Mary Carlson - Drinking from the Trough: A Veterinarian’s Memoir

The world seems to have moved away from the written word in forms made to endure time, imprinted on paper. Dr. Carlsons gatherings are worthy of the paper and press. I found myself relating to moment after moment as she used her perspective to lure me into imagining. There were times I was not sure what would happen next, and times I anticipated and found myself amazed at her cleverness. Read this and you will find, like me, that you wished there was just more of it.

Bo A. Brock, DVM, DABVP (equine), author of Crowded in the Middle of Nowhere, and 2007 Texas Equine Practitioner of the Year

Drinking from the Trough has the wit of a modern day James Herriot. These stories will have the reader equally laughing and grieving over the personal struggles and triumphs in the life of veterinarian Dr. Mary Carlson.

Kris Abbey, DVM, Certified Veterinary Acupuncturist

Student, teacher, veterinarian, friendnow Dr. Mary Carlson can add gifted storyteller to her long list of achievements. Drinking From the Trough is a delightful meander through a life filled with colorful people and memorable animals, from Keli, a husky with a gift for singing, and Marcie, a horse with the kind of heart that comes along only once in a lifetime of owning horses, to any of the many other animal companions Mary has known. Through her tales, Mary reminds us of the value of the friendship of people and animals alike, the grief we know at their loss, and the enrichment they bring us as they travel through our lives.

Anna Dee Fails, DVM, PhD, professor of anatomy and neurobiology, Colorado State University

Drinking From the Trough

Copyright 2018 Mary Carlson DVM

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, digital scanning, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please address She Writes Press.

Published 2018

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN: 978-1-63152-431-8 pbk

ISBN: 978-1-63152-432-5 ebk

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018936738

For information, address:

She Writes Press

1563 Solano Ave #546

Berkeley, CA 94707

She Writes Press is a division of SparkPoint Studio, LLC.

All company and/or product names may be trade names, logos, trademarks, and/or registered trademarks and are the property of their respective owners.

Names and identifying characteristics have been changed to protect the privacy of certain individuals.

Dedicated to my mother, Carol Lederer Elson, and my husband, Earl Dwight Carlson, two amazing people gone too soon. You, more than anyone else, influenced the course of my life.

As I settle into my office upstairs, fingers ready to tap out my personal stories about animals, people, and myself, Matthew, my orange tabby cat, pads silently into the office. He leaps gracefully onto the small guest bed beside my computer and table, strolls across the plastic drop cloth that protects the quilt from cat hair, and stretches out in quiet companionship.

I smile and get back to work. I have no doubt that Matthew is my muse; if he isnt here next to me, hes around the corner in the hall, lying beside the door, the tip of his tail twitching in thought. Its comforting to write with him close by.

Pages later, I stop and stretch, convincing blood to circulate in my chair-swollen calves, and Matthew is there, purring loudly and giving me the slow blink. That slow blink is a gesture of love and respect unique to cats; it means Im his trusted friendas he is mine.

I pet him, kiss his forehead, and thank him for staying with me all these yearsyears that included a shattered hip, my husbands death, four moves in four years, a brief foray into law school, and my return to Colorado with occasional winter migrations as a snowbird to Arizona.

Matthew was diagnosed with chronic renal failure when he was fifteen years old, making our remaining time together even more precious. I cherish every moment with him, even when he beats up on the other cats, goes on his nightly tear around the house, smashes antique Staffordshire china to smithereens, or takes the finish off my dresser with retched-up hairballs.

A writer needs a muse, and Matthew is mine, for better or worse. Hes kept an eye on me as Ive written pieces that have been published in newspapers, professional journals, and lay publications over the years. Hes been there through rough drafts and revisions. And hes been there while Ive created this, my first book. Its a work of love and remembrance; I hope you enjoy it.

Out of vet school for barely two months, newly licensed, and wet behind the ears, I accepted a job offered by my friend Rachel to be a part-time veterinary practitioner at her private clinic. She couldnt pay much, but she promised to train me in the nuances of private practice. And with me on hand, shed finally be able to take longed-for time off. Id have to handle some night calls, but that was okay; I was just relieved that I would have a mentor so soon after graduation.

As soon as I walked in the door of her clinic, Rachel bombed out to go elsewherenot just my first day but every day I worked. No training in nuances or anything else! Being the only vet on duty was bad enough, but Rachel let her one and only vet techthe assistant who helps the veterinarian with patients in many different waysgo home at the same time too. I felt utterly abandoned.

I was technically qualified to treat sick and injured animals, but being totally on my own, without even a tech to help restrain patients, I was only comfortable with healthy patients coming to the clinic for wellness exams.

My first night call was for a house call to a bitch that had just delivered puppies. By the time I got there, the pups were dead. I talked to the client, who turned out to be a friend of my husband, Earl, and then I left. I didnt charge him anything for the house call, because I really didnt do anything.

Rachel was furious when she found out I hadnt charged himso furious I thought she would punch me out. She ranted at me: all calls get at least a night call charge.

How was I supposed know that?

This was definitely not the kind of teachable moment Id expected from a mentor. Maybe taking this job hadnt been such a good idea. Low pay and no doctor present werent helping me learn what was not taught in vet school. I began wondering if vet school itself had been a bad idea, if it had been a bad decision to leave my tenured teaching job four years ago.

But I was here, and I had a job to do, at least for the time being. And at least the next time I got a nighttime request for a house call, Id know what to do.

But no two calls are ever the same.

Jamie had gone to school with my husband and was the daughter of one of my mother-in-laws best friends. A few days after the dead-puppies incident, Jenny, Jamies six-year-old middle daughter, came into the clinic carrying a tiny kitten.

Dr. Carlson, Cupcake is mine, all mine! My very own kitten! she said with pure delight. As a middle daughter myself, I understood that having her own kitty made Jenny feel extra special.