I saw several vets during the course of my mortal life, none of which suited either my, or my parent’s needs. There was the doctor who was always running late; the doctor who messed up my brother Jax’s diagnosis; the large animal hospital that was too impersonal, the doctor who was too far away, the doctor who retired, the doctor who held me up by my paws which upset me, the doctor who was too expensive and the doctor who was only open mornings. My parents think they have finally good doctor now, but it was a couple of years past my expiration date.
I think we all missed out on the great vets. The kind that would come to your house with a little black bag, sit with your parents, have tea, mix some medicines and make you feel better. Sure, lifespans were shorter, and cancer incurable, but no one was forcing overpriced food on you because they had sold themselves out to a food company, or insisted on unwanted vaccinations.
There is little need for veterinarians at the Bridge. Being immortal puts a damper on the healthcare profession. But there are still reasons for their existence. We can’t die (again) or get ill, but we can get injured and feel pain. When that happens, who is better to tend to you than a kind country vet?
My amazing friend Brooklyn, when she is not spending time visiting, ghosting or watching over her mom, loves to chase tennis balls. I appointed two of my minions to throw balls for her as long as she wants, and she can run for a very long time. One day this week Brooklyn was playing fetch with a minion in the park when the minion threw the ball into a rose bush.
Brooklyn gave out a yip and came out of the bushes with a thorn in her paw. I ran down to her while I barked at the minion chastising him for the poor throw. Brooklyn was trying to bite the thorn out but could not get her mouth angled correctly. I bit the thorn too but did not have the strength to pull it
Suddenly a kindly man appeared with a black bag. He slowly walked to us, then bent down and opened his bag. “Don’t worry Brooklyn,” he said. “I did this a hundred times as a vet in England between the wars.” He delicately put a hand on Brooklyn’s head and slipped out the thorne. Brooklyn compensated him with a kiss. “That is what I missed the most,” the kindly gentleman said. “So much better than money.”
We spent the day listening to his stories about being a country vet. While we were talking hundreds of animals, he had treated gathered behind him. When he turned and saw them, he gave out a jolly laugh. “My friends are here,” he told us. He stood and now moved gracefully towards his friends, and with a laugh, he ran off with the animals.
I wish I had a vet who I could visit and thank like that. Maybe Pocket and River finally do. I hope you do.
There is nothing better on heaven or Earth than a good vet.