rabies test came back positive. Almost twenty staff members had to undergo a series of rabies vaccinations.

This story will always stick with me not because it was a hospital manager’s worst nightmare—making sure that everyone who came into contact with Diesel was identified and appraised of the risk and the need to get the series of injections, reassuring scared and worried employees, arranging for the health department to schedule the injections for our staff, dealing with the insurance companies involved—but also, because of Diesel. Even though he had contracted this horrible disease in addition to being hit by a car, at least, thanks to the good Samaritan who brought him to our clinic, he was loved and cared for during the last few weeks of his life, even if it was at a shelter and a veterinary hospital. And in the end, he did not die alone.

Diesel taught me multiple lessons. On a practical level, I blamed myself for not enforcing our policy about not letting unvaccinated staff handle stray animals. But on a more important level, our experience with Diesel also illustrated how deeply veterinary staff care about their patients – often to the point of risking their own health.

Virginia

As those of you who read my book Buckley’s Story know, Buckley was my office cat at the animal hospital I managed for eight years before she came to live with Amber and me. She wasn’t the first one, though. Not the first tortie, and not the first office cat. Before Buckley, and even before Amber, there was Virginia.

I first met Virginia when I went for my first interview for the hospital manager position at the Middleburg Animal Hospital. The hospital was then owned by Drs. Jack Love and Janet McKim, a husband-and-wife team. I had spoken with Janet on the phone briefly before my interview, but really didn’t know what to expect. This was in the days before every animal hospital had a website. I knew what I was looking for in a potential employer as far as practice philosophy, and in addition, I was looking for a clinic that had that intangible right “feel.”

As soon as I walked into the waiting room of the hospital, I knew I had found the right place. There was an old-fashioned wooden bench and a rocking chair, and the walls were covered with photos of dogs and cats. A large freestanding cage held several kittens. When Janet came up to greet me, I was even more sure. I instantly liked her. She took me back to her office and began the interview.

After a few minutes, a beautiful tortoiseshell cat walked into the office. “That’s Virginia,” explained Janet. “She’s one of our two hospital cats.” Virginia proceeded to walk over to me; she looked up at me and then dug her claws into my legs and used them as a scratching post. I wondered whether that was part of the interview—a test, perhaps, to see how I would react? In hindsight, I realized that, of course, this was the moment she marked me as her own. I had dressed up for the interview and was wearing a skirt and pantyhose; I can honestly say it was the first and only time in my life I left an interview with runs in my pantyhose caused by kitty claws! The interview went well, and I left feeling hopeful that I would be offered the job.

A couple of weeks later, Janet called to invite me to go out to dinner with her and Jack. We sealed the deal over dinner, and I spent the next eight wonderful years working at the Middleburg Animal Hospital. And the fact that Virginia was part of the deal only increased my happiness.

She was estimated to be about ten years old. She was FIV positive. FIV is the feline version of the AIDS virus. It is contagious, but is primarily spread through bite wounds. Casual, non-aggressive contact does not spread the virus, and it is not zoonotic, which means it cannot be spread from cats to humans. However, Virginia’s owners were not comfortable keeping an FIV-positive cat and had left her at the animal hospital for euthanasia. Somehow, the hospital staff never got around to it, and by the time someone remembered, she had wormed her way into too many hearts for them to go through with it.

Virginia was the poster child for “tortitude”—that unique personality of tortoiseshell cats. She had definitely read the manual. She was feisty, independent, and set in her ways. The only other animal she liked was Marmy, our other hospital cat, a sweet, wise old medium-haired orange cat. You could often find Marmy in his cat bed, with Virginia curled around him, both squeezed into the small bed.

She liked most of the staff members, but this was not always mutual. She thought nothing of using her claws if she felt like someone wasn’t doing her bidding (i.e., not petting her properly, not feeding her on her schedule, or committing any number of transgressions only she knew about). These were not exactly the kinds of qualities you’d look for in a hospital cat. At one point, early on during my time as manager, there was talk of sending her to a nearby sanctuary for FIV-positive cats. I was nervous about doing so, but I set an ultimatum: If Virginia went, so would I. Thankfully, by then Janet and Jack had come to rely on me, and took my “threat” seriously. Virginia got to stay!

