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Goodbye to Merlin (Merman, Schmermles, Myrtle, Schmermilator) and I love you

Merlin on a short hike at Island Park in Mount Pleasant, MI

I never in my life thought about owning a Saint Bernard. They just weren’t on my radar, just like Michigan was never there for me to live.

Getting to be an old man in Virginia

One day, while working at my first job in South Carolina, a local dairy farmer brought in a new born puppy. She owned a dairy and had a very small Saint Bernard breeding kennel on the side. Her bitch had just whelped and had killed all but two of the puppies and had mangled one of those puppies’ back legs. At first, it appeared as just a puncture on the out side of the hind leg. We cleaned it and sent home antibiotics.

3 days old

The next day, the farmer brought the puppy back in. The leg wound was now bigger, draining pus, and the foot was stiff and cold. We gave the puppy a guarded to poor prognosis with infection set in and a dead leg in a newborn, frail baby. The farmer, with all of her responsibilities as a dairy woman, did not have the time to dedicate to this sickly puppy. She decided it would be best for him to euthanize as he was not getting better.

10 days old

I looked down at this beautiful, perfect except for a mangled rear leg, and could not picture myself sticking his tiny heart with a needle and then tossing him in the freezer where we kept dead animals. Now, at this point, I was just exiting my first trimester of my very first pregnancy (with India). We had just moved to this town, not 5 months ago, we were renting, and already had 2 dogs, 2 cats, and 2 horses. I was absolutely not in the right place to even think about taking on a new dog, let alone one that would need intensive care for 5 weeks and would grow to over 100lb. I talked it over with my best friend working there with me, Kim, and she encouraged me to take on this (currently) 1lb project.

4 weeks old

I talked to the farmer about surrendering him and letting us try to amputate the leg and save him. She was in tears. She was a tough woman, running a dairy farm, but she had a fantastic heart. She was so upset that she was going to put him to sleep, but was thankful that we would at least give him a chance. I had him signed over and was now the owner of a very sickly infant St. Bernard. What had I done? What was Tony going to say when I came home? I knew he would understand. He knows who he married, but he would likely shake his head a little.

4 weeks

I brought him home, honestly under the impression that even if he survived to, and then through surgery, that he would likely die sometime after from infection, or fading puppy syndrome. I had 0-0.5 hope of his survival (#naturalpessimist), but I had to try.

5 weeks
6 weeks

The next day, we were to do the surgery. I had to meet my boss at a dairy to continue to learn how to efficiently palpate cattle for pregnancy. I went over and over the surgery in my head. Finally, we were done palpating cows and I would drive to the clinic to cut on this three day old puppy. We put him under with just some valium and then masked with gas. There were three people gathered around this 1 lb patient. Kim, our assistant, the other Dr. at the clinic running/monitoring anesthesia, and me, carving on what felt like a chicken wing from KFC. I dissected down to the femur, at some point severing the femoral artery that was so small, it never bled. I used a heavy pair of surgical scissors called Mayo scissors to score a shallow cut around the bone, like a glass cutter, then the bone broke easily in half.

8 weeks and type of bottle we had used to feed him, but this particular bottle was for a baby goat

I, then filed the end of the bone so it wouldn’t be rough on the muscles, closed the muscles around the tip of the bone, and finally, closed the skin over the muscle. Whew! We were done! We took him off of gas, and put him on oxygen only and waited for him to wake up. And we waited. And waited. He wasn’t waking up. That’s it, I knew this was stupid, but at least we tried, right? Then, the doctor helping me got some injectable dextrose and just put a couple of drops in his mouth. He woke up! Thankfully, she was able to keep her calm and remembered that neonatal patients will get hypoglycemic under anesthesia.

We took the puppy home, now named “Doomed puppy” because of my pessimism and superstition all rolled into one. We had to bottle feed him. The little bottle that came with the formula had a nipple that was way too small for his mouth. We ended up having to get a soda bottle and put the smallest goat nipple we could find on it. We also had to stimulate him to pee and poop until he was a certain age. He slept in a cardboard box on a heating pad in our bathroom for the first few days of his life and came with me everyday to work. We had to set alarms to get up every few hours to feed him.

10 weeks

One weekend we were travelling back to Georgia to announce my pregnancy to the families. We would take our dogs with us when we travelled and had the two big dogs in the backseat with the box of puppy in the back as well. He was about 2lbs at this point. Along the way, we stopped at Subway to get dinner but didn’t want to leave the puppy in the car alone with the two dog aggressive dogs, so I picked him up and placed him in an inside pocket in my coat and carried him inside. The workers there never knew I had a Saint Bernard in my coat pocket.

