Replies

The summer of 1964, while I was in pre-vet in college, I worked in a large Boston public animal hospital. Of the four vets on staff there, one was an active alcoholic and two others were crazy. Bad odds, man.

The drunk would come back from lunch smelling of booze and sucking on candies to hide the odor. Sometimes in the OR he would hit a scared, struggling animal, and say, "Stop it, bitch!" (although he always seemed sorry afterwards). The second one marched up and down the halls with a WWI hat, blowing a bugle and screaming at me that I was "cannon fodder!" and that I'd be getting shipped to Vietnam. At lunchtime he melted lead fishing weights down into musket balls in the XRay room and then played with them.

The third of four seemed schizophrenic -- she'd often stop in mid-sentence or motion and listen to something none of the rest of us could hear. It was quite a crew and did not give me a warm feeling about becoming a veterinarian.

However, this must certainly be the exception. Vets I have known since are top-notch people and friends. Must have been something in the Boston water...

I suspect something akin to your "Stop it, bitch!" Vet is happening here. A vet with a kennel full of unhappy, sick dogs to treat, who has run out of patience with those that don't cooperate immediately. He sees the dog as getting in the way of his work, and he has forgotten that the dog is his work.

These vets must be a bunch of whackos. A vet in SC, years ago, killed his wayward adopted son, then hauled the body to a trash dumpster. During the trial he referred to his son as an 'it'.

Do these guys do some kind of dog medicine as a recreational drug?