When you signed up to be a part of a veterinary team, did you think you would end up being a grief counselor, a temporary
best friend, or a shoulder to cry on? I certainly didn't. As a receptionist, I knew I would have to schedule euthanasia appointments,
watch beloved family pets receive their final injection, and witness animals I cared about grow old and die. But what I didn't
know was that I was going to form such wonderful relationships with their owners. I was so caught up in the idea of taking
care of pets that I forgot about the people.
People are the reason we're in this line of work to begin with. Without people, there are no pets. And I'm here to tell you
that if you don't like people, you're in the wrong business. Let me explain.
Talking to clients
The first few weeks I worked at an animal clinic, nearly everyone who walked through the door asked about the whereabouts
of my predecessor. "Great," I thought. "They'll always miss her, and I'll just be chopped liver."
Luckily this wasn't the case. Within a month or two, I became the new town therapist. I can still remember whose mother had
a broken hip last year, all the details of a messy divorce, and I can tell you what the neighbors have been doing in their
garage. But more important, I can tell you with confidence that if I hadn't been there to hug some of them and guide them
through one of the hardest decisions of their lives, their pets' euthanasia experiences could have easily been a horrible
nightmare instead of a peaceful goodbye.
The phone counselor is in
When you're a full-time receptionist, you become the face of the business, which inadvertently makes you a phone counselor.
People don't just call you up and say, "I know my dog is sick. I need your next available appointment. Thank you, bye-bye."
They want to know if you think their pet's really sick. They want to know if you have any brilliant advice for them. Basically,
they just need to know what to do, and you're the one who must give them the answers. Unfortunately, sometimes that answer
So how do you suggest that it might be the end of the road? I didn't really know the answer to this question until I went
down this path myself.
On the other end of the line
Three months after I started working for a veterinarian, my dog of 11 years developed a very aggressive tumor in his jaw.
His name was Pedro, and he was a very stubborn Chihuahua mix with an excellent talent for singing opera. The tumor was the
most rapidly growing mass our veterinarian had ever seen. When surgery failed, I knew we would be playing a waiting game.
"When will I know?" That's the question I kept asking myself. It was hard to be at work looking at dogs all day knowing that
my own dog was at home suffering. Our technician, Rivka, could see that I was distraught. We didn't know each other very well
yet, but she approached me anyway and gave me some advice that I've never forgotten. "Your animal will tell you when he's
ready," she said. "When my friend's dog was sick, he started spitting out his pills. They know when it's time. You just have
to look for the signs."