12 weeks

Eventually, we settled on a name “Merlin” and he continued to live in our bathroom, he particularly loved the bath tub. Every night, when it was bed time, he would just shuffle into the bathroom and lop himself into the bathtub to sleep. Having only had three legs his whole life, we always just figured that he would have no trouble learning to walk with three legs. Just like four-legged dogs who get an amputation later in life seem to do just fine, and to “not miss a step,” we thought that he would have even less trouble learning the ways. We were wrong.

13 weeks

Having basically been born with just the three legs and having never learned to walk properly, he would just scramble. He would pull his body along with his front legs and kind of paddle with his one hind leg. Thanks to the advice from my friend, Kim, we sought a Veterinary specialist in rehabilitation in Columbia, SC. She was able to make some chiropractic adjustments, and fit him for a cart for us to borrow. He hated that cart. We would harness him up and he would freak out and run around the room, getting caught on furniture and knocking over everything. We were finally able to harness him up and take him on walks in the neighborhood. It took a lot of practice, and he grew quickly and eventually had to return the cart, but by then, he had learned better how to get up on that back leg.

4 months
1 year – India also pictured at 9 months

He eventually got along on that back leg like it was nothing. We couldn’t take him on long hikes and I could only take him on a 1 mile “warm up walk” before my run so that he got to feel like he was part of the pack too, but he also loved to play tug-of-war – which is typically not recommended for pets because it can make them think everything is a game when you’re trying to take things from them – but this was his main method of exercising, and I could just tell him to drop it and it was over.

He loved vegetables, fruit, tissues, and baby socks. He would wait in the kitchen while I cooked, waiting eagerly for kale stems, carrot ends, strawberry leaves; would follow the kids around or sit next to me while strings of drool hung at his lips if we dared to eat an apple around him. He EXPECTED the core. He would run outside and help the horses eat watermelon rinds or try to find the scattered sweet potato skins I had just thrown out for the deer. If you left a paper towel or tissue within reach, he would stalk it because he knew he would get into trouble for eating it and the moment we weren’t paying attention, he would suck that thing down like it was a piece of cotton candy. Even when the kids were babies and we were in a complete state of chaos, if we forgot to close the baby wipes when we were done, you would catch him sucking each one down as it pulled up the next – like his own tissue Pez dispenser. His love of baby/kids socks got him in trouble too. We would constantly have to go out and buy more to make up for his dietary needs. Our kids were so trained not to leave their socks on the floor downstairs that if we went and visited another person’s house, our kids would come up to us and ask us where they could safely put their socks. Between the tissue diet and socks he consumed, once spring rolled around and we mowed the lawn for the first time the mower would spray our yard with confetti of tissue pieces and colorful sock remnants.

4 years – stealing my spot

As Merlin got older, he would go through phases where he couldn’t walk as well anymore. Most of the time, he responded to pain medication, time, or a chiropractor adjustment. I took an x-ray of his hips to see the horror that I was afraid of. His only hind leg he had was suffering from horrible hip dysplasia. I knew, even though we were very diligent about keeping his weight down, at 120lb, it was still only a matter of time before he completely tore his cruciate ligaments in his only knee and then it would be done. He was definitely MY dog. Tony would tell me that if I wasn’t home, Merlin would just lay in the corner of the dining room all day, not moving even to go outside. He did NOT appreciate the kids and as he got older, he only became more cranky with them, especially when they got crazy silly.

The circled joint is supposed to be a ball and socket joint – you see no ball or socket
Selfies

This past fall, he started having trouble walking again. We knew, at almost 9 years old, anytime could be his last. He was no longer getting up on his back leg anymore and would just scramble along the wooden floors. We would assist him outside and, at first, he would get up on the leg to go to the bathroom. We had him on three different pain medications, joint supplements he had been on his whole life plus a few more, got him some fancy Dr. Buzby’s toe grips, a Help ’em up harness, but still he dragged that stump around. Eventually, he stopped eating as much and the stump became raw and bloody. We had smears of bloody trails across our floors where he had needed to be with me. I altered his harness to pad the stump, but it wouldn’t stay where it needed to. I brought home an “After surgery wear” from work and altered that to pad his stump. That seemed to work better.

After surgery wear – so handsome!

