I like helping people. There really is nothing better than knowing that you have made someone’s life better or made a change in that person’s life simply by doing something for that person. This is especially true for those who can either not help themselves, due to age, disability, or economic status, or for those who are totally dependent on you for support, such as a child or an animal. I have had about 8 jobs over my lifetime, and I have enjoyed something about each and every one, but my favorite, by far, was my job at the veterinary clinic when I was in college. There is nothing quite like the love of an animal in your care.
It’s funny how I got the job. My husband (at the time) and I had just moved to town. We had enough money to sustain us for about a month, and I needed to find work. My new landlord knew the owner of the vet clinic, and he put in a good word for me. I went for an interview and, although I loved dogs, I had never worked at a vet clinic or even bathed a dog before working there. The vet hired me anyway, and I can still remember the first day, coming home smelling like dip (not nachos!) and feeling exhausted. I also remember a feeling of accomplishment, knowing I had done something to help support my family. More than anything, though, I felt loved. In a somewhat loveless marriage, away from my family and friends, the dogs, cats, birds, and occasional pig or reptile became my family, my friends, and my source of never-ending love. Pets don’t judge. So long as they are treated with kindness and fed, the love unconditionally. It was exactly what I needed to carry me through some pretty dark times.
I think back sometimes at the dogs and cats. There was Ladd, who was a frequent boarder. His parents traveled a lot with their company, and Ladd was a 15-year old Collie. He was a barker, or more of a moaner really, as he wasn’t a fan of boarding. He quieted down on his frequent trips outside. There was Tootsie Roll, a Daschund who was a yapper, and she would “piddle”, which was our word for a dog who got so excited that it pottied on you when you went to get it out of it’s cage. I remember her tail just drumming a beat along the side of the metal cage, thumping until the tip of her tail was sore. A happy girl she was. There was Tiffany, by far my favorite, a old Yorkie who had been rescued from the pound many years prior. She would just snuggle if you let her. There were so many. Such love to share.
I have worked at several places since. I have never been treated as well as I was there. The staff was nice, the pet parents were wonderful, and my boss was a great veterinarian. If I didn’t live so far away now, my own Moxie would go to that clinic for her check ups.
I wish that people at other jobs would treat their co-workers with as much respect and care as we all did there. We were truly united in one mission – to care for other people’s fur babies as much as we would our very own. At other jobs, the mission sometimes gets disjointed or convoluted, lost in the madness of everyday life. That’s too bad, for by working together instead of in opposition, we could truly achieve so much more.