In the clinic.

Jun 19, 2008 23:57

The vet came in while I stood in the hallway of the clinic, rubbing the ears of one of the dogs that chill back there day in, day out. The vet and I greeted each other and I gave her the lowdown of my morning cleaning and tending to the animals. Then, one of the clinic's cats--an orange male cat--came up to us and stood in front of my feet and gazed up at me. The vet started cooing and fussing over the cat, but the odd cat gazed up at me again and raised his paw in a heart-melting gesture.
The doctor--an energetic, vibrant 50-year old woman--put her hands on her hips and demanded of me, Have you been playing with MY boyfriend?
I raised both my hands and exclaimed, I swear to God, I never touched him! Which was the truth. I still don't love cats much and rarely pay attention to the ones that roam freely with the other clinic-roaming dogs.

In case you haven't guessed, I got transferred into the clinic after a girl there quit and the vet asked for me, which I took as a huge compliment.
It has only been a few weeks, therefore I have not yet learned how to give injections, draw blood, nor use the microscope to identify pathogens--though I'm told that I will. So far I am still adjusting to the extra manual labor, which really sucks because by the time I finish cleaning all the cages and rooms, I'm worn and usually leave work without learning anything new from the vet or from the other ladies concerning animal medicine.
But I am a lot happier. Once I build up my energy and enthusiasm, I will be trained in a whole new field that I never thought possible without formal education and degrees. It will help satisfy my desire to learn and practice ( a little) in the field of medicine. And, of course, it's with animals! Dogs, especially! Fucking fantastic that I can be around dogs and get paid for it; it sort of relieves the pain of not being able to have a dog of my own right now.

I'll give you a portrait of my favorite dogs (and least fave) of the clinic, 'cause, you know, I know you want to know:

Angel: This poor baby died a few days ago. The doctor had to put her down bc she found a malignant mass in the poor dog's belly that took up most of her midsection. Angel was a min pin (like a miniature Doberman. I've seen photos of min pins but Angel was much chubbier. I always enjoyed stopping whenever I saw her to rub her soft body and pat her well-defined head. She was not extremely active, but would stand there with her head slightly bent while she'd be petted.

Chompers: I don't know if I like this one. He's back there in the clinic because no one else wants him. He growls and bites at other people he's not associated with. He's pure white, has a real Spitz look to him, resembles a lot to an American Eskimo dog, maybe he is one--I don't know. Triangular ears that poke out of a double-coat of powder-puff, white, soft fur. The cocky bastard spends his days stealing kitty canned food from other cats, digging through trash, running off with other dogs' bones, and snarling at anyone who tries to get in his way. But the intelligent prick is no fool, he knows how to open doors with his paw and pushing them open--so, trying to keep him out when I clean certain rooms by shutting the door is always pointless.

Gilligan: He is a small dog--a fox terrier type-- but he's one of my favorites because, despite having only three feet, he is always so dang happy. He bounces all over the place and has the annoying yet endearing habit of hopping on his one hind foot and pouncing on your legs while you're trying to walk. He looks up at you always with his mouth open in a teethly smile with his tongue hanging out either in the front or hanging out on the side. I can hardly resist picking him up and coddling him like a baby although I'm not too sure he likes that.

Junebug: One day--a few weeks before I started working in the clinic--I went into the clinic to carry out my trash to the dumpster outside. The usual herd of dogs came up to me to bark and cause commotion since they didn't know me well then. Junebug--the bitch of the group--came up to me barking then bit me on my hip, leaving a bloody, bruised mark that lasted for a little over a week. After I transferred, she would constantly bark at me till one day I finally had enough. I took one violent step toward her and loudly went SHHHHHHHH! Ever since then, she has been scared to death of me. She doesn't bark any longer, instead she runs hurriedly in the opposite direction and hides until I leave the room. When she walks, she has her head straight up, butt and tail cocked in the air, and has a jaunty gait that speaks of conceit. One day, another girl from the clinic--Monica--made a remark about the mutt that still makes me grin when I think of it: "Junebug walks and acts like she's the shit, but she ain't all that."

Anyway, I guess that's enough for now.
Ta-ta.
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