I had been avoiding it. I was in denial. When he would use every last bit of energy in his painful body to get to where ever I was in the house, I just knew he depended on me, how could I let him down? But finally, I stayed outside to watch him go to the bathroom, because now he was soaking his after-surgery wear every time he peed. To my horror, and with tears running down my face, I saw him drag himself to a spot and just sit and pee all over himself. Then, he dragged himself to another spot and pooped while sitting, only swinging his rear away to keep the poop from sticking to him. I knew it was time.

The final day, he was so excited to get to go in the car with us, as that was a rare occurrence for him. We were feeding him Milkbones like he was starving and he just thought that was the best. My mother even met us at the clinic and brought him a porkchop wrapped in a paper towel. He chomped that down too, paper towel and all. He was just having the best day! Of course, it took me and Tony to get him out of the car and into the clinic to our euthanasia room. He required a sling to hold his hind end up. But he just dragged us in, found the few people working after-hours, his tail just flagging like the happiest pup. We finally got him to the euth room and he stumbled and collapsed on the floor. Tired, from all his happiness. I gave him the sedation, then cuddled his giant bear head in my lap as the final injection was given. He was only 3 days old when I decided it wasn’t his time to go to the freezer and even though I had given him 3,200 more days of pure love, it still felt like I had abandoned him as we gently lowered his body, finally, into the freezer.

My last picture with my Mer-man – he looks so tired

Bye buddy.

In his element
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Let’s hear it for the clients!

So, I’ve written about some of the more annoying things clients can do or ask of us. To be fair, the majority of our clients are considerate and polite. It’s like always having something funny and typically negative to say about your spouse or kids when you’re telling stories in public – if I spent all of your attentive time talking about how sweet my husband can be or how squishy my kids’ cheeks are, you would quickly grow bored and may have to hold back your gag reflex. So, I decided I’d write about the good guys (and gals) who keep me in this profession – and will try to keep it entertaining.

A frequent flyer, this patient is everyone’s favorite and she knows it! Her owners are pretty cool too!

Mr. Dean:

When I was working at my first job in South Carolina, it was my first time being a small animal vet and there was a huge learning curve. When I first met Mr. Dean, he was an imposing character. Older man, gruff, zero time for formalities or politeness. Not that he was rude, but he surely didn’t take the time for making you feel better about yourself. He was a hunter and had his pack of beagles. One of his beagles he brought to me wasn’t “doin’ too good” and we ended up diagnosing with kidney failure.

Mr. Dean was a very concerned owner. He would come to the office and just talk to me about his dog and his condition often and let me know how he was doing. I told him over and over about the basics of kidney failure and that a low protein diet was important to help his dog’s kidneys, but he continued to tell me how he makes him hand rolled meatballs every night for dinner and he “knows it’s not right, but he just loves them”. Then, he finally got to where his dog would eat biscuits. So, every morning, Mr. Dean and his wife would get up and make biscuits from scratch just to feed to their ailing dog.

This is a picture of Norman – the beagle that wandered into our yard – he has since run away after his neuter

Eventually, his dog got to the point where it was time to make “the decision” and Mr. Dean asked me to come to the house to euthanize his beloved beagle. This gruff, hardened man softened greatly at this point. It was hard to see, but we had been working so closely with his dog that I knew it was time to say goodbye. After his favorite beagle had passed, he gave me a tour of his property and his “hunting kennels”. These were not your typical hunting dog kennels – they were immaculately clean, the dogs were all allowed into the house at some point during the day. This gruff old man who spends his time hunting rabbits and turkey, even had a couple of turkeys that he had taken in as pets. I don’t know much else about him, but if I died and came back as a beagle, I would certainly want to come back as one of his.

There was one guy that I met after helping him deal with his ailing old boxer and then, eventually, euthanizing. In the next few weeks, we were all so happy to see him come in with a new little bulldog type puppy. That little puppy was just a little hopping ray of sunshine! He made us happy, but most importantly, he made his mourning owner happy. Everything was as usual through puppy vaccines, neuter, and into his first year of life. And then, it happened. The owner rushed this young dog into see us because he had been seizing and would not stop. We worked on him for what felt like forever, giving anti-seizure medicine, placing an IV, running blood, had him on monitoring, but we could not get him to stop seizing. I called my boss as I was still a new graduate and asked what else we could do. He told me to try giving tiny amounts of the euthanasia solution (which is just a concentrated anti-seizure medication) until the seizure stopped.

