On Saturday, December 19th, after a five-month fight with aggressive cancer, we said goodbye to our dear Shalane. At just under three years of age, she was taken from us sooner than we would like. However, while her cancer made a sudden turn and progressed quickly, I am quite thankful that she was in great spirits and had a great quality of life...until she didn’t. Instead of focusing on the end of her life, I would like to write a tribute to describe what made us love this wonderful dog so much. While it has been over a month since we lost Shalane, I am just now ready to even write this tribute and tackle this subject (despite planning to do so for a few weeks and putting it off). Shalane entered our lives as a young puppy in the summer of 2013, right after we returned from vacation from Yellowstone National Park. We had lost our beloved mutt, Bandit, two months prior and were ready to fill the void in our home. A home is not complete without a dog, indeed. My husband’s family had Great Pyrenees dogs growing up for their sheep, so he always had a fondness for the breed. I myself have a weakness for very large, fluffy dogs, so Shalane was the perfect fit for our house. As mentioned in previous blogs, we chose to name her Shalane, after our favorite female distance runner, as we’re both running nerds. Little did we know that for the duration of having this dog, we would be faced with mispronunciations and confused looks from people. I guess I’ll just take that as a lesson when the time comes to name my children...or future dogs. Shalane was a white ball of fluffy cuteness, and she filled our home with happiness and helped us heal from our previous loss. She loved to play with other dogs and was quite affectionate while also being fiercely independent (this is a breed trait for Great Pyrenees). They’re not generally the greatest at obedience per se or following commands. They’re actually very similar to a husband. They hear you perfectly, yet still walk away as if they’re deaf...until you mention food. Actually, I guess since my husband does most of the cooking and I do the eating in this house, I’m more like the Great Pyrenees in this situation. I guess that’s why Shalane and I got along so well. We’re both stubborn, independent ladies that love to eat and roll in cow crap. As much as I loved Shalane, my husband also had quite a special relationship with her. When she was still a growing puppy, my husband would call me while I was running errands and tell me, “Shalane needs a new dog bed. She’s growing out of her puppy bed, so you need to buy her one this afternoon. Oh, and get her some more treats and toys while you’re at it.” My husband has always loved our dogs, and was deeply heartbroken when we lost Bandit, our previous dog. But his relationship with Shalane was different. Maybe it was because she reminded him of Angel, his Pyrenees growing up, or maybe it was just because she was a girl and had him wrapped around her paw. Oh boy, we’re going to be in trouble if we ever have daughters. While I call Shalane a Great Pyrenees because that is really what she took after, she was also 25% lab. This was quite apparent when we would take her to the lake to swim. She loved to swim, and despite her large size, would float through the water like a fluffy polar bear. She grew and grew, and nearly ate us out of house and home. Luckily, I’m a veterinarian and could supply her with an endless supply of good-quality large breed puppy food (Science Diet). While she didn’t realize it, Shalane was quite lucky to have a veterinarian as an owner because she was my “problem child.” It all started when she developed parvo at 20 weeks of age (despite being fully vaccinated). This rarely happens, but of course it happened to my dog. When this happened, not only was I upset because my dog was sick, but I was also quite embarrassed and afraid to tell anyone. While parvo can happen to puppies that are well cared-for and starting their immunization series as they haven’t built up their immunities yet, there is a certain stigma that comes with having a parvo puppy. I like to think that I don’t judge most of my clients, but it was apparent that I did so based on my feelings when my own pet came down with this illness. Most of the puppies I treat for parvo come from lower income clients who either can’t afford or don’t bother to vaccinate their pets. Some of them just don’t realize when they’re supposed to start their puppy series (which is at six weeks of age, by the way), and many more happen to buy a puppy from a breeder only for the puppy to come down with parvo days later. It can happen to anyone, but it can also be easily avoided. Shalane was my first and only patient to date that developed parvo despite being fully vaccinated, however, because she had been vaccinated, she had reduced severity of her illness and was out of our clinic hospital isolation in three to four days. After that battle was over, she started to develop ear infections and skin irritation associated with allergies. With special food, anti-allergy medication, and weekly baths (not an easy job with a 100 pound fluff ball in a stand-up shower), we figured out a system to manage that. The following summer, she developed strange wart-like lesions on her face that I determined was a canine papilloma virus that she had somehow contracted. This diagnosis was also a first for me, but interestingly, I have treated a similar but different virus in cattle. The treatment: pinching and twisting the warts off. The action of pinching the wart actually releases some of the virus into the bloodstream, which acts as a natural form of vaccination. Pretty cool, huh? And then, of course, she