CONTENT WARNING: Pet death (old age)

If you don’t like the police, I advise you to keep scrolling, because I need to brag on a local police force that went above and beyond to bless me in an awful situation. Then again, maybe you’re the one person who should read this.

It was one of the worst nights of my life. My precious senior doggo, after giving me sixteen and a half years of unconditional love, was declining rapidly before my eyes, and as much as I had dreaded this moment for the past few years, I knew it had come. The ugly crying started as soon as that realization hit me and didn’t stop the whole time it took me to get dressed (it was 1 AM), bundle her up, and take her on what would be her last car ride.

I drove extra-slow down the highway, sobbing hysterically, driving with my left hand and petting my doggo constantly with my right, on the way to the local emergency vet, who was waiting for us.

I barely noticed a patrol car on the median as I passed it, but I did notice it make a U-turn and pull in behind me. I honestly didn’t care when the blues and reds started flashing in my rearview mirror, just give me my ticket, I thought, and let me get on with this.

We pulled over, and the lady officer came around the passenger side as I started digging in the glove box for my credentials. She shone her flashlight in the window, saw my face, and instantly read the room correctly. As I lowered the window, she gently asked, “Ma’am, are you okay?”

Still sobbing heavily, I explained the situation as best I could. She explained that she noticed how slowly I was driving and was concerned for my safety. She understood completely that I was absolutely NOT in a hurry to get to my destination.

She told me to put my paperwork away and offered to follow me to the vet to make sure I arrived safely. When I pulled up to the emergency room door, I almost didn’t notice that the officer had parked in a regular parking spot until she came up to ask me if I needed help (I had parked in a handicapped spot). I clutched my dog tighter than I did my purse as the officer accompanied me to the door and held it open for me so we could enter less awkwardly. She explained the situation to the staff, and they thanked her for helping me, as did I (I was still trying to pull myself together). She refused to leave until she knew I was calm enough to drive home and would (eventually) be okay.

A few days later, I called the police station’s non-emergency number and left a message for that officer’s lieutenant. I wanted to let them know how amazingly compassionate that officer was, and how much her kindness was needed and appreciated at that moment.

Later that night, that sweet, wonderful officer called me back to make sure I was okay and to express her sympathies. I started crying again at her thoughtfulness.

The next day, her lieutenant called me as well. First, he thanked me for taking the time to express gratitude for their service (at a time when police are receiving much more grief than they deserve, it was the least I could do). He then graciously offered for me to come visit the station and spend time with their four K-9 officers, at any time that worked for them and me.

I know not all cops are perfect–but not all members of ANY group are. Unfortunately, working in journalism taught me that “If it bleeds, it leads”, and good news (and by extension, good people) are boring. I stand by the fact that most police officers are good, hard-working, decent, helpful people, and only the bad ones make the news. The actions of those police officers that night only solidified that stance in my mind, and I will always be grateful for their compassion and caring. I will continue to pray for their safety and that of all service people.

CONTENT WARNING: Mention of animal death, medical gore.

I’m a vet tech. I took off work early one day to go meet up with some friends and acquaintances to celebrate my friend’s and his boyfriend’s engagement. Unfortunately, I was a bit later than planned getting out of work. I texted everyone as soon as I clocked out to let them know I’d be late. I should note here that they all know I work in vet med and that I took time off for the party.

After I got there, one acquaintance was lecturing me over and over and over about how I was late, how disrespectful and irresponsible it was, how it showed I don’t care, etc. She brought it up multiple times, even after people had changed the subject, and others (including the newly-engaged friend and his fiancée) had asked her to stop. She also had a history of lecturing me specifically for every perceived slight or mess-up. I finally hit my breaking point, interrupted her, and unloaded on her (not an exact quote, but the gist):

Me: “I would’ve loved nothing more than to be here on time. Unfortunately for everyone, we had an emergency come in right before I was supposed to leave. The patient had a seizure at home, fell on some construction equipment, and cut himself open. So I was busy holding this dog whose intestines had fully eviscerated through his abdomen, and who was actively seizing right up until he bled out and died in my arms.”

Me: “And of course I was completely soaked in his blood, so I couldn’t just change into the clothes I’d brought with me – I had to go home and shower before coming. I really, really, thought about just cancelling and going to sleep, but I still came because I said I would and I wanted to celebrate [friend and his fiancée] and spend time with friends.”

Me: “I said sorry when I texted I’d be late and again when I first got here. So, I’d appreciate it if you’d shut up and give me some f****** grace. God d***.”