Not the bulldog in the story, just super cute

This was the point where I had to make the decision of whether to allow this dog to continue to seizure or give him euthanasia solution to SEE IF IT WOULD work. This was in the middle of nowhere with no access to emergency veterinary care, I was alone, I was still wet behind the ears, and everyone was looking to me to fix it. I went outside the building and started crying. This was all too much for me. Then I thought of one of the girls working there as an assistant and how I had heard her talk about how weak girls can be in situations of stress. So, I stopped crying and went back into the building and started titrating euthanasia solution (pentobarbital) until the sweetest little bulldog stopped seizing.

It took him almost 12 hours to come back to consciousness, but when he did, he wasn’t the same happy, go lucky sweet puppy. He was angry, charging the cage, growling, snapping. I talked to the owner and said that this can sometimes happen with the post-ictal phase where the brain is recovering and that we would just need to give him more time. He did not recover. Finally, the owner came in to see him to see if the dog would recognize him. He didn’t. Just like with us, he charged the opening of the cage, trying to bite this sweet man who was dealt too many unfair hands. Then the owner made the heart wrenching decision to euthanize. We could not even reach into the cage to get to the injection port in his IV line. We had to just stab the needle through the plastic line and give it that way.

Broken hearts are a commonality in this profession. That owner didn’t deserve that. He was a great owner, always wonderful to us, and was even gracious after the fact, knowing that we had done everything we could.

There have been farm clients that understand that we are hot, tired, likely deprived of calories. I had one client who brought me out a freshly made smoothie in a glass after I had worked on her horse’s lacerations. Numerous clients who have brought out water, soda, coffee, some even offered beer or wine. I had one client invite me in for lunch after working on his horses. I met his family, felt 100% too grungy to be in this nice of a house and around this much money, but it was so nice to feel welcome, especially when being called out for an emergency. Small animal clients who bring us buckets of coffee and doughnuts, buy us pizza, or a sandwich spread, cookies, baked goods for Christmas, even a card sent just saying thank you.

I had one client in Michigan, who, upon hearing that I was leaving, brought in a present of a bottle of wine made from their grapes in their garden (not a vineyard), displayed on a wooden wine bottle holder the owner made from wood from their own trees. The wine bottle was decorated with a picture of the horse that I had helped them with. I still have that bottle on my kitchen counter and am afraid to mess it up by opening it.

There have been so many good clients, it’s hard to tell a full story about each of them. There was the client who was comforting ME while I was euthanizing HER horse. She was very worried about me and having to do the procedure. There was one who gave me a beautiful drawing of their dog I had worked on. There are all of those who have their animal caught and restrained for us when we get there, or let us know ahead of time that their dog or cat has been known to bite – instead of waiting until we have finished listening to their heart and then suddenly have to dodge the teeth coming at our face only to have the owner say “yeah, I thought he might do that” – and ALL the ones that understand that we are slammed with sick patients and don’t grumble at us when we fly into their exam rooms, hair disheveled, 15 minutes late.

Then, there are all the clients who just make our job easier and, dare I say, worth while by the simple act of *drum roll!!!!* following our suggestions. It’s that easy. Sometimes, when I see a client coming in for a recheck, I get excited that they are actually coming back! And then, when I find out they’ve been giving the medications as I said (though I understand some animals are difficult to medicate – but at least they gave it “the old college try”) and using the products I told them would help the most – talk about a heart fluttering moment! I’m not even talking about spending all the money on all the available diagnostics and treatments, just giving a medication every 8 hours like I said, or applying ear medication once EVERY day, or decreasing the number of treats and food given and getting their dog to lose weight.

Some clients have really grown into our lives and become our friends that we think of on a daily basis, even if we moved far far away – Mr. Dean, I still “peench ” them dogs real hard before I give an injection, and you’re right, it seems to help.

Some clients feel the need to connect with us with gifts, which is awesome!

But, as medical professionals, we mostly only get to revisit the cases that are not improving despite the hours of research and brainstorming we have been giving to that animal; who have the call backs from clients complaining or upset; who pour hours of emotional weight onto people; consoling them or talking them through difficult decisions, knowing bad news and preparing to tell the owner who is waiting so hopefully in the room for something “easy” to fix, telling them bad news and just watching as the shock hits them followed by the collapse of their shoulders and welling of tears. ALL DAY. EVERY DAY.

So, being a polite, considerate owner when things are okay for you and your pet, or taking advice on treatment for your animal, or letting us know when something got better (even if we totally expected it to) is all it takes to be a good client in our eyes. Unfortunately, sometimes, we have to put up walls of armor through humor, usually dark humor, so I apologize to those who were offended by my last post, but at the end of the day, we’re all just softies who can’t watch movies where animals get hurt, and who break down crying when we watch a Subaru commercial, but sometimes have to use sarcasm as a way to make it through the day.

