Just this side of heaven is a place called the Rainbow Bridge
I love my job. I do, more than practically any job I’ve ever been lucky enough to have (and yes, that means that in some ways even more than when I travelled the world for a living). I…get animals. I suppose I always have on some level. Animals make sense to me. I have absolutely no desire to be a full-fledged veterinarian, and I have neither the time nor the money to do so even if I wanted to. But I suspect that vet technician school is in my imminent future. Because to be able to help those little people in fur coats, to be able to ease their pain…that is something I will always consider a useful way of spending my life.
But there is…that one thing.
The cold hard facts are that pets do not live as long as us. The lady I work with told me in about my third week at the clinic, that “one day, if you do this long enough, you will bring them in to their very first vaccine appointment, and then in the blink of an eye, you’ll be the one giving them that last ever shot…and whatever you do, you can never ever cry in front of the client. You mourn after…when they’ve gone.”
In my four or so months with the clinic, I have already seen the ‘tale of the empty cat carrier’ several times, and it’s never been easy. But it’s been made easier by the fact that these were not animals I know, they were not clients that I had established any kind of relationship with. There was shared acknowledgement of sorrow, but very little in the way of what could be considered personal grief.
And then there was the 13 year old Cocker Spaniel whom I did know. Who I had watched slip and slide across the floor as she resisted going into her appointment like a sulky teenager. Who I had picked up and held steady on the table. Who had a weak heart that finally gave out.
That one was hard. But it wasn’t that hard…it was…bearable.
But then, today, there was JL a little tiny chihuahua, who weighed less than two pounds, who had sat snuggled against my chest shaking with fear when we were still doing contactless appointments, whom I had soothed and carried and told foolishly that everything was going to be okay. Who had only been in his new forever home for 9 months…whose Dad loved him so damn much that he travelled cross country to find treatment for him…who rallied. He rallied damn it…
And then he didn’t.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, because I know you had become attached to him”
…
The one thing that I find so damn hard about this job…is that I really really wish the rainbow bridge had visiting hours.