She loved me fiercely. She would be at the door to greet me each morning. When I took a few days off, the staff would tell me that she’d been looking for me, and when I returned to work, the look on her face made it clear that she did not appreciate being abandoned like that. She had her routine, and it didn’t vary much from day to day. In the morning, she’d sleep in a cat bed I had placed in front of a sunny window on my desk next to my computer. She’d spend most mornings napping, but she also made sure that I paid attention to her, often clawing at my “mouse hand” to get my attention. As lunchtime got closer, she would park herself on the bench in the exam room adjacent to my office, where most of the staff gathered for lunch each day. She loved to mooch off of peoples’ lunches, with morsels of meat or cold cuts and yogurt, especially peach flavored, being favorites.

For four years, she made my office my home away from home. She showed no symptoms of her disease. Then in the spring of 2002, she started to decline rapidly. She seemed to lose energy, and her always-healthy appetite started to wane. She couldn’t make it to the litter box in time and had frequent accidents outside the box. She wouldn’t come to greet me at the door in the mornings. An ultrasound showed that her heart and liver were in bad shape.

On a sunny April morning, we decided that it was time. I spent her last morning in the office with her in her bed by my side. When I wasn’t crying, I was calling staff members who were not on duty that day to let them know, in case they wanted to be present for her final moments. Many of them came in even though it was their day off. I held her on my lap in the office, surrounded by all the people who had been a part of her world, as she took her last breath. I don’t think there are many cats who get the kind of send-off she did.

I still miss her. She was my introduction to and beginning of my love affair with torties. Little could I have known at the time how much tortoiseshell cats would be changing my life. Virginia still has a piece of my heart.

Oliver

When I first began working in veterinary hospitals, I did a little bit of everything. I worked as a receptionist, veterinary assistant, and kennel attendant. Being a kennel attendant involved taking care of animals that were boarding at the hospital, which included everything from cleaning their cages, making sure they had fresh food and water, walking them, and giving them medications if needed.

I loved kennel duty despite the less-glamorous aspects of cleaning cages and litter boxes and cleaning up after the dogs after taking them out in the hospital’s small backyard. Kennel duty, especially on weekends and holidays, gave me a chance to spend time with individual animals, time that wasn’t always available during the busy workweek when we had surgical patients and pets coming for vet appointments. I became particularly fond of several frequent boarders, and one that still sticks out in my mind after all these years was a cat named Oliver.

Oliver was a nineteen-year-old white cat with some brown and black tabby markings. He was hyperthyroid, and he had kidney disease. He was skin and bones. His owners traveled frequently for a few days at a time. They would board him with us, feeling more comfortable having a veterinarian available in case one was needed rather than leaving Oliver at home in the care of a pet sitter. He was the first of many geriatric cats I fell in love with. There’s something about these wise old souls with their sweet old faces that has always touched my heart.

Oliver needed a lot of special attention while he was boarding, and I gladly gave it to him. He often needed to be handfed because his appetite was hit or miss. He wasn’t always cooperative when it came to taking his medication. But he always, always wanted lots of affection, and he was very vocal about both requesting it and showing appreciation for it—he would start out demanding to be petted with a loud, plaintive cry, and then he’d show his appreciation with a faint but steady purr.

Even when I had a kennel full of pets to take care of during my shift, I always made extra time for Oliver. I wasn’t required to be there all day on weekends or holidays, the animals needed to be taken care of three times a day, and depending on their needs, there was often time in between the morning, mid-day and evening shifts to go home for a couple of hours, but when Oliver was boarding, I usually stayed between at least two of my shifts and just sat with him as he purred away in my lap.