Hooray for the clients!!!!

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What’s coming into the clinic?

I’ve decided to compile a collection of expected diagnosis based solely on judging a book by its cover. Basically, what we, as vets see coming in and go ahead and make large assumptions (normally we assume the worst or most obnoxious). So, here are some presentations and the expected problem.

Basset hound/Cocker spaniels: Ears. Always ears. Even if they’re just coming in for a rabies vaccine only and refuse to pay an exam fee, they will want you to check out their ears…. and a nail trim.

Red/white/blue pit bull: skin – allergies and or mange. Dilute colors = skin issues – also nail trim.

Labrador (any age, any color) not eating/vomiting – foreign body – ate toy, golf balls, raw hides, rocks, dry wall, socks, underwear, etc.

Any female dog over the age of 1 year and not spayed – WILL ALWAYS BE PYOMETRA until proven otherwise – and owner will give you a guilt trip about the expense of the emergency surgery “So you’re just going to let my dog die then?!?” even though you told them from the beginning to get the dog spayed “No, sir, I did not tell you to NOT spay your dog” (avoid a $800-$4000 emergency bill)

Puppy (any breed) under 1 year of age presenting with diarrhea, inappetence, and/or vomiting: Parvo until proven otherwise.

English bulldog: this one is wide open but can include some or all of the following: skin issues – (allergies, hair loss, ear infections, skin infections), respiratory failure due to nonexistent nostrils, too long of a soft palate, heart failure, or obesity. Inability to use hind end due to hemivertebrae, spinal bifida, obesity. Eye issues due to entropion (eyelid curling inward causing eyelashes to scrape the eye), cherry eye (gland of third eyelid popping out), dry eye (eye is dry.. and covered in thick green mucus and crust). Infection of skin around butt hole due to tail corkscrewing around and stabbing them in their own butt, also obesity. C-section: they literally cannot have puppies naturally due to large heads, small pelvis, and, well, often obesity (most also have to be artificially inseminated due to their poor conformation). *** hint – if you want an english bulldog, go ahead and save for $1500-2500 PER year in vet bills.

Old chihuahua/toy poodle – coughing – heart failure – will want nail trim – dog will turn blue trying to bite us

Young chihuahua/toy poodle – broken leg from getting sneezed on

Great Dane – vomiting/retching/bloated – GDV or twisted stomach bloated. Get to the emergency clinic NOW – the stomach is likely dying as you drive.

Cat (outdoor) swollen leg/lump/lethargic – cat bite abscess – sometimes caused by just a friendly cat fight gone wrong, but much more often by a neighborhood Tom – they will try to breed anything with a cat shape – male, female, spayed, neutered, it doesn’t matter and the fights that ensue end up with someone getting a serious bite wound. Cats have a particularly nasty bacteria in their mouth similar to the bacteria in a komodo dragon’s mouth and the bite wound will fester and cause fever, lethargy, limping until it breaks open and drains. Antibiotics are very helpful.

Male cat – vocalizing in the litterbox/posturing to urinate, but nothing or very little coming out – blocked urethra – right now emergency! Don’t wait until morning. The urine backs up to the kidneys and causes serious, sometimes irreparable damage.

Same thing goes for castrated, male goats – looks like stretching, urine dribbling, loud vocalization, sometimes looks like constipated – it’s not constipated – get to vet immediately! Some studies have shown that if you wait to castrate until 6 months of age and avoid feeding grain altogether, you can avoid this fatal issue.

Older Dachshund/chihuahua/other tiny breed dogs: “trench mouth” – the teeth are rotting out of mouth – will also want a nail trim.

Dachshund of any age, unable to walk/stumbling: Intervertebral disk disease – the same gene that makes them short legged and long backed also makes their connective tissue crap and they will often “slip a disk” and without surgery +/- major anti-inflammatories, will be paralyzed – will definitely request a nail trim.

Coughing dog anywhere in the southeast – Heartworm until proven otherwise

Dog constipated: diarrhea – almost every time. Diarrhea causes straining, straining looks like constipation. Most owners, including myself don’t necessarily pay attention to their dog every time they go out, but will notice when the dog is going out all the time and straining.

Dog stares off into space, stumbles, or collapses when not walking, urinated on self – marijuana – just admit it and save us all a big “told you so” and, like, $400 in diagnostics. We won’t call the cops.

Any animal with the history of “I think my neighbor poisoned him” = anything except poisoning by the neighbor – just doesn’t happen.