developed an aggressive cancer at the age of two. But as much as Shalane was a “problem child,” she lit up our house and was an absolute blessing. A day in the life of Shalane would include waking up and hearing our alarm. Towards the end of her life, my husband Patrick took a job as a tree trimmer which meant he got up an hour earlier than I did. Shalane took delight in this and as soon as Patrick got up, she took his place in the bed. She would then have breakfast. Actually, being fiercely independent, she wasn’t the type to eat right as the food was put down. She would wait until one of the goats or goat dogs that belonged to my in-laws would come to visit. One goat in particular, a large white nanny goat with horns, took quite the liking to Shalane’s dog food. She would see that goat coming from half a mile away. She protected her food with the same vigor that she protected our home. She loved it when Boo and Thor, a Pyrenees mix and Anatolian Shepherd, would come visit and play. Some days Shalane would gleefully greet them and play for hours. Other days, she would chase them away from “her” house. Ladies can be a little moody and territorial sometimes. Her passion in life was sitting on a high point in the pasture in front of our house and looking over her domain. She was also quite the bone collector, but not so much a hunter. She wasn’t quick enough for that. Her main motivation for activity was play time with Boo and Thor, chasing off intruders, barking at coyotes, or even just barking at imaginary things. As soon as we would pull into the driveway after a work day, she would get up and run and bark at “something” like clockwork. I guess she was trying to show off and prove how hard she was working all day. We would try our best to bring her in at night. Even when she wanted to come in, she would still play hard-to-get, yet allow herself to be caught easily. Other times, her independent streak would get the best of her (usually on nights with crisp, beautiful weather), and getting her to come inside was next to impossible. On those nights, we would often hear a scratch on the downstairs window at around 2 or 3 A.M., her signal that she was ready to come inside. However, a wonderful trick that she learned would be to scratch on the window at that hour, and then run off and start barking at something as soon as you opened the door to let her in. This would often result in grunting in frustration and maybe a little swearing. Yet, we would fall for this trick every time and go downstairs to let her in anytime she “knocked.” For as large as she was, she always considered herself a “lap dog” and enjoyed being the center of attention. Shalane also did her job to help my patients at times, “volunteering” to be a blood donor dog. The first time I used her as a donor, it was a Sunday, so my only help was my husband (who is actually pretty good help, by the way). I decided to sedate Shalane for her first blood transfusion. She was a pretty calm dog, but she was also quite large and I didn’t have a lot of help with restraint on a Sunday. The transfusion went on without a hitch, but it turned out Shalane liked her drugs...a lot. She slept for most of the afternoon. I took that opportunity to trim her nails and brush her even more thoroughly than normal. I actually got a call to look at a choked horse later that afternoon. Shalane was still quite sleepy from the transfusion that morning, and I didn’t want to leave her stumbling in the house alone. So we took her along on the farm call in my vet truck. It was a little cramped with me, my husband, and our large dog since I don’t have an extended cab. At one point while I was treating the horse, I opened the truck door to get something. I assured the horse owners on the farm call not to worry, it was just my drunk dog in the truck. As mentioned earlier, Shalane loved to roll in “things” on the farm. Sometimes, she would sneak into the house and jump on the couch or even the bed after rolling in these “things.” Thankfully, she also enjoyed her showers. Actually, she didn’t enjoy the shower so much, but she would endure the process willfully just so she could be dried off with a towel (her favorite thing in the world). Then she would step out of the bathroom which goes directly into our kitchen and immediately shake. I would use this as an opportunity to “mop” the kitchen floor, wiping up the water with a towel. While Shalane was only with us for a relatively short period of time, she forever left “paw prints” on our hearts. Over a month later, the pain of her loss still hurts and will continue to do so for some time. Anyone who loses a pet or has suffered loss of any kind knows that grief comes in waves. With time, those waves get farther and farther apart, broken up by periods of emotional numbness. Sometimes, those pangs of grief come up at the most unexpected and inopportune times. For me, it’s happened while diagnosing a patient with cancer and while euthanizing a pet. Other times, it happens when I pull into the driveway and realize she isn’t there, or in aisle three of the grocery store. However, one thing we do have is the memories listed above to get us through this difficult time. We buried our sweet baby on a hill above her favorite swimming hole on the farm, where she still rests. I look forward to visiting that swimming hole in the heat of the summer and remembering the good times we had there. Shalane may not always follow, but she was ever watchful. She protected and loved us with all that she was. We were hers to guard and hers to love. We love you, Shalane, and always will. Rest in peace, my sweet girl. I know I'll see you over the rainbow bridge someday, cancer-free and running with joy, just like your namesake.