Each time Oliver went home after boarding at the hospital, I always wondered whether I’d see him again. At his age, and with his multiple health problems, I knew he didn’t have that much time left. So each time he was boarding, on my last shift during his stay, I made sure to say a proper good-bye, just in case it was going to be the last one. And I hoped that if, in the end, he reached a point where euthanasia was indicated, it would happen on a day when I was working so I’d get another chance at one last good-bye.

Sadly, I got my wish. A few days before his twentieth birthday, his family brought Oliver to the clinic. I was asked to assist with his euthanasia, and I got to say good-bye to my grizzled old friend one last time. I had assisted with euthanasia before, and usually managed not to cry until after the client had left, but this one was different. I couldn’t hold back my tears as I assisted the vet. Oliver passed away peacefully, surrounded by his family and one veterinary assistant who’d fallen in love with him.

Oliver was the first senior cat I came to love. He taught me how special these grizzled old cats are, and how much love they still have to give, no matter how old or ill they are.

Jordan

Jordan was a four-year-old Golden Retriever. Goldens make perfect family dogs, and Jordan seemed to have the perfect family. Mom and Dad were two of our favorite clients, and you could tell that their young son and Jordan were best buddies. And then the unthinkable happened: Dad backed the car out of the family’s garage, and accidentally ran over Jordan. Mom and son saw it happen, and to this day, I get a sick feeling in my stomach when I think about what they must have felt.

They rushed Jordan into our hospital. He was barely breathing, and one of his legs was bent at an angle that suggested that it was badly broken. Jordan’s family had called ahead, so we knew he was on his way in. Our staff set up emergency supplies: One of our technicians got out the crash cart, a tray that contained emergency drugs that are used to treat for shock and respiratory emergencies. Another technician set out large-sized breathing tubes. The X-ray machine was readied for immediate use. Our receptionist alerted one of the doctors that Jordan was on his way in. Both doctors on duty were seeing regular appointments at the time, but these clients understood.

Two of our technicians had a gurney ready to bring Jordan in from the car, but Jordan’s dad carried him into the hospital himself. Our techs led the way into the treatment room. As soon as Jordan’s dad lowered him to the treatment table, doctors and technicians got to work, and the scene was like something out of Grey’s Anatomy. A technician quickly placed an IV catheter and hooked Jordan up to fluids. After it was established that he was breathing, Jordan was moved to X-ray. While broken bones are a concern with this kind of trauma, the bigger concern is internal injuries, especially damage to the lungs, chest, and abdomen, as well as internal bleeding.

The X-rays showed that one of Jordan’s lungs had collapsed. This is also known a pneumothorax, a collection of free-floating air in the chest cavity. Jordan needed a chest tube, and he needed it fast. One of our technicians quickly intubated Jordan with a breathing tube that would administer the anesthetic gas to get him ready for the procedure. Once the chest tube was placed, Jordan’s breathing became visibly more regular. The X-rays also showed that Jordan’s pelvis and right hind leg were broken.

While all this was happening, two other technicians were taking blood from Jordan to check his red blood cell count. A low blood cell count, also known as anemia, can be an indication of internal bleeding. Thankfully, there was no evidence of it.

Jordan would need surgery on his right hind leg. Pelvic factures are usually not operated on, and eventually heal with cage rest. But before the broken bones could be addressed, Jordan needed to be stabilized. He spent the rest of the day at our hospital, and was transferred to a local emergency clinic for round-the-clock ICU care.

One of our doctors updated Jordan’s family on his status. She reassured them that he was stable for now, but that the first twenty-four hours would be critical.

Jordan made it, and eventually returned to being the playful, happy dog he had been before the accident.

What I will always remember most about the day Jordan was brought in is how our team functioned as one holistic unit, with only one mission: to save Jordan’s life. Our staff always worked well together, but in emergency situations like this one, watching them work was like watching a well-choreographed play. Everybody played a crucial role, everybody knew what to do and how to do it, and everybody worked toward the same goal: saving a life.

