Jack Thornton

Today I'll attempt to make a metaphorical tossed word salad using three short practice anecdotes. My ingredients: wisdom, absurdity and poetry.



Wisdom. Shortly after opening my veterinary hospital in 1980, I was out one sunny day trying to dispatch dandelions, which made up the greater portion of my fledgling grass lawn. An elderly gentleman named Willard Bowlin, who impressed me with his amiable easy-going manner, drove up.

After briefly observing my intense but futile efforts, he offered with droll expression, "An old-timer once told me exactly what to do about dandelions!"

"Oh yeah?" I queried, my attention at full bloom.

"Learn to like 'em."

I understood immediately.



Absurdity. An angry woman called the hospital one day to complain that her dog, which was chained in her front yard, had a fight with another dog apparently passing by. Her dog had sustained bite wounds, but she had found one-half of the other dog's ear lying on the ground nearby.

If anyone was to bring in a dog missing one-half of a black ear, she requested that we call her with the owner information so that she would know to whom to send a vet bill for her dog in case its injuries should require veterinary assistance.



Poetry. One day I found a fecal sample on my doorstep with the following note attached:

Look for Tigger's poop

You'll find it on the stoop

We hope you'll be a snoop

and figure out the scoop

Signed Sheiba Berry



After completing a microscopic examination of the specimen, I replied:

Thank you for the ...

I took a look at it

Now I must admit

No worms does it remit.



Such poetic interludes, though rare in veterinary medicine, help demonstrate that the profession is more than just pure science.

OK. A rather tasteless salad, I know. How about a metaphorical bologna sandwich?



Jack Thornton is a semiretired veterinarian practicing in eastern Clallam County.