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Friday - continued from last week - click here if you missed it. I woke up the next morning to an alarm, not a phone call, so that was pretty awesome, but then I walked to the bathroom, turned on the light, and saw the most disgusting thing that I’ve seen in years, and for someone who sews up prolapses for a living, that’s saying something. It was frightening, it was a mess, it was… It was how I look in the morning with vanity lights. Thankfully they were on a separate switch, so I turned them off quickly. Despite that frightening turn of events, I rolled out of bed at 6 A.M., feeling surprisingly energized given my long day the day before. I attended the WVLDI (Women’s Veterinary Leadership Development Initiative) breakfast that morning. It was another great networking event, and a chance to discuss important topics for women in the profession. There were many women, including my fellow Emerging Leader from Missouri, who were carrying around and feeding infants during the convention and at the breakfast that morning. This was so beautiful and encouraging for me to see. Many others were missing their children from home, running to their rooms on what little breaks we had to pump. Young women are now the face of veterinary medicine, but women are very underrepresented at the leadership level. My graduating class at the University of Missouri in 2012 was about 85% female, which is pretty common across the country. Dr. Karen Bradley, founder of WVLDI, attended a House of Delegates meeting in 2013 with her 7-month-old daughter and her mother along to help with the baby. She posed the question of, “Why don’t we have daycare available for people?” Another delegate, a man about her age, agreed, but this question was widely irrelevant to most other delegates, mainly men in their 50s, 60s, and 70s. That same question was actually posed at the breakfast that morning. In 2013, there were 29 women out of 136 members of the House of Delegates of the AVMA. That number had increased to 45 in 2015, which is a big improvement, but far from where we need to be. That being said, broad-sweeping change doesn’t happen overnight, and women need to sit at the table and participate. Lack of women in leadership positions is not just a problem in the veterinary profession, and there are many societal reasons for this. If you are interested in reading more about that, I highly recommend Sheryl Sandberg’s Lean In. I was also encouraged by the level of participation of men at that meeting. After the breakfast and good discussion, I headed to a workshop and then spent most of the afternoon learning more about emotional intelligence and social awareness. It would be great if someone could travel around and give seminars on such topics to the general public, politicians/government workers, and basically everyone just as a public service. A fascinating thing we discussed was connecting with people’s emotions, but supporting that with data (otherwise it’s just manipulation). Most veterinarians or science-minded people make their decisions based on data, statistics, and research. We’re really good at laying out all the facts and possibly boring you (clients) to death in the process. We don’t do this to try and prove what a big brain we have, this is just how most of our minds work. One thing I learned at this convention: Most people don’t really care about data and research, and they definitely don’t make their decisions or change their behavior based on that. What?! How is this possible?! People want to be shown a truth that connects with their emotions. Huh! This is probably not mind-boggling for most of you reading this blog, but for this left-brain nerd, it was quite the eye-opener. The evening was full of networking events and dinner with other members of the MVMA. Walking back from dinner, it was great to discuss the topics of that afternoon, leadership, and our potential roles in it all. I also continued to gawk at parking garages the size of skyscrapers, and one of my favorite buildings in downtown Chicago, the Chicago Tribune building. Saturday Woke up again at 6 A.M. for ANOTHER breakfast. This was when the exhaustion finally started to hit me. As much as I craved getting more sleep, I’m also not one to skip breakfast, so I rolled out of bed and downed some coffee. It’s a good thing that I made it to breakfast because the President of the AVMA happened to sit next to me, and I got to pick his brain about his experiences. I asked him about work, about his role as president, and of course, what type of caffeine gets him through the day because that’s the most important thing you can ever ask a person who seems to have it all together. The Plenary meeting that morning, while fascinating, was hard for me to get through. I have a relatively short attention span, especially when sleep deprived, and two and a half hours was pushing it for me. I. Needed. Coffee. We moved on to more leadership topics with the Emerging Leaders that afternoon. We did a lot of exercises involving getting in touch with your emotions, and even drawing happiness charts. Like most veterinarians or scientifically minded people, getting in touch with my emotional side really isn’t my forte. That’s what Downton Abbey and Cold Stone Creamery are for. While drawing our happiness chart, I was starting to realize that my nickname of “Robot” in high school was somewhat justified. That being said, it’s probably a good exercise for anyone to do. We got a whole hour break later that afternoon. I debated squeezing in a workout, but decided there wouldn’t be enough time and settled for watching