Managing a veterinary hospital can be frustrating at times. It often felt more like a family than an office. When things were going well, that made for a wonderful work environment, but like any family, there were personality clashes and a certain level of dysfunction. However, just like in a real family, in a crisis, all of that fell by the wayside. The way our staff came together to save Jordan made me prouder than ever to be working with such an exceptional group of people.

Jake

Can a misguided crush lead you to your bliss? In my case, it did. As I mentioned in the introduction, a few months after my former husband and I separated, Feebee developed bladder stones. At the time I didn’t know this, but cats are sensitive to their humans’ emotions, and the turmoil of going through a divorce and all that comes with it can certainly impact our cats to the point of causing physical illness in them. In addition to dealing with the aftermath of my divorce, I was also mourning the death of my mother, who had passed away unexpectedly four months after my former husband moved out. Feebee was my primary emotional support during those dark days, so it was no wonder that it got to be too much for him.

I had a house-call vet at the time, but Feebee needed more than what she could provide, so she referred me to a local clinic. The handsome young vet who took care of Feebee couldn’t have been more charming. Bedside manner—the way in which a doctor interacts with his patients, and in this case, the patient’s human—is an important component of what makes a good vet great, and Jake had it in spades. Feebee was diagnosed with bladder stones, and needed to have surgery, and as a result, I ended up spending quite a bit of time in Jake’s company.

It probably wasn’t surprising that I eventually developed a big crush on him. For those few weeks, before and after Feebee’s surgery, Jake became the most important person in my life. I was so dazzled by his good looks, caring and compassionate manner, and veterinary skills, that I overlooked one minor detail: Jake was gay.

Thankfully, what could have become an embarrassing situation eventually turned into a delightful friendship. When Jake left for a job at another local clinic, I followed him, first as a client, and later, as a part-time employee. He continued to hold a special place in my heart, and he continued to take care of Feebee until he moved to Florida a few years later.

I’m pretty sure I would have ended up working in veterinary hospitals even without having ever met Jake, but the initial excitement of my adult crush, followed by the friendship that developed, added a level of motivation that propelled me forward a little faster than I might otherwise have moved along this path toward my bliss.

Kennel Work

Working in a veterinary hospital involves a lot of dirty work. One of the dirtiest jobs is the job of cleaning kennels and cages. When I first started working at veterinary hospitals, and while I was being trained as a veterinary assistant, one of the most frequently assigned tasks was kennel duty. This involved cleaning cages, replacing litter boxes and bedding, making sure there was always fresh food and water, and keeping track of an animal’s “output.”

If this sounds simple and rote, it is anything but, and I’ve always felt that kennel attendants are the most under-appreciated employees at a veterinary hospital. After all, they’re the ones that make sure that pets are comfortable during their stay. Cleaning a cat cage involved a lot of different steps.

First, the cat had to be temporarily moved to a clean cage. Then, everything had to be removed from the cat’s cage. If there was anything in the cat’s litter box, it had to be noted in the cat’s chart or on a cage card. This was an important step, since multiple staff members on multiple shifts would be taking care of each animal, and this assured that anything out of the ordinary would be noted. Then the entire cage—floor, walls, ceiling, and gate—had to be wiped clean with a disinfectant solution. Then the clean cage was lined with a thick layer of newspaper and covered with a soft towel or blanket. A fresh litter box with clean litter was added. After adding fresh water and food bowls, taking note of any special dietary requirements the cat might have, it was time to move the cat back to her newly cleaned cage.

For dogs, the process was pretty much the same, except that dogs also got a short walk in either the clinic’s backyard, or along the side street outside the clinic.

I often worked weekend kennel duty during those initial years. This meant coming to the clinic three times a day. Taking care of the animals could take anywhere from half an hour to several hours, depending on how many animals stayed at the clinic. Usually, morning duty took the longest time, since it involved cleaning everyone’s cages completely. Subsequent visits might only require changing out a litter box. On some weekends, and especially on holidays, the kennels were so full that morning duty ran into lunch duty. At some point during the morning, the veterinarian on duty would come in, and most of the vets would help out with cleaning on very busy weekends.

