The Never-ending Song

Bonnie was a lovely, dainty, little golden Cocker Spaniel. She was always immaculately groomed and had tiny pink bows tied in the hair at the top of each ear when she came to our Veterinary clinic for her annual booster vaccinations or to have her nails trimmed.  Bonnie's doting owner was herself impeccably groomed and dressed. Her gray hair pulled into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, a touch of rouge on her cheeks, red lipstick, Miss Hartwick was the image of a respectable elderly lady. One morning as I was organizing my desk with the roster of records for our afternoon appointments, the phone rang.  "Good morning, Burlington Animal Hospital, Miss Smith speaking", I said. "Oh dear", the tearful voice sobbed," I need to bring Bonnie to the hospital right away.  Is the doctor there yet?"   " Yes