Alaskan Bush People. I had to watch at least some cable TV. I don’t have such luxuries in rural Missouri. After some amazing HDTV therapy, the House of Delegates winter session was fascinating. The House of Delegates is composed of a delegate and alternate delegate from 70 territory and allied medical groups. Association policies are set by the House of Delegates, so it was interesting (at least for me) to watch. It was quite interesting to watch the painstaking process in any policy change or amendment. I still have a very basic understanding of this entire process, but it was interesting to become more familiar with it. This is why sometimes change can take awhile, but this process is not something you necessarily want to rush. While discussing this with the House Advisory Chair the following morning at breakfast, he noted that there are two things you don’t want to see made: sausage and law. But usually, the end product is pretty good in both cases. Well, I can definitely say that’s the case with sausage. While sitting at a table with various veterinary leaders later that day, they looked to me for insight as to what new graduates are facing. Not one to mince words, I noted that many women in the profession are facing challenges due to lack of paid maternity leave or support during that time in their lives. I thought a few of their heads might explode after I said this. After some of the comments that followed my statement, I thought MY head might explode. I have the utmost respect for (most of our) leaders in the veterinary profession, but a profession that is mostly female needs to be represented at the leadership level. Period. And this misunderstanding and and somewhat contentious conversation was a prime example of that. More diversity at the leadership level is needed to spark discussions like this, and these discussions need to be encouraged. It was quite amazing to see so many smart, amazing, hardworking women in one place among the emerging leaders, even though women are still relatively absent at the higher levels of leadership. This is an exciting time in our profession, and waves of change are certainly coming. I’m excited and hopeful that I can be a part of that, even in a small way. After learning so much, trying to broaden horizons of other professionals, and just being my amazing self, I had no trouble sleeping that night, with the twelfth re-run episode of Alaskan Bush People as my nighttime lullaby lulling me to sleep. Sunday Last day of the convention! I was still enjoying my time there, but like many conventions, I was running on fumes at this point. Everyone was getting a little tired and slap happy, so Sunday breakfast was becoming more like stand-up comedy. I have an extensive joke repertoire (some appropriate, some not), so do not make the mistake of getting me started with jokes. Thankfully, no one seemed to mind. We closed up the meeting with a great talk in bridging the gap between generations (namely Boomers vs. Millennials). I got on the plane and capped off my trip by spilling my entire glass of Coca Cola in my lap. I really don’t recommend doing this ever, but especially on a small airplane. It made the walk outside in 8o weather quite unpleasant. To conclude this “to-be-continued” long blog post, my take-homes from this trip are relatively simple. I am thankful to the MVMA for giving me this opportunity to learn more about leadership, myself, and getting to network with my colleagues and people of influence. We’re all in positions of leadership, whether we like to think of it that way or not. Whether we’re leading our siblings, our children, our employees, or our peers in a local organization, our influence can have quite an impact and ripple effect. Being a good leader involves influencing a group of individuals to achieve a common goal, which is a lot harder than it sounds. Most importantly, it’s using that social influence for the greater good. I’m not perfect. I still have a lot to learn, but anyone can be an effective leader with the right tools and motivation. Even if that means you have no free time to sleep or watch Real Housewives. Although, the ladies on that show could teach us a thing or two if we needed to be a slightly psychotic leader who throws tables, punches, and slurred insults around. I’ll save those lessons for the next family get-together. Because I have a history of being heavily involved in organized veterinary medicine (aka I’m a sucker that can’t say no), I was invited by the Missouri Veterinary Medical Association to attend the AVMA Veterinary Leadership Conference in Chicago in January. Many of you would probably question my sanity for flying to Chicago in January, but hey, the trip would be paid for by someone else, and I really can’t turn down the opportunity to stay in a hotel with free cable television. Er, I mean the opportunity to hone my leadership skills. That’s what I was excited about! Anyway, I told them I would be delighted to go and started planning from there. I always like to think of veterinary conventions as little mini vacations. In reality, most of them are far from a vacation as you’re sitting in lecture for 8-11 hours a day. A fellow veterinarian I met at this convention said that she attended veterinary conventions mostly because she couldn’t afford to go on vacation. That’s probably quite common for recent graduates. The very best part about attending a convention is just talking to fellow veterinarians. I will often learn more from them than I will in the continuing education sessions (not that those aren’t enlightening as well). It gives a vet an opportunity to bounce ideas off others and reenergize about the profession. In fact, like