Short stories from the vet to lift your mood

My patient Sammy, a black lab, was very overweight. He weighed 120 pounds when he should have weighed about 70. I asked the owner how much he was feeding the dog. The owner told me, “Ten cups of food a day.” When I asked the owner why he was feeding him so much food, his response was, “Sammy won’t let me feed him any less.”

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When I was in vet school, we learned to examine all manner of species. For my goat examination class, we received written instructions on how to do an appropriate goat exam. I entered the pen with my patient, and while I bent down to listen to his heart, he ate the instructions detailing how to examine him out of my back pocket. The goat ate my homework.

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Although it hasn’t happened for a long time, in my younger years as a veterinarian, I would occasionally get hit on in the exam room. After several coy remarks, John finally asked me, “So, what’s your first name,” to which I responded, “Doctor.”

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When my son was growing up, we were very involved in the Boy Scouts. Because I am the parent in the family who loves to hike and be outdoors, I would attend all of his camping trips with him. On one trip we were all asked to share a story around the fire. Many of my best stories come from my time as a large animal veterinarian right after I graduated vet school. I decided to share the story of a time I had to replace a prolapsed uterus in the middle of winter. I described in detail how by the time I arrived, the uterus was very swollen and parts of it were frozen and needed to be debrided. The uterus weighed about 100 pounds and it took all my strength to shove it back into place. I was so into my story that it took me a while to register the look of shock and chagrin on the fathers’ faces around the fire. To their credit, the boys seemed mostly unfazed.

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A grey tabby named Jack used to come in dressed in a black bomber jacket for all of his vet visits. The dad would always bring the cat in and one day I commented on how stylish Jack was. Dad let out a sigh and said, “My wife makes me do it.”

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I had a beloved professor in veterinary school who used to give any student a six-pack of beer if they could find an anomaly on their dissection specimen. Curiously, one member of my class was exceptionally good at finding anomalies.

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Whenever I would bring my pug mix dog with me to visit my grandmother, she would always stroke her and say in her thick German accent, “What a nice pelt you have.”