It is one of the sad ironies of being a veterinarian in clinical practice that most of your clients are majorly unhappy to see you. (Retrievers don’t count, they’re always happy to see you.)
The reasons are obvious: vet clinics mean temperature taking, and shots, and cold tables. Trust me, I don’t much enjoy heading off to my doctor’s office either, nice as the staff is. Those awful half length hospital gowns they give you (ladies, you know the ones I’m referring to)- cold and humiliating. I’m here for something I’m not going to like.
While we vets are working on it through incorporating Fear Free Practice ideas into practice- thanks Dr. Becker!- we still have a long ways to go. Which brings me to today.
One of the most common things I hear from clients at a home euthanasia appointment is, “I just couldn’t bear to do this at the clinic. My last dog was shaking like a leaf when we went in for the appointment and I felt so terribly guilty afterwards.” And who can blame them for feeling guilty? Who wants their last memory of their dog or cat to be them cowering in a corner? How awful.
Not all pets feel this way about the vet, of course, but for those that do, it just adds another layer of emotional trauma to an already challenging time. Is this the pet signaling they don’t want to die? No. As pain management expert Dr. Robin Downing says, “Pets don’t fear death. They fear pain.” They are telling us they don’t like the vet, but of course we are only human and it’s hard not to extrapolate that to a bigger message that isn’t there.
So what happens in the absence of the clinic and the coat, when a pet meets me outside the office? A pleasant hello, usually. Even when I am there to help them transition. Especially when I am there to help them transition. I will be honest, I wasn’t expecting that.
I was reminded today of a lovely Golden I met last year, who was winding down a battle with cancer. When I came to the family home, their sweet girl was almost nonresponsive. As I knelt down by her side, she opened her beautiful brown eyes and gave me a huge, enthusiastic wag. We all stood there in shock, as she had not been able to do much of anything in the hours leading up to that moment. She did not fear death, or me.
In the absence of a preconceived assumption of vaccines and thermometers, pets are free to judge me based on whatever it is they perceive I am there to do. I cannot tell you the number of kisses, licks, wags, head bumps I get from pets who by all rights should be past caring who is sitting next to them. It means something.
It’s not, “Oh boy! THE DOCTOR IS HERE!”
It’s not, “That blond lady sure does smell good, like bacon.”
It’s simply this: I see you.
I know what a birdsong is.
And I am ready to hear it.