She barely said a word to me the rest of the night and sent me an apology text the next day. I felt bad after the fact for going off on her and souring the mood for a bit, but I can’t deny that it was satisfying.

So, my dad just started dating someone new. I haven’t met her yet, but I knew he was seeing someone. I’m sitting at the dining table working on some art project when he walks in from their date night… eyes red, face puffy. Clearly, he’s been crying. Which is weird, because it’s like their third date. 

He sees me and immediately starts laughing. Like, full-on belly laughing. He tries to talk but keeps cracking up. After a few minutes, he finally gets it together enough to tell me what happened.

Dad: “Did I tell you Meg has a cat?”

Me: “Nope.”

Dad: “So apparently this stray showed up on her doorstep two nights ago with an injured paw. She took him to the vet, got him patched up, and decided he couldn’t go back outside like that… so she adopted him.”

Me: “Okay, I already like her.”

Dad: “She named him Garfield, because he’s ginger and that’s literally the only cat she’s ever seen.”

Me: “Wait… the cartoon Garfield is her only cat reference??”

Dad: “Yup. Her parents were super allergic to cats, so she’s never been around one. Ever.”

Me: “She’s in her forties! How is that even possible?”

Dad: “Hold on, it gets better.”

Me: “Oh no…”

Dad: “So last night, Garfield climbs into bed and wakes her up. She panics because he’s ‘rumbling and vibrating’, her words, and she’s convinced his injury got worse. So she rushes him to the emergency vet.”

At this point, my dad is laughing so hard he can barely breathe.

Dad: “She tells the vet what’s happening, and the vet goes, ‘Ma’am… he’s purring.’ And she goes, ‘What’s that?’”

Me: “She didn’t know what purring was?! Did she think he was about to explode?!”

Dad is now crying from laughing.

Dad: “The vet had to explain what purring is, how it usually means the cat is happy, and what actual signs of pain look like.”

Me: “She took him to the ER because he purred. I can’t.”

Dad: “Best part? They didn’t even charge her. Said it was the first time they’ve ever had to explain purring to a cat owner.”

Still laughing.

Me: “I need to meet this woman.”

A customer and his dog are browsing the toy section, looking for a chew toy for his huge St. Bernard. I see him munching on a grape, and then he gives one to his dog.

Me: *Rushing over.* “Sir! You can’t feed dogs grapes! They’re toxic to them!”

Customer: “It’s okay, they’re seedless!”

Me: “That doesn’t change anything! The whole grape is poison!”

Customer: “So he’ll have some runny poops for a while, so what?”

Me: “Sir, this could f****** KILL him!”

My increase in volume, plus swearing (something I never really do), seems to shock the customer into realizing this might be a big deal.

Luckily for him, we have a vet on the premises, so we run his dog over there for some emergency checks. The vet confirms all his vitals seem fine (luckily, he’s a big dog and the customer SWEARS it was just the one grape), but the vet still insists on keeping him on site and under observation for a few hours.

In the meantime, I give the customer a VERY COMPREHENSIVE rundown of all the things that are toxic to dogs (Chocolate, Grapes/Raisins, Avocado, etc.). After the observation period:

Vet: “Okay, so I’m not going to charge you for the emergency checks.”

Customer: “Oh, thank you—”

Vet: “—But I will be charging you for the follow-up appointments I’m setting for next week and the end of the month. To make sure his diet is all up to spec. And if you don’t show up to those appointments, then we have your details to hand over to the ASPCA.”

The customer begrudgingly agreed. His St. Bernard was the picture of health for both follow-up appointments!

I have a dog who needs a monthly shot, so I’m a regular at the vet’s office. One day I’m in there, and the tech working the front desk is one of the newer ones I don’t know well. She’s with another customer, a gentleman around my own age who, at first glance, does not come across as a man of unlimited means.

The tech is kneeling down next to this customer’s dog, a smiling bully mix, with both arms wrapped around her, scratching her chest. The tech is running down a list of procedures the vet recommends, and the cost of each, and I’m hearing the total rapidly approach the stratosphere. The tech wraps up and looks at the customer for confirmation.

Customer: “Yeah, okay, whatever she needs.”

Vet Tech: “Okay. It’ll probably be about an hour.”

Customer: “So, should I wait?”

The vet tech stands up, wraps the leash around her forearm, and heads for the back with the dog, still talking to the customer over her shoulder.

Vet Tech: “No. You can pick me up a grande iced caramel macchiato with whip.”

She vanishes with the dog. The customer sighs and is turning towards the Starbucks across the parking lot when he apparently catches my expression.

Customer: “It’s allowed. She’s my daughter.”