The Moments That Matter

                                              

                                                       

Dr. D. O. Jones deworming a sheep

            "Do you remember me?" asked the lady as I examined her new puppy. I must admit, I was at a bit of a loss. She was nice looking, with a pleasant smile, and sparkling blue eyes, but I really had no recollection.

            "You came to my house about eight years ago and put my old Boxer to sleep."

            That did jostle a brain switch. "Did you bring him here a few weeks before, wanting a second opinion?" I replied. She nodded in agreement.

            "I do remember. I wrote a column about you!"

            The column, "Laughter is the Best Veterinary Medicine," told of my feeble attempt at humor to help this woman with the sad situation she found herself in. Her dog, an ancient Boxer, had been having some difficulty getting around, and she was feeling pressure from others to have him euthanized.

            I could tell as soon as I entered the exam room she was quite upset- the already huge pile of tissues was a good indication. Yet, through her tears, she made it very clear that she didn't want any more testing or medications, she only wanted a second opinion. So after examining the dog, I gave her one.

            "I think your dog looks pretty good...but, you're too emotional."

            This comment was followed by what I described as "pin drop silence for a very uncomfortable eight or nine seconds." Fortunately, she finally did laugh at my joke. Although the laughter temporarily lightened the mood in the room, it was still dampened by the sadness.

            Following a quick reminisce of this moment, and of the euthanasia call to her house, which was much sadder, I realized why I didn't recognize her. I had never seen her happy before. But she was happy now. She had a new Boxer puppy. Who wouldn't be happy with one of those?

            When I excused myself to check on the puppy's stool results, I actually printed a copy of the column. She had never read it. I didn't use her or her dog's name in the column, and figured she likely wouldn't see it anyway, so I didn't seek her approval to publish it, like I usually do.

            After I handed the column to her, she put it in her purse, smiled shyly, and said she'd read it once she got home. Upon my return from really checking on the sample, I found her with the  puppy on her lap, the column in one hand, and a tissue in the other. The tears were back, but this time she said they were happy tears. And she was right. As I've become somewhat of an expert on her tears, there was quite a distinct difference. Apparently, puppies have a way of brightening our lives, and making even sad memories more tolerable.  

            I suppose most of us who become veterinarians do so because of a love for animals, though some may aspire to the profession because they like the science or medicine aspect of it. I wanted to be a  veterinarian, not only to help people with their animals, but to also have a career full of memorable moments like this one with the lady and her puppy - a simple interaction between two people that defines and bonds us as humans.        

            This trait I probably garnered from my dad. He was a people person. He was also a veterinarian. For over thirty-five years he taught at Ohio State, and had a rapport with his students few other professors could match. I feel blessed to have had him as one of my teachers. Sadly, he developed lymphoma during my senior year of veterinary school and died five months before graduation.

            One thing I learned from his death, is how precious those special moments can be. During the last few weeks of his life, I was able to visit with him often, listen to his stories, and learn his philosophy about life, including hearing about his unwritten book, "Don't Rock the Boat." More than thirty years later, these truly are the moments that matter the most. This may be the most important lesson he ever taught me.

            Many thanks to all of you, and of course your animals, for providing so many wonderful moments and memories over the years. And thank you, Astro's mom, for giving me one more. Happy Father's Day.

By Dr. John H. Jones