Line of the day: “Oh, I always mix my dog’s food with water, so he’s never had a problem with fleas.” I’m sorry… wha… huh? Indeed, ma’am. And I don’t know why I go to college; you are simply a treasure trove of information. Water, you say? I’ll make sure my dog drinks more. Flea medications are apparently needlessly expensive.
Need a third job… and maybe a fourth.
School sucks.
Easter break.
Thursday: Work 7-3 @ clinic, work after @ barn (‘til 5 or 6), pizza & Game of Thrones DVR with J
Friday: Work 7-7 @ clinic, possibly @ barn afterward, walk dogs, see K
Saturday: Work 7-12 @ clinic, run 8 miles, study study study
Sunday: Family brunch, hiking w/ C, study study study
Monday: Work 7-7 @ clinic, study
Tuesday: back to class, 2 exams, Wednesday review, Thursday review, Friday more exams. GAH.
they always make me feel like I have a purpose in being at work at all. When I come in, I get “Steph’s here, YAY!” pretty much every time, which is ridiculous but also hilarious and gets me out of my mid-afternoon funk. Then comes the “what did you learn in school today?” as if I’ve just had a very successful day coloring in the lines and we proceed to make jokes about parasites and experiments.
I like my job, but I hope where ever I end up in the near or far future, I am lucky enough to work with such a fun team.
I have two hours left before my Wildlife Rehab course, and the attention span of a flea when it comes to learning about anatomy (or parasitology or… anything, really).
I decided against going to the climbing gym today, if only for economical reasons (maybe next week; we’ll most likely be going over the weekend at least), and instead decided to grab take-out Thai around the corner… except they were closed for lunch because I didn’t think to check the time before I left. Argh.
So now I’m back at school, Tumbling with anatomy notes spread out in front of me, wondering how I can a) distract myself for two more hours, b) actually be productive. Hmm.
Today isn’t a terrible day to take off (no working out…) since my arms are sore and my knees/ankles are painful for whatever reason they have picked to hate me. I think part of the problem is that I need to slow down when I run. H doesn’t run super fast, but it’s faster than I would normally go, especially since I’m adjusting to the Vibrams (my arches and calves are still feeling the change!).
In work-related news, it’s always fun when a client comes in and announces loudly, to the whole waiting room, “Well, my cat just can’t shit!” Well, ma’am, you were certainly right about that… thank you.
C was administering a distemper vaccine to a dog the other day that was brought in by a man and his little girl.
His daughter was very concerned about the process, asking “what are you doing? is he going to be okay? do I have to get a shot?”
C explained no, it was just a routine shot, and he told her it was distemper.
“Oh,” she said, and contemplated this for a minute. “I don’t need dis-temper, cos I’m good, but I think mommy does…”
How about a post about my job? This is an old set of illustrations I just came across, and I am posting them… because I can, okay? I’m a veterinary assistant, and after 2 years of working as one, I am going to school for veterinary technology. I love my job, I really do. Some days are rather trying though; ever attempted to treat a cat who really didn’t want to be treated? Yeah. 
Hello, cat. Let’s say we have a kitty who has come in for a routine check-up and rabies vaccine; he (or she, whatever) is occasionally brought in by an older woman displaying obsessive love for the furry object of her desires while saying things like “It’s okay, pookie, I won’t let them hurt you.” Cat’s name is probably Precious or something. (Seriously, it’s always the cats with names like “Cupcake” you have to watch out for; “Killer” is usually darling). 
Technician brings said cat into the treatment room for a check-up and shots. I get to hold the kitty for this procedure, because that’s my job.
Me: “What’s his name?”
Technician: “Mr. Angel Fluffy Tibbles McSweetiepie.”
Me: “Aww. Don’t worry, Fluffy. It’s just one quick shot.” 
DOESN’T END WELL