I’ll never forget the first Christmas after my divorce. I had volunteered for kennel duty. Even though I had had plenty of invitations from friends to spend Christmas with them, I just couldn’t handle the whole idea of Christmas that year, and it just felt better to lose myself in work, and spending the day with the animals. But it was an awful lot of work for one person. Jake (he of the crush) was on duty that Christmas, and without so much as a word, after taking care of the two sick animals in the hospital that day, he started cleaning cages and helping with other kennel duties. I was trying hard not to cry; I was so touched by this generous gesture on his part.

I’d be lying if I said kennel work was always fun. It’s hard, stinky, dirty work. But I still have fond memories of some of those weekends. There were times when I only had an hour or so between morning and midday duties, and it wasn’t enough time to go home, so I’d take one of the dogs for a long walk in a nearby park. Other times, I’d take one of the cats into an exam room with me to give her some out of the cage time. I vividly remember one dog and cat family: Katie was a brown Labrador retriever mix, and her cat friend Jasper was a big white-and-brown tabby. They were totally bonded, to the point that their guardians even requested that they be housed in the same cage. I’d take both of them into an exam room with me, and I’d sit there for an hour with Jasper in my lap and Katie leaning against me. Even now, when I think about it, I can still feel the happiness in that room.

The next time you go to your vet clinic, show the kennel attendants some extra love. They’re the ones who keep your pets happy while they’re staying at the clinic.

Before I went to work at a veterinary practice full time, I worked part time at my corporate job, and part time at veterinary clinics. Much of the work at veterinary clinics, especially in the early years, was spent doing kennel work. I often worked 13 days in a row without a break, some days, I went straight from my corporate job to the veterinary job. And yet, I was happier than I had been at any other time in my life. It just goes to show that it’s not what you do that matters, it’s that you love what you do that matters.

Finding a New Vet

I left the veterinary profession in 2006 to start my own business. For the first time in more than fifteen years, I found myself in the position of having to find a new vet. I found that it’s not an easy thing to do.

During the years I worked in veterinary hospitals, I always had an “up close and personal” knowledge of the vets who worked on Feebee, Amber, and Buckley—from their medical skills and proficiency to their dedication and “bedside manner.” I thought I’d never find better vets than the husband-and-wife team who owned the practice I managed for eight years. Janet and Jack were the kind of veterinarians you read about in James Herriot style books. They were both completely dedicated to their profession. In addition to practicing exceptional, cutting-edge medicine, they had elevated the art of compassionate care for their furry patients and their humans to levels that are rare—even in a profession that is based on caring for animals. There were many nights when instead of leaving a sick pet at the practice overnight, they’d take him home and watch over him in their bedroom or bathroom. Both of them loved their work, and they were always learning and growing in their fields. They were a tough act to follow.

Janet and Jack’s clinic was a forty-five minute drive from home, and neither Amber nor Buckley ever did well on the long drive. I needed to find a vet closer to home. I never thought I’d find someone as good as Janet and Jack. And then I met Fern, and she and I hit it off immediately. Not only were her practice philosophies in synch with what I was looking for, she is the consummate cat vet and one of the most brilliant people I ever met. And even better, we became very good friends in a very short time.

Unfortunately, after caring for Amber and Buckley for two years, she had to make the difficult decision to retire, at least for the foreseeable future, from her beloved profession due to a family health problem. While I am fortunate that she will always be available to me for advice or a second opinion, I still needed to find a new vet, since she was not affiliated with a hospital and couldn’t do much beyond basic physical exams without that affiliation. As you might expect, with my background, my standards of what I expect in a vet are very high!

One of the things I always stress when I talk to people about this subject is that I think it’s a good idea to make an appointment without your pet when evaluating a veterinary clinic. By going to see potential vets without your cat, you will be more relaxed. Ask for a tour of the hospital. If you want to speak with a veterinarian, offer to pay for an office visit. Most vets won’t charge you for this introductory visit, but it sets the right tone for a future relationship of mutual respect. Come prepared with a list of questions. Some of the questions I’ll be asking on my search are:

- How many veterinarians are at the practice?