most veterinary conventions, there was very little time for sightseeing, watching Real Housewives or the Kardashians on cable, or just sleeping in general. But I have to admit, I still LOVE veterinary conventions. Maybe it’s because I’m a nerd. Maybe it’s because I get to dress up everyday for about five days. Or maybe it’s just because I’m an extrovert and love meeting new people and reuniting with old friends. Either way, I will jump at an opportunity to attend a convention. Thursday I woke up at 2:30 A.M. in order to make my 5 A.M. flight out of a small, regional airport in Missouri, just another “perk” of living right in the smack dab of nowhere. The flight wasn’t long to Chicago, and I arrived there very early as well. I would have a long time to kill before registration that evening. On the shuttle to the hotel, I had a very nice conversation with a local graduate student and the shuttle driver, a Chicago native. They filled me in on places to visit in the city. There may or may not have been some sarcastic comments thrown out by a few of us while driving by the Trump building, but that is the new American pastime. I got to the hotel and was pleased to find out that they would actually let me check-in to my room at 8 A.M., which may be a first in my experience with the hospitality industry, so Chicago was turning up roses so far. This point would have been a good time to nap as I had been up for several hours already, but I had already consumed way too much coffee for that to happen. I decided to find a diner within walking distance of the hotel as a woman clearly cannot survive on coffee alone. As I was leaving the hotel, tall men wearing hats and cape-shaped coats were at the door waiting to assist me. “Here ma’am, let me wave you a cab.” Is this for real?! Doormen?! They don’t have those in Missouri! I guess I should add after that comment that I’m not a complete country bumpkin and am relatively well-traveled, but well-traveled on my dime usually does not include doormen. It includes tents and The Waffle House. However, after living most of the year in a 600 square foot cabin with no AC and exclusively heated by a woodburning stove, even the slightest luxuries impress and astonish me. The doormen pointed me in the right direction, and I was on my way. In the quarter mile walk, I probably spent a good portion of the time looking up and gawking at the tall buildings and skyscrapers. Again, I have been to large cities many times, but I can’t give up the opportunity to act like a complete dork. Picture Amy Adams as Giselle in the movie Enchanted as she steps out of her fairy tale world into Manhattan. You know, that deer in the headlights, awestruck, slightly idiotic kind of look, that locals can spot and quickly avoid. Breakfast was excellent and excessive like all trip meals should be, so I decided to walk off my big plate of eggs Benedict and explore the city a little. As I entered Millennium Park, I passed the Wrigley Square and Millennium Monument, then the BP Bridge, and then the McCormick Tribune Ice Rink where a Zamboni was making its rounds. Personnel were there with bucket trucks, removing decorations from the huge Christmas tree in the park. I couldn’t help but stop by The Bean. I actually didn’t realize that the real name for “The Bean” is Cloud Gate, which I suppose is a little more artistic. I continued to walk past Crown Fountain, and then continued my walk down Michigan Avenue, passing the Art Institute of Chicago. I asked the doorman (another one?!) what the entry fee was for non-Illinois residents. I decided I was too cheap to pay the $25 entry fee and continued exploring the city. I tried to justify going shopping in my mind as I passed several shops along the way. This is technically a “free” trip, so surely I can buy something for myself? Thankfully, my strong will and self-control prevailed, and I walked straight back to the hotel. Okay, nevermind, I confess I bought two pairs of earrings, but for me, that was practicing self-control. I gave my best attempt at taking a nap, and then I decided I’d hit up the fitness center before registration started. I truly hate treadmills (aka dreadmills), but I’d rather run on a treadmill than not run at all. The thought of running outside by myself in Chicago without a gun was a little too daunting. I know, sounds crazy, but you didn’t see what was on the news when I arrived at the hotel. Lack of sleep creates a surprisingly vivid and paranoid imagination. While walking through the lobby and back to my hotel after my workout, I noticed the other veterinarians starting to file in. One thing that seemed distinctly different at this convention than every other convention I have attended was that everyone was very dressed up. I suppose the reason was this convention mostly consisted of leaders or delegates from each state, emerging leaders and professionals in the AVMA. I am guilty of often criticizing many fellow veterinarians for not dressing professionally enough at meetings. Whether it’s a state meeting or national convention, I consistently see veterinarians attending wearing jeans with holes, jeans with tennis shoes, or even jeans, a t-shirt, and flip flops. Call me old fashioned, judgy, or whatever you want to call me, but this disgusts me. We are professionals with doctoral degrees. Are we really that lazy that we can’t bother to look presentable for each other at a convention?! Ironically, I was the one sweaty and underdressed at this point. Anyway, I was surprised and pleased to see people dressing the part. I got dressed like everyone else, registered for the convention, went to the welcome meeting, and then started the networking events for the