Free Vet Tech Tales: The Early Years by Phoenix Sullivan

couple of drops of fluid. The dog never flinched and I continued to stroke her chin and cheek as Dr. Norris backed away.
    “All done for today,” he announced. “You can put Susie back in the car now, Phoenix.”
      I carefully slid the old dog back onto the leather seat and smiled at the woman behind the wheel. She rolled her eyes in what looked like an apology. With a final pat on Susie’s head, I closed the car door.
    Mrs. Van Buren’s hand on my arm was hummingbird light. “I think Susie likes you, dear. We’ll bring kolaches tomorrow morning.”
    I wasn’t sure what one thing had to do with the other, but I replied, “Thank you, Mrs. Van Buren. I like Susie, too. How long have you had her?”
    The old woman’s eyes misted over. “David gave her to me on Valentine’s Day in 1960. She was just a puppy then. Almost coal black.”
    “Well, she looks like she’s still going strong. I’m sure it’s because she loves you so much.”
    I’ll never forget the look of gratitude in Mrs. Van Buren’s eyes over such a simple comment. “She does love me, doesn’t she?”
    “Of course she does. And I can see how much you love her, too.”
    “I do, dear. Very much. In fact, I worry so. When I’m gone …” her voice trailed away.
    “If you go before Susie does, Susie will come live with me.” I turned and stared at Dr. Norris. He had children and cats at home. No dogs, though he could have had his pick of dozens abandoned at the clinic had he wanted them. And he would shelter this aging poodle out of compassion for an old woman? I didn’t believe him for a minute. Did Mrs. Van Buren? But whether Mrs. Van Buren believed him or not wasn’t the issue, I realized, as I saw her anxious frown melt into a comforted smile. Dr. Norris had told her exactly what she wanted to hear. Needed to hear.
    And right there in the parking lot is where I learned that veterinary medicine isn’t just about helping the animals. It’s about helping their owners, too. In other company, owners might be reluctant to express how much their companion animal means to them. Might even be uncomfortable referring to themselves as the animal’s “mom” or “dad.” But in a vet clinic environment such expression comes easily. There is, I came to understand, a bond between clinic staff and owners that breaks barriers of age and gender, social status and race – that speaks to the heart alone.  
    As we watched Mrs. Van Buren, Susie and the woman in the brown dress drive away, Dr. Norris told me their story. “Susie is diabetic and gets an insulin shot every morning. Mrs. Van Buren can’t bring herself to give the injection, even though Susie puts up about as much fuss as a stuffed animal. Doris, the maid who was driving, keeps offering to do it, but Mrs. Van Buren insists on bringing Susie by every morning. Including Saturdays and Sundays. Whoever’s free gives the injection, and since Susie likes you, looks like you’ll be helping, too. The real benefit is that two or three times a week, Mrs. Van Buren brings donuts or chocolates for everybody. The woman is old money. And every so often, Susie – not Mrs. Van Buren, mind you, but Susie – sends over something from the caterers for lunch. That little dog isn’t much to look at, and she probably doesn’t do anything more than waddle to the kitchen in the morning and at night and sleep the rest of the time, but she’s everything to Mrs. Van Buren since her husband died.”
    Over the next few months, Mrs. Van Buren and Susie were at the clinic every morning without fail. I came to realize that the ritual trip to the clinic gave Mrs. Van Buren a purpose in life, a reason to get up in the mornings. Even on days when the elderly woman wasn’t feeling well, she still made the trip, though she stayed in the car with Susie while Doris came in to let us know they were there. And without fail, it was always Doris driving, making the trip along with them.
    “Don’t you ever get a day