- Will I always see the same vet?

- Are there vets at the practice who specialize in working with cats or have a preference for working with cats?

- Are they open to holistic modalities even if they don’t practice them?

- Are appointments required?

- How are emergencies handled?

- What is their policy for visiting hospitalized pets?

- Are diagnostic services such as X-rays, blood work, ultrasound, EKG, and endoscopy done in-house, or referred to a specialist?

- Do the veterinarians use VIN (the Veterinary Information Network)? This is generally an indicator that they are interested in pursuing continuing education and are staying on top of the latest developments in their profession.

I’m a big fan of house-call vets, especially for cats. Simply getting a cat into a carrier can be a challenge. And while there are things you can do to make your cat’s trip to the vet less stressful, having a vet come to your home can be a much better option for many cats. There are numerous advantages:

- The vet gets to see your cat in her natural environment. This will allow your vet to observe and evaluate behavior and conditions that may be aggravated by something in your cat’s environment that you may not even be aware of.

- No exposure to other cats (or dogs, if your veterinary hospital is not a feline-only practice) and any potentially contagious diseases. This is especially important for very young cats who do not have a fully developed immune system, and for older cats with compromised immune systems.

- More personalized care. During a typical in-clinic appointment, you will spend fifteen to twenty minutes with your vet. A typical in-home appointment will last anywhere from half an hour to an hour.

- Less stress for the cat guardian. I’ve always found taking my cats on car rides extremely stressful. None of my cats have ever been good in the car, and as a result, both the cat and I were stressed by the time we arrived at the clinic.

- Ideal for senior citizens and others who are homebound or don’t drive.

- No waiting times. Even though your mobile vet may not always arrive at the exact scheduled time due to traffic and other considerations, you’ll be waiting in the comfort of your own home and not in a crowded waiting room with other animals.

The American Association of Mobile and Housecall Veterinarians provides a state-by-state listing on their website. However, just like you shouldn’t pick a vet simply by location, don’t pick a mobile vet simply based on whether he or she services your area. Use the same criteria you’d use to choose a regular vet.

I ended up choosing two house-call veterinarians: a feline-only vet who specializes in homeopathy, and a full-service, conventional house-call vet.

Your pet’s veterinarian is going to be the most important person in your pet’s life after you. Choose wisely.

Life after Veterinary Medicine

I loved the years I spent working in various facets of the veterinary profession. I didn’t leave the profession because I didn’t love the work. I had taken the job at the animal hospital following fifteen years of working in corporate middle management at a financial-services company. Although I enjoyed most of the people I worked with there, I felt disconnected and uninterested in my work. I was just one more cog in a giant wheel.

While my immediate supervisors gave me consistently positive feedback about my work, I did not feel that I was making a difference in anyone’s life and my work was definitely not an expression of myself in the world—something that was becoming increasingly important to me. Once I had started working at the animal hospital, however, I looked forward to going to work each day for the first time in my life. I was making a difference, both in the lives of my bosses and staff as well as our clients and their pets. But after a few years, I knew I wanted something more. I just did not know what that something more might be.

I loved working in an environment that mattered to me. Janet and Jack were not only my bosses but had become personal friends. They treated me more like a business partner than an employee, and I was able to make decisions and implement my ideas without the constraints of a corporate hierarchy. I loved seeing how my decisions directly impacted the people and animals around me. Along with that, however, came a certain amount of burnout. We were a small group, and it often felt more like a family than an office. When things were going well, that made for a wonderful work environment, but like any family, there were also personality clashes and a certain level of dysfunction. Eventually, it was the people-management aspect of the job that made me reevaluate and realize that I was ready to move on and take my life in a slightly different direction. I wanted even more freedom than this position afforded me.