night. As said before, I am extroverted and very social, so networking events are actually something I enjoy. However, I imagine a good portion of the population finds them very painful. Something I will never get used to is networking exercises, where you’re told to walk around a room and then have to randomly initiate ice breakers with a group of people, which is directed by someone with a mic. I guess my personality type means that I am more comfortable walking up to people and asking them questions, but it feels really unnatural to walk up to a person you’ve never met before and ask them, “What is your hometown famous for?” Can’t we just sip wine and talk like adults? But that’s just me. I guess it prevents the obvious repercussions of having the predominantly older male vets on one side of the room, while the predominantly female younger vets stand on the other, and then the unthinkable happens: a dance off. The networking events continued until around 11 P.M. (past my bedtime), but I had a great time getting to know my fellow Emerging Leaders and people in leadership with the AVMA (American Veterinary Medical Association). I even got some business ideas from some of the higher ups in the organization. I’ll admit that 2:30 A.M. to 11 P.M. is a pretty long day, but I was feeling energetic from all the new, great people I met. I got a good night's sleep since I wasn’t awakened by emergency calls or my husband’s cover stealing habit. I woke up the next morning to an alarm, not a phone call, so that was pretty awesome, but then I walked to the bathroom, turned on the light, and saw the most disgusting thing that I’ve seen in years, and for someone who sews up prolapses for a living, that’s saying something. It was frightening, it was a mess, it was… TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK. In the previous Christmas blog about great gifts for your pets, I mentioned one idea was to bake homemade treats for your dog. From questions I’ve received since then, I must clarify, that yes, I did bake treats. Again, I will repeat, I did bake the treats. I have the pictures to prove it. With minor supervision from my sister-in-law, and let’s be honest, she only supervised her glass of wine that she mooched off me, and continual critiques from my husband, who is the main cook in the family, I did the brunt of the work and made a tasty little treat for my baby, Shalane. The night started out with a fashionable outfit, of course. It reminded me of a fifties homemaker, so I had to wear it with an apron and pull the whole idea together. I didn't actually even own an apron, so I had to borrow one from my mother-in-law. Excluding getting another cup of coffee, I don’t step in the kitchen very often, so it was an event that required great attire. My husband sat back watching my unusual prep work with a disgusted look on his face. He usually cooks after a run, so his cooking attire is definitely not fantastic. I’m the one that should be giving the disgusted looks. He may have looked perturbed by the fact that I was cooking for the dog and not him, but he needs to just accept the rank of importance in this house. Shalane, fashion, the food my husband cooks for me, then my husband. That’s not too bad, is it? My sister-in-law arrived to document this historical event in pajamas. She’s a stay-at-home mom, and I knew she wouldn’t dress up. She hates clothes in general. She always says the thing she’ll miss the most when she goes back to work is her pajamas. Not her kids, her pajamas. Most stay-at-home moms that I know revel in the thought of getting dressed up and going out, but not her. We got started with a Martha Stewart recipe. Before going to prison, she said she’d miss her pets the most, so as a veterinarian I naturally had to choose her recipe. If you’d like to try it, here’s the link: http://www.marthastewart.com/319172/izzys-apple-cheddar-dog-biscuits I was mixing the ingredients quickly. There was only one change that I made to the original, switching regular flour for barley flour because our small town grocer doesn’t carry such fancy things. As I mixed all the ingredients together, I thought I’d done something wrong because it’s a very dry mixture, but my husband quickly swooped in with some fancy tools and told me I wasn’t doing it right. This is a common occurrence in our house when I cook. My husband is quite the master in the kitchen, throwing things together without even using a recipe. I don't think I've tasted anything he cooked that I didn't like, except for broccoli, but that's not really his fault. If I want to get any real cooking or baking done (like I said, this happens rarely), it usually goes more smoothly if my husband isn't in the house. Otherwise, he'll stand behind me asking why I'm doing things a certain way or getting twice the number of dishes dirty. This usually results in me just letting him take over as it's clear that watching me cook is painful for him. This instance was no exception. Apparently, you need something called a pastry cutter to mix things like this, which is news to me. I let him take over for a few minutes at this point. After mixing it, it was time for a taste test of the dough. It only consists of flour, oatmeal, cheddar, parmesan, applesauce, and olive oil, so don’t freak out, I wasn’t eating anything disturbing. Come on, the ingredients on a bag of dog food look healthier than what’s listed on a bag of Cheetos, so maybe we should all start eating dog food for an afternoon snack. Sometimes when I don’t have time to make a run to town during the work day… Never mind The mixture didn’t taste too bad. It’s not a pizza of course, but it wasn’t split pea soup either. More like a granola