Jack Thornton

Every occupation involves stress factors. Certainly sick and dying animals make veterinary medicine no exception.

In one journal article on the subject, exercise was listed as one of the more popular stress-reducing devices in our profession. It has been my personal choice over the years.

Not so long ago, there were times during the summer that I biked home on my extended lunch breaks, ate lunch and pedaled back to work. The round trip was 14 miles, but the first half was uphill with a succession of six hills, the last being the longest and steepest.

One day as I crested the last hill and was feeling the hurt, I suddenly saw and simultaneously felt an animal's teeth grazing my ankle.



Something snapped

A medium-sized shepherd-spaniel mix wanted my lower extremities for lunch. In my surprise, I nearly fell trying to kick the dog away to keep from being bitten. When I came to a shaky halt, my pursuer had turned and was heading for his yard.

Something in me snapped. All I knew was that somehow I was going to punish that dog.

In a rage, I chased him around his house to the backyard, where he ran up onto a loose woodpile. Running while pushing my bike, I ascended the pile and began trying to run him over with my front tire.

The dog was quiet but I was yelling and his mistress quickly appeared and ordered me out of her yard.



Shock and shame

Upon leaving and riding the last half-mile home, I began to calm down and was shocked to realize the extent of my rage. I don't think that I ever have been so out of control.

I knew during the chase that I literally wanted to kill that dog. Well, at least beat the hell out of him. So much for the exercise-reduces-stress theory.

Anger quickly gave way to embarrassment. On my ride back, I stopped at the lady's house (the dog was inside), knocked on the door and apologized. I hoped desperately that she did not recognize me by profession, as my behavior was not exactly in accordance with the veterinary oath.



We meet again

One afternoon about two-three years later, a dog was presented for euthanasia. At first, I didn't recognize my old adversary.

As I inquired as to the reason my client had elected to put a healthy looking animal to sleep, she responded that her pet had for the second time bitten a child.

As I looked at my patient and the woman's address on her record card, I suddenly realized with whom I was dealing. The dog's owner apparently did not recognize me or, at least, she was kind enough not to recount the tale involving the mad veterinarian.

The dog was humble

but friendly. As I administered the painless intravenous injection, my patient's tail wag came to a halt as the brightness in his eyes suddenly glazed.

The lady wept. I felt sadness. How ironic.



Jack Thornton is a semiretired veterinarian in eastern Clallam County.