I began to think about starting my own business. The time was right. My father had passed away a year earlier and had left me a small inheritance, so I had some financial flexibility. It was still a difficult decision. I had never been a big risk taker, and going out on my own—especially without having a clear vision yet of what I wanted to do—was nothing if not risky. I loved working with Janet and Jack, and I knew they trusted me with their business and relied on me to free up their time to be doctors and not just business owners. It took a considerable amount of soul-searching on my part, but eventually, I realized that it was time for me to move on.

In February 2006, I told Janet and Jack that I was going to be leaving. It was an emotional and difficult conversation, but their kind and understanding acceptance of my decision reaffirmed that they were friends first and bosses second. While they were sad that I had made the decision to leave, it didn’t come as a complete surprise to them. Over the past few months, my burnout with certain aspects of my job had become more and more difficult to hide. I offered to stay on until a replacement for my job had been found and trained, a process that took another four months. I often joked about it being the longest notice period in history, but it was important to me to make the transition as smooth as possible for everyone.

While I look back fondly on my adventures in veterinary medicine, I haven’t regretted my decision to leave. I took a leap of faith when I started my own business. After my departure, I continued to take care of the hospital’s financial management for a few hours each week for a few more months while starting my new business, Healing Hands, which provides Reiki healing for pets and people. Reiki is an energy therapy that originated in Japan. A Reiki Practitioner transfers energy through her hands to a person or animal by using a light touch either directly on or slightly away from the body.

As part of this new business, I began publishing my bimonthly newsletter, News for You and Your Pet, and I found that I loved writing. I had been writing in some shape or form all my life, but this realization became a turning point, and my writing career took off with my first book, Buckley’s Story, my blog, The Conscious Cat, and numerous articles for print and online publications. This was followed by my second book, Purrs of Wisdom. I’m currently working on a sequel and prequel to Buckley’s Story.

I will always be grateful for my experiences in the veterinary world. They enriched my life in ways I never could have imagined, and paved the way for a successful career of writing about what I’m passionate about: cats and pets in general.

About the Author

Ingrid King is the award-winning author of Buckley’s Story — Lessons from a Feline Master Teacher. She is a former veterinary hospital manager turned writer. Her popular blog, The Conscious Cat, has been called “educational catnip for the cat lover” and is a comprehensive resource for conscious living, health, and happiness for cats and their humans. The Conscious Cat has won multiple awards, including DogTime Media’s 2011 Pettie for Best Overall Pet Blog and About.com’s 2012 Readers Choice Award for Best Website About Cats. Ingrid is the publisher of the online magazine News for You and Your Pet, which goes out to subscribers around the world. For more information about Ingrid, please visit www.ingridking.com.

Acknowledgments

Even though being a writer is a solitary profession, no book is created by the writer alone. While it’s impossible everyone who contributed to making this book a reality, I would like to express my deepest appreciation to the following:

To all the veterinarians, veterinary staff, veterinary clients, and veterinary patients who made my years in the profession such a life-changing and enriching experience.

To T.J. Banks, for being my first reader, for your unwavering support of my writing, and for your friendship.

To Anna Maria Trusky, editor and kindred spirit, for making Adventures in Medicine a better book.

To Bernadette Kazmarski, for communicating the joy I felt working in the veterinary profession with a beautiful cover.

To my cheering section – you know who you are. Your friendship and steadfast belief in me mean the world to me.

Do you have questions or comments?

I’d love to hear your thoughts. E-mail me at consciouscat@cox.net.

If you’re not already a reader of The Conscious Cat, I’d love to invite you to join one of the best communities of cat lovers on the Internet. www.Consciouscat.com

One last thing…

When you turn the page, Kindle will give you the opportunity to rate the book and share your thoughts on Facebook and Twitter. If you believe this book is worth sharing, would you take a few seconds to let your pet-loving friends know about it? If it turns out to make a difference in their lives and those of their pets, they’ll be forever grateful to you. And so will I.

Table of Contents

Title

Epilog

Dedication

Content

Introduction: Finding Your Bliss in Unexpected Places

Beast

Diesel

Virginia

Oliver

Jordan

Jake

Kennel Work

Finding a New Vet

Life after Veterinary Medicine

About the Author

Acknowledgments