An Open Letter

Dear Clients,

I say a lot of things to you, and they're all true. I'm not kidding, I'm not just babbling to hear my own voice, I'm not being mean, and I'm not just making things up for the sake of... I don't know why you even think I would. But yeah, no matter what you think, I'm telling you the truth.

And this is the case, no matter what I say. I mean it when I say your pet has to finish the full course of their medications. I mean it when I say they need to have their teeth cleaned. I mean it when I say there's a problem. And I mean it when I say I love them.

Most of all, I mean that last one. I know it sounds like the most throw-away, meaningless, filler-esque line of anything I say in the exam room, and I know I say it every time in every room, but I swear to you it's true. If you don't believe anything else I tell you, believe that. Because maybe if you do, you'll start to listen to everything else I say.

I love your pets. All of them. I love the sweet, cuddly hounds that curl up and press their heads against my sternum, and the 150-pound great danes that try to sit on my lap, and the poor scared cats that cling to the edge of the table and cry. I love the spazzy labrador retrievers that bounce up and down and accidentally headbutt me and give me a fat lip, and I love the screaming, hissing, scratching, flailing cats that challenge my ability to make it out of the room with my skin intact. I love the creaky, lumpy, goofy old pit bulls that look like they're laughing when they pant. God help me, I even love the Saint Bernards, even if I don't trust them further than I can throw them.

And I remember them, too. If it's been long enough since I last saw them I may not recognize them before I reread their chart, but they still stay in my mind. I think about them at the end of the day, and I smile at the thought of a kitten that batted at my stethoscope, or laugh as I remember getting accidentally velcroed to a boisterous puppy's E-collar, or worry a little as I double-check the dose of a medication for a critically ill patient in a second textbook I keep at home. I check the schedule in the morning and get excited when I see the name of a patient that I've seen before, hoping that things are getting better and looking forward to reading the next chapter in the story of their life.

This is my job, but more than that, it's the story of *my* life, and it's a hell of a lot more than just what I do from 9am-5pm. And the animals are a lot more than data points, and each one of them is a little bit my pet, too, because of the part I have in their life. How could I not love them?

Believe me, please, and let me help.

Gratitude

I've posted here so many times soliciting help and donations for the Three Day Walk that tpau and I are doing this summer - I wanted to take a minute to give thanks, instead of ask for more.

The support and help that I've gotten from everyone I've talked to about this is just overwhelming, and it's come in so many forms. Monetary donations. Friends offering to make things to sell, either at our Etsy store or at the upcoming crafts fair. Stories of other people who have been part of the walk, words of compassion, being told that what we're doing matters.... Over the past year, things have been less than perfect, but even when the rest of the world has brought me down and made me doubt my faith in humanity, all I've had to do is look at the lead-up to this challenge to remember that good things happen.

So thank you, to everyone who has helped so far. Thank you for donating. Thank you for making things. Thank you for telling me that I'm doing something good, and for helping with this. It matters, more than I know how to say.