I work at a veterinarian’s office as a receptionist, usually just answering phone calls and making appointments. Today, I had a call from a woman who was in tears. 

Caller: “You have to help me! Oh, God, it’s an emergency and I don’t know what to do!”

Me: “Miss, I need you to calm down, please. Tell me what the emergency is and what kind of animal.”

Caller: “I’m babysitting my sister’s dog, and she just peed, and oh, God, it’s the wrong color! I don’t know what I did wrong!”

Me: “Ma’am, what’s wrong with the urine? Did you see blood in it? If so, you’ll need to bring the dog in immediately.”

Caller: “No, nothing like that! The dog’s pee is yellow! Oh, I don’t know what to do! My sister loves this dog!”

Me: “Yellow? I’m sorry ma’am, but that’s a normal color for urine in… well, almost any animal.”

Caller: “But you don’t understand! She has a brown dog!”

As it turned out, the caller thought that animals peed the same color as their coats, and I had to explain to her why she was wrong for ten minutes. The dog’s owner turned out to be a customer of ours, and we told her the story the next time she came in. She sighed.

Customer: “This is why my sister was never allowed to have a pet growing up; she’s not the brightest.”

I work for a vet. We rent clinic space in a small strip mall. We are responsible for interior fixtures, but the physical building, including the dropped ceiling, is the responsibility of the management company that “maintains” the property.

We need some plumbing work done, which necessitates shutting off our unit’s water, and the shutoff valve is in the ceiling. The plumber drops the ceiling tile he moved to access the shutoff valve. Being about thirty years old, it breaks, leaving a hole in the ceiling.

We immediately contact building maintenance and inform them that we need a replacement tile ASAP. No response.

We contact them again a week later. No response.

Another week later, we point out that there is a serious danger of a cat getting up there and being incredibly difficult to retrieve. They finally respond.

Building Maintenance: “Oh, we’ll get maintenance right on that.”

Maintenance never even came by to look at it.

About a month later, the maintenance guy came by, not to replace the ceiling tile, but to ask if we’d heard anything about a new management company because he’d heard a rumor but nothing concrete. I reminded him that we needed a new tile to keep cats from escaping into the ceiling. He said something vague about putting it on his list and left without doing anything.

Today, I got to send three voicemails and an email to the building manager saying that the thing we’d been warning them might happen for a month had happened, and there was a semi-feral cat running around in the ceiling instead of being spayed.

THAT they responded to. They came out in about half an hour to measure and cut a new tile for the space where the broken one had been, and they made plans to replace several other damaged tiles we had asked them to replace last year, as well.

The cat got away from my coworker on the way to being sedated for an exam and had not come out yet by the end of the workday, probably because she was already scared and the noise of an active vet clinic seems even scarier. We set up a trap on the cabinets near the hole overnight, with a bowl of water and some incredibly nasty-smelling warmed sardines as bait. Hopefully, she will be safely contained in the trap when we arrive tomorrow morning and we can proceed with her now heavily discounted spay.

I’m a veterinary surgeon. This was a few years ago when Pet Passports were first introduced in the UK. At the time, to get a Pet Passport, the dog or cat needed to have a rabies vaccination, then wait some time, then have a blood test to see if the rabies vaccine worked, and then they were okay to travel. I think it was a minimum of three weeks to be able to use it.

I had a client come in with a dog.

Client: “I need a passport for [Dog].”

Me: “Okay, we can start with a rabies vaccination today.”

I explained the process.

Client: “No, that’s not good enough. We’re travelling in two days!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but it’s illegal for me to stamp and sign a passport that will let you take [Dog] in two days.”

Client: “Well, vets in [Major City] did it for me.”

Me: “Sorry, I’m not prepared to break the law for you.”

Client: “Can you give me some sedatives so I can smuggle the dog across the border?”

Yes, he really did say this. I responded after an incredulous pause.

Me: “No!”

At this point, I started ushering him out of the door, completely done with this consultation. The client got halfway out of the door and then turned to me.

Client: “Wait! My dog’s afraid of thunder! Can I have some sedatives for that?”

Me: “How stupid do you think I am?! Get out!”

No, they didn’t pay for their consultation. Yes, I tried to report them.

Content Warning: Animal Injury

I have a lot of stories from working in veterinary care, but this one is always going to stick out in my mind, for reasons that will soon be obvious.

A woman who is not an established client shows up at our clinic one day without warning, stating that her ranch dog has been attacked by some other dogs and “might need a stitch.” We’re not going to turn someone away if their dog is injured like that, so we do our best to accommodate.

I go out to bring the dog back for an exam and see a gaping bite wound about the size of my fist; it definitely needs more than just a stitch. The plan is for the dog to stay the night and have surgery the next day.

The primary vet has me put together an estimate for the procedure. It’s not cheap. The doctor goes up front with the estimate to discuss and comes back looking pretty upset.

The dog’s owner, upon seeing the cost, said, “Just put him down. I can get another dog.” The dog is young and otherwise healthy, and the vet is not willing to euthanize him for a treatable wound.

So, he offers her an alternative: she relinquishes the dog to us, and we adopt him out to a family willing to pay the medical fees after the procedure. Thankfully, she agrees, and after the papers are signed, she leaves the clinic, never to be seen again. All in all, it’s a very eventful thirty minutes.

As for the dog, he made a full recovery and is currently sleeping quite contently on my living room floor!

I named my cat Muesli, like the cereal. Not everyone has heard of this kind of cereal, but then again, very few people ever have the need to pronounce my cat’s name, so it doesn’t really matter.

One day, however, I bring Muesli to the vet for his annual checkup. We’re sitting in the waiting room when we hear the vet tech reading from a clipboard.

Vet Tech: “Okay, the vet’s ready to see… uh… is it… Mussolini?”

No. No, it isn’t. I did not name my cat after a fascist dictator.