Lump on boxer : mast cell tumor until proven otherwise

Dog with episodes of choking or “something stuck in throat” – allergies with reverse sneezing or kennel cough

Dog with lameness/stiffness/lethargy in certain areas of the country: lyme disease until proven otherwise

Small breed dog with hind limb lameness: luxating patella (knee cap slipping out of place)

Large breed dog with sudden hind limb lameness: ruptured cruciate ligament (like the ACL tear in athletes)

Goldens: especially the super sweet ones that belong to a special needs child: Cancer. Every F***ing time.

German Shepherd: will rush the door viciously barking as soon as you open the exam room door. Everyone in the clinic will hear and will assume you saw the shepherd. Will not let you touch it the whole time without heavy restraint, muzzle, sedation. Absolutely will request nail trim.

Cat with scabs all over body: fleas/flea allergy (even one bite from a flea can trigger the allergy in some cats)

Obese draft/quarter horse/donkey/pony that is stiff, doesn’t want to walk: founder/laminitis

Anything that is scratching and not on veterinary prescribed flea meds: fleas. Always fleas. Especially if the owner preaches essential oils and says there are absolutely not fleas and uses a natural remedy for flea control – fleas all day.

Cat with significant weight loss: and drinking a lot/not eating: kidney failure. Eating a ton/personality change: hyperthyroidism

Anything named “Lucky” or “Miracle” = doomed.

Anything named “Angel” will bite, unprovoked – owner will definitely want a nail trim.

Again, these are things vets just assume when they see it on the schedule. It doesn’t mean every patient every time and we all certainly go into the exam room with an open mind.

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White privilege and one eye-opening event

I realize that I may lose some followers with this one, but I felt it needed to be said… for the 40 millionth time. This is not a political post, race relations spans all of humanity whether or not you believe we should tax the rich.

Image may contain: 4 people, including Emily K. Thomas and Tony Thomas, people sitting, child, outdoor and nature

First of all, I feel like people immediately get offended and on the defensive when “white privilege” is mentioned and it really shouldn’t be that way. It’s a term to simply ask you to stop, think with your heart, hear what people are saying, and try to see life through the eyes of a person of color. As white people, even though we don’t realize it most of the time, we are given certain privileges that others don’t see. We expect that if we enter a building, we will be treated courteously and not be followed by a security guard. We expect that if a police officer pulls us over and we are polite and courteous, that everything will go okay except maybe the ticket we take home. We even expect that when we do raise a little hell and talk back to the authority figures, that more than likely, we will not end up dead.

Let’s think of “white privilege” as like what royals or “A list” celebrities experience compared to what the average citizen might. A royal walks up to pretty much anywhere they want and security guards simply step aside and question nothing. However, at that same location, an average citizen would be IDed and have their bag inspected before entering.

Image may contain: one or more people, people standing, tree and outdoor
Some young 20 somethings being rowdy in a hotel parking lot Savannah, GA – never once thought about being shot at or having the police called on us – white privilege

I thought that I understood my privilege before and I was ashamed of it. But being ashamed does nothing, and in the wrong mindset, causes bitterness and resentment. I thought I understood until one day, I was scrolling through Facebook after a few recent stories about innocent black men being killed for things as innocent as simply going for a jog and saw a friend’s post. Let me tell you about Cherice, a black veterinarian. I barely know her. I joined a Facebook group that is for veterinarians who are mothers and is a place where we can talk about cases, ask for parenting advice, or just vent about rough times in our lives. A couple of years ago, I posted about the very hard time I was having working at the clinic I was at and expressed my feelings of frustration, severe depression, and of being trapped. She was one of the first members to privately message me and give me support and pour out her life story to let me know that I was not alone.

Later, we became Facebook friends and, eventually met at a Veterinary conference where we got to have a brief chat between lectures and got to hug each other – finally through all the help she’d extended to me. Cherice had NO IDEA who I was when she reached out to me, but gave me her heart and soul. So, when all this was coming out about Ahmaud Arbery, I saw a post from her on Facebook that made my heart sink and tears immediately well up in my eyes. She posted an adorable picture of her two little boys taking a bath, and wrote:

“At this point I have no idea how to keep my own sons alive. I imagine I’m supposed to feel “lucky” that they don’t look “that” brown. Maybe they will get a pass and someone won’t kill them. I don’t even know how to feel about even typing that”

Read it again.