bar, not bad, not good, but I’m willing to eat one if I’m hungry. After taste-testing the dough, it was time for some Christmasy fun (these were a Christmas present for my dog), so we got out the small cookie cutters and cut them all in the shapes of reindeer, snowmen, little angels, and a few hearts to switch it up. It was now time for the ultimate test of my baking skills, the actual baking part, so I clicked over to the oven in my best fifties housewife heels, put them in, and set a timer because one seriously entertaining conversation later and I’d end up with some treats that seemed more like clay ornaments. As we waited, it was time to watch crazy Facebook videos and lip-sync to nineties rap on Youtube, you know, like any other person might do. My sister-in-law is surprisingly well-versed in the lyrics of Salt-n-Pepa, like not missing a word. She even danced, but I won’t go into that. It wasn’t pretty. She let the wine get the best of her. The timer dinged, but no clicking this time. I’d thrown my shoes off so I could do the running man during our sing-along. The dog treats looked amazing, but we needed to complete another taste test. Really, this time we were just getting hungry and we’d already finished the cheese and crackers that I’d provided. Basically, they didn’t taste much different from the dough, just a little crunchier, but I knew that Shalane would appreciate them. Her palate isn’t very sophisticated, since her meals that day consisted of dog food, a couple of cow patties, and some random road kill that I saw her carrying away when I pulled in the drive. Those are just the items I witnessed in the brief time that I was home. I hate to think what else she finds on the farm. I was pretty proud of myself. Baking is not something I love to do, but for my Shalane, I’d do anything, so baking it was. Does everyone bake in a stylish outfit and heels? No, definitely not people who do it on a regular basis, but I had to make it somewhat entertaining for myself. Baking is really just the tip of the iceberg of what I'd do for my dog, and I know many of my clients are the same way. I've cleaned up diarrhea and vomit (no doubt a result of the dietary indiscretion mentioned above), bathed (that's an accomplishment with a 100 pound fluffy dog), hand fed her when she was feeling ill from chemo, shuttled her back and forth for radiation treatments for her cancer, held her, serenaded her (I'm really not sure if she enjoyed that), and many other things that we do for our “fur babies”. And I would do it all over again. A wise person once said, “A dog is the only creature on Earth that loves you more than it loves itself.” No truer statement has ever been made, and that's why Shalane will always have my love and a piece of my heart. The day after my kitchen escapades, Shalane’s cancer made an unexpected turn for the worse, and we had to make the difficult decision to humanely euthanize her. Kind of a sad way to end a blog post to say the least, but I can look back and smile knowing that her final evening with us was filled with laughter, dancing, and doggie cookies. May we always love our dogs and continue to care for them as family members, this day and every day. We did not know that night would be her last, but we have nothing but good memories to comfort us during this difficult time. When I first entered the field of veterinary medicine, I didn’t realize that being a mixed animal/large animal vet meant that I would be expected to dress and act a certain way at all times. It’s a stereotype, but of course, I dress the part at work because most of the time I am covered in cow poop or other bodily fluids from animals, so having a uniform saves me a lot of heartache about ruining my favorite outfits. It’s not too heartbreaking to cover a polo and khakis in gunk. It is, however, heartbreaking when poop shoots straight at my face, but it happens and I’ve learned not to gag too much because it’s even more heartbreaking to lose one’s lunch. Occasionally, I like to scrub all that off and feel like a woman. When I clean up, I don’t just try to look nice, I try to look fantastic, stylish, and I dress like I’m going to the ball, which drives my husband to eye rolls because then he must match the effort on date nights, but really, he should be thankful. Being dressed to kill, and the shopping habit that accompanies it, is often seen as odd in my field, but slowly but surely, everyone that I work with is getting used to it. When I first started out as an associate veterinarian, I would pull up to a farm for the first time to deliver a calf, and I could literally see the look of "Oh crap" on the farmers’ faces. When you're a somewhat petite, young blonde woman, producers will sometimes make assumptions about you as well. I really can't blame them, though. Until then, they were used to an older, larger male coming out to their farm. I'm sure they had serious doubts as to whether I could handle the work and get the job done. But by and large, most producers were very nice and accepting once they realized I was competent and could do the job. Once when I went out to a farm to deliver a calf, I got the cow tied up and went right to work. The farmer looked at me and said, "Wow! You really get right in there, don't you?" I guess he thought since I was a woman I might go about it more daintily. I have no idea what he was picturing, but it is technically impossible to reach in a cow’s vagina daintily. A few minutes later during the process he said, "Wow! You can fit both arms in there?" Yes, it’s the benefit of having small hands and arms. That is probably a good case for women dominating the large animal field, wink, wink. Comes in handy when the calf is breach. It worked out well that day because I delivered live twin calves. So of course I get right in there! 1) It's a lot more fun to deliver a live calf, so it's best to do it quickly. 2) It's my job. 3) I have other stuff to do, so no point in wasting my time or yours. That “stuff” might just be going home and binge watching Netflix instead of cleaning house, but stuff nonetheless. So I guess being a female can be a good thing because you can impress people easily due to their low expectations. That's kind of sad, really, if you think about it. But it is a way to get your foot in the door in an industry previously dominated by men. Once that happens, you can slowly show clients that for the most part, a woman can perform just as well in this field as any man. You just might have to put up with some mildly sexist and interesting comments along the way, most of which I find more entertaining than anything. A number of those interesting comments are of the inappropriate sort, said while I’m working, especially while I'm performing breeding soundness exams on bulls. Mostly those things are said by producers, but I might contribute a little. It’s a somewhat awkward situation for most people, so it’s difficult not to make a joke or two. I’d go into more detail about those comments, but that may be a little inappropriate for this blog. My mother reads it. Because most of my life is spent at work, I don't get an opportunity to look or dress girly very often. On most days, I wear my typical clinic uniform of a polo shirt, khakis, and boots. I then change into my workout clothes for my evening run and then shower and transition to sweat pants. That's my fashion progression most days, from casual, to athletic, to bum. However, I love to shop. Thankfully, my job keeps me so busy, I don’t get the opportunity to shop very often, and being a business owner also put a damper on that activity as well. The bank does not care how cute I look in a particular outfit, so it speaks to me through my conscience when I almost spend too much. I also love to dress well when given the opportunity, so I enjoy my few shopping excursions. Our regional veterinary association meetings are usually my greatest opportunities to dress up, and most of the time I go all-out. Many of the older, male large animal veterinarians have walked up to me at our vet meetings with incredulous looks, saying, "You do large animals?!" I didn't realize that I was supposed to dress like an older gentleman with pressed jeans and a blazer. So when I dress up, I hear these comments and questions repeatedly (and I’ve included my sarcastic replies that I usually keep to myself): 1) Do you wear those heels when you work around cattle? (No, although dancing for several hours in heels can have me walking like a baby calf at the end of the night). 2) I bet those cows don't appreciate your looks (No, no they don't. They'll mow over me just like everyone else. And by the way, that was creepy). 3) You're a lot better lookin' than Dr. Vroman. (Gee, thanks. Am I supposed to be flattered when people say I look better than my 70-year-old male colleague? I'll take it.) 4) I bet farmers like having you work their cattle. (Sure they do! I'm a skilled, competent veterinarian, or at least like to think of myself that way. If they have me work on their animals for other reasons, that works too. I'll take their business either way. By the way, that also sounded creepy. Calm yourself). 5) You can't deliver a calf in that outfit (Really? You don't say? Actually you could technically deliver a calf wearing anything, but again, amniotic fluid and designer clothing don't mix. This is why I keep coveralls and a change of clothes in my truck. It's important to be able to go from cute to saving lives in a minute flat). Overall, I think it’s obvious to everyone that I don’t fit the mold of what they think I should look like or even act like. My attire is brought up frequently, but people are also surprised to find out that I grew up a “towny.” They assume I was born a country girl because I work with large animals, but most people that ask that probably don’t realize that in my hometown being a towny just means that the country is a few blocks away. I also prefer alternative rock over country music, and I’m currently working on converting my technicians to alternative rock lovers since that's what I play in the OR on surgery days. I also cuss like a sailor. I'm pretty good about not doing this on the job, unless I get kicked or stepped on, or I ram my shin into the hitch of my vet truck. That actually happens more than I would like to admit, but that sucker is at the perfect height. I also don't like beer (there, I said it). I'm an exercise fanatic (People are concerned that I run too much, but it’s a mood enhancer for me, a benefit for everyone around me). Last, but not least, I have tattoos (and according to my father-in-law, that makes me a criminal). What I’ve learned from all these questions about my attire and behavior is that it's okay to not fit in someone's box of what they think you should be. Basically, I'm really trying to avoid the corny saying of “Be Yourself.” And I definitely don't want to utter it, but in the spirit of Kid President, I’ll quote the famous Walt Whitman: YOLO. However, it's okay to keep people on their toes and make them just a little bit uncomfortable. It keeps life interesting. I'll continue to cultivate my love for fashion, shopping, and dressing up along with rolling in cow crap on a daily basis. It's a nice balance! |
Jessica Stroupe, DVM
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August 2017
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