Vet Life Rules

While in a vet hospital, never, ever say, “Gosh, it’s quiet today.” This may just be a casual observation uttered as bored small talk, but it’s also a grave sin. You are not just quietly mocking the veterinary gods—you are having a full-on rave in their bedroom on a Tuesday morning. Nothing is more certain to happen next than three heinous emergencies arriving simultaneously, five minutes after the early shift has left the building. Let the shitshow commence. You have no one to blame but yourself. And yes, everyone hates you.

All cat bite abscesses that require lancing are mine. Not yours—mine. Is that clear?

No good deed goes unpunished. This little life-sapping beauty is for all the bleeding-hearted do-gooders out there. That, sadly for us, means everyone in veterinary medicine. You feel like driving that little old lady home rather than letting her wait for a cab, and, en route, her Cavalier Spaniel decides now is the right moment to have explosive diarrhea on your upholstery. You want to carry that bag of food out to the client’s car to be nice, and creak—your back spasms, condemning you to three visits to the osteo and a week in bed. (Hahaha—like you could take a week off anyway!) We’re not saying don’t go the extra mile, but pause to give a nod to the sadistic Inverse Karma God before you do. She’s less likely to mess with you if she knows you’re watching.

There is no such thing as the five-second rule in a veterinary hospital.

The nicest pets and owners get the most fucked-up issues. Similarly, the worst-behaved shitheads of men and mice seem resistant to all modes of disease and pestilence. It’s really not fair.

All blades of grass that require endoscopic retrieval from a cat’s pharynx are also mine.

Beware pets named Lucky. The name is either highly ironic or a massive sick joke by life. For your own protection, try not to stand near them for longer than is professionally necessary.

When pet owners say, “The price doesn’t matter,” you should believe them. But beware—behind these words are opposite intents. They either have enough money that your bill is merely a rounding error on their daily take-home income, or they have zero money, so there is no way you can ever collect. Your job is to ignore the words and ask for a deposit upfront. This will be harder than it seems because such words are usually uttered under the most extreme pressure—often when an animal needs immediate care and you are not focused on payment. 

All obstipated cat enemas are yours.

Clients are a bit like cats. If you scruff them, expect to visit the emergency room. If you take things slow and give them tush-rubs, they’re your best friend. Unless they are one of those asshole cats who mauls people regardless. Thankfully, such cats are very few and far between and best managed with pre-visit pharmaceuticals—or sent elsewhere. (Please note this is a jokey metaphor. You should not touch clients on the bum without explicit written, witnessed permission. Even then, it’s still a jokey metaphor. This action is likely to land you in front of a board or in a court of law with no license. Better to avoid being handsy at all.)

Feeling overwhelmed? You don’t have to lead alone. Join my Veterinary Leadership Academy and get the tools, training, and weekly coaching with me to help you grow as a confident, capable leader. Start your leadership journey today