I thought I understood what it meant that I have unwritten privileges that people of color (POC) do not. I thought I got it that when I send someone my resume or have an interview on the phone, I am lucky enough to not have to worry about if my name sounded white or if my accent sounded white enough. I thought I understood that my father was able to go from absolute dirt poor to second in command at the Robins Air Force base because of the opportunities and unspoken advantages available to him from his time of birth that allowed him to succeed and get into Georgia Tech (one of the first white colleges in the south to allow black people and not even until 1968 – that’s ONE generation, not 100s of years ago), and get the promotions he got. I thought I had pretty well educated myself by watching documentaries and shows on Netflix such as “Dear White People” – where the main character looks almost exactly like my niece (white/black blend).

Then, I read Cherice’s post, guys, and my guts. Hit. The. Floor. I have suffered from post partum anxiety where you are constantly in fear your child will be harmed or die to the point that I sought help. I cannot watch shows where a child or baby is in danger, even though I know it’s fiction. But, to read her post and think that of all the crazy scenarios I have pulled through my head, I have never thought what would happen when my babies grow up and someone sees them and immediately judges them as a criminal just by the way they look. I will likely never have to, but what if I did? What kind of pain it must be for POC to create the most beautiful sweet babies, the centers, the loves of their lives, and know that others will likely look at them like they are less than. Not only that, but have to worry that because of the way they look, people may even want to harm or kill them.

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Tony and I with our first little precious baby – not thinking about how the world will judge her.

This is white privilege. No one is asking white people to feel ashamed. We cannot help that we were born into privilege just as they cannot help they were born not white. What we can do, though is talk about it. Next time you are driving down the road or watching TV, try to note the ratio of white to black or POC you see when it comes to movies, shows, even simple billboards. Black people and POC have a stigma and none of it is being helped by the majority of the everyday people we see in the media being white. If we could surround ourselves by a normalcy of seeing POC doing everyday things that we can all relate to, maybe the idea of seeing a POC would not be so shocking.

When I moved to mid Michigan from the south, I had been there about 2-3 WEEKS before I saw a black person. I was so excited, I called Tony who was still trying to get all our stuff together in South Carolina. Despite the fact that I saw like one POC in the first 2-3 weeks I was there, and not many in between that time and when I left 5 years later, some people there were still racist. I wondered “how can you be racist when you don’t even see black people?” The only thing I can reason (because everything needs reason) is that these people only knew black people in the media. And what does mainstream media normally show black people as? That’s right. Nothing. There’s not even a normalcy for black people in the movies. It’s definitely getting better, but not much. So, for these people living in mid Michigan in their mostly white world, black people and POC are basically foreign to them, and anything foreign must not be trusted.

So, when you consider your white privilege, don’t get mad. Don’t be offended. Don’t immediately start swinging. Try to see the world through the eyes of the unpopular and try to think of anything you can do to help. Helping can be anything from purposefully hiring a POC (qualified, obviously – and so many are) to just looking deep inside yourself to make a change, then spreading that change to anyone who will listen. It’s 2020 and there’s still leaps and bounds of progress we can make.

I’m sorry if this post has somehow offended you. I mean literally zero ill will. I just want to help bridge people together. Sometimes it’s hard to think of yourself as needing to grow, I face it everyday in my own work as a vet. I’m never the best I can be, I can always be better. So can you. <3

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Sweet baby Oscar, watching kites and, I’m sure, reflecting on life

Thanks to my friend, Cherice for approving my use of her quote. I will keep you in my prayers and hope the world changes sooner rather than later.

Love, Emily

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Vlog: The Down Low on Diarrhea

Diarrhea is one the most common issues we see at the vet clinic, and it is caused by a huge host of problems. Luckily Emily and Tony are here to break some of them down.

We hope you enjoyed the video, and, as always, thank you for watching!!

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Popcorn and Toad

Dr. Emily is helping out a work friend by fostering two kittens that were found in her barn. And with kittens comes a ton of cuteness.

I hope you enjoy all the kitty cuteness =)

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TT: The Hitchhiker

Emily, waiting patiently for me in South Carolina

A little back story: One of the things that I am most afraid of is being stuck on the side of the road. This fear goes so deep that I am a very nervous traveler and I grew to dread long trips in our old cars (it’s not so bad since we bought our Subaru). If the “check engine” light, or any of those warning lights, comes on, I have to actively fight against panicking. Because of this fear of mine, I have a lot of sympathy for anyone that is stuck on the side of the road. If I see a person walking on the road I feel compelled to stop and ask if they need help. I try to stop if I see a car broken down on the road to offer my help. I do all this because I know that if I were in that position I would be freaking out a little. I’ve helped push several cars down the street for a stranger, I’ve changed a few tires (and plugged one), and I’ve also picked up some hitchhikers that needed a ride. By “some,” I mean I’ve probably given 20 to 30 people a ride. Some times we were going the same way, some times they only needed to go a couple of miles in some direction. My second to longest drive with a hitchhiker was something like 30 minutes. Now, I do have personal rules with hitchhikers. I never give someone a ride when any family member is with me. If I’m riding with a friend, my friend has to agree before I even ask the person if they would like a ride. And, my last rule is no smoking in the car. I also would never want Emily to pick up a hitchhiker, it’s far too dangerous. =)

With all the people I’ve given a ride to, all of them were thankful, all of them only needed a little help to get a little farther down the road. They have all been courteous, respectful, and generally pleasant. We’ll talk and swap life stories, and, when we get to where they need to go, they’ve said “thank you” and I’ve left feeling like a did a good thing for my fellow man. This is true of all the hitchhikers I have picked up, all but one.

Emily saved Merlin’s life while we lived in South Carolina

Emily moved to South Carolina before I did. She moved there to start her first veterinarian position after having just completed her internship at UGA. I was still living in Athens, trying to pack up all our things and sell our house (still technically own that house). I was working at the vet school during the day, packing and cleaning at night, and I would take a truck load of boxes or furniture to our rented house in South Carolina every weekend. To get from one house to the other was about a three hour drive, and this was well before the time of GPS on our phones. GPS devices were totally a thing, but we didn’t have one. I had some printed off directions that I would follow. I held on to these printed directions like crazy for the first few trips, but by the third or fourth trip I thought I knew exactly how to get where I was going. I didn’t even bring the directions on the fateful “hitchhiker” trip to Newberry.

I had been driving for about an hour and a half. I was in a fairly large town in South Carolina when I lost my confidence in my mental map. I made a few hesitant turns down streets that looked right, but they weren’t. And I was lost. I pulled my truck into a parking lot and started to look for the printed out directions that I knew weren’t in the truck. I only looked for a minute or two until a nice person came up to me and asked if I needed help. How great! I told him I was lost and where I wanted to go. Luckily for me, he knew how to get there and it was, as he said, “In the same direction that I need to go.”

“Fantastic!” I said. “Hop in, I’ll give you a ride.” So, this nice man threw a heavy looking backpack into the truck bed and climbed aboard. He just needed to go down the road a few minutes, and it would put me on the path to Newberry. He started giving me directions, turn at the light and go down two blocks, that kind of thing and then I asked him where he needed to go. He said Greenville. That didn’t mean anything to me, I didn’t know where Greenville was in relation to where we were. We drove in a generally northern direction, which was odd because Newberry was basically east of Athens and I was pretty sure I wasn’t so lost as to be way south of where I needed to be. We started to leave the town, driving distinctly north now. Me and the hitchhiker were chatting, mostly sports stuff (sports are an easy icebreaker) and he seemed like a nice guy. And then I saw the road sign telling me how far Greenville was. Greenville was 50 miles north.

I told the guy that 50 miles was too far, I had to get to Newberry to see my wife. I told him that I would drop him off in the next town no problem, but I had to leave him there. I couldn’t drive two hours out of my way. He listened to me, he let me explain that I was sorry but I had to get to Newberry, I said Greenville was just too far; and then he pulled a knife out of his pocket. He never held it up to me, but he did hold it up so I could see it. It was a big knife. Bigger than I thought would comfortably fit in a pocket. (It might have looked bigger because of the threat it implied.) Then he said, “No, I think you can go all the way to Greenville.”

After he made it clear that Greenville was going to be our destination, he calmly put the knife on his lap and started trying to have conversations with me again. He talked about t.v. shows he liked, and other trivial topics. I tried to act cool, I tried to be comfortable in the situation, but it was so hard to stay calm and simply drive. We got to the south edge of Greenville and he had me pull into a fast food parking lot where a friend was waiting. I have no idea what I hauled in that backpack he had, but that is the only thing he took when we arrived. And, to his credit, he told me to get on I-385 to get back down to Newberry.

I know, how could anyone take advantage of that face

That was the only truly terrifying experience I’ve had while simply trying to help out another person. And I haven’t let it deter me from picking up hitchhikers. I know most people are good people. Even my one “bad” hitchhiker only showed me that he had a knife. It could have been so much worse. He didn’t rob me, he didn’t steal my stuff. He could have, but he only took a ride. I’m not blind to the problems of the world. I know that there are some people out there that would have robbed me or worse, but I truly think those people are few and far between that it is worth the risk for me to lend strangers a helping hand when I can.