If you don’t like dogs, go read something
else. I’m breaking the rules here.
You’re not supposed to write about your dog. It’s
amateurish. Yup.
But I’m not writing about how darling she is,
or how adorable her predecessors undoubtedly were. Only Marley gets to be a bad
dog in retrospect, and we all loved him, right?
I’m writing about her vet. Their vets.
We’ve had four Labrador retrievers over the
years and one Labration. All have enjoyed intimate associations with veterinary
medicine.
We are responsible pet owners. We follow the
requirements on pets as carefully as we tend to our vehicles. They get their
vaccinations, their spaying, neutering, nail clips, that kind of thing.
Over the lifetimes of five big dogs, however,
the vet experience has changed.
Take smell, for example.
The vets of the past worked in an olfactory
soup, day-old cooked liver competing with a warm cornflake smell. No doubt, urine
was a part of this.
The new, up-to-date vet has an office that
impresses the visitor with its cleanliness. Bright and cheery, staffed with equally
bright and cheery people behind the latest in computer equipment. If there’s a
smell it’s the pleasant one of high quality dry dog food, for sale as required.
In the redolent past, our first Lab’s vet
greeted her in person and gave her the necessary shots. We shook hands, paid
the fee, and that was that.
Now we have levels to pass through.
One delightful person checks us in. Another
takes us to a pristine cubicle. We wait.
A woman enters and takes vital signs, hears
the reason for the visit and so on. This person is not the vet.
She departs and, again, we wait.
A new person enters, and all the explanations
are repeated. I’m not sure she’s the vet until her assistant comes through the
door. Together they take my dog into the back where they do whatever is
necessary.
I wait.
If we are lucky, the vet returns with the dog
to discuss treatments in the latest medical language.
This is a significant change.
Old style vets spoke common, everyday
English. Now doctors enjoy displaying the therapeutic Latin they have acquired,
no doubt at considerable expense. I understand a lot of it, but does everyone?
If we are unlucky, she recommends testing.
Your dog can now be tested in every way
available to you, without the assistance or obstacle of Obamacare, Medicare or
just plain insurance. Unless you’ve bought health coverage for your pet, a
monthly expense we’ve resisted, so far. The upward effect of insurance on the
cost of human medical care is bad enough.
The fact that these tests exist seems to
encourage their use.
An old style vet might take a wait-and-see
approach. Or just apply the art of diagnosis he or she has developed over years
of experience. The new style vet, freshly burnished by A&M or its
equivalent, morphs into a duplicate of your very own human internist, offering
the certainty of ultrasound and CT scanning. Or MRI.
It seems almost un-American not to pay joyfully for whatever the vet suggests is necessary to the health of the dog you love so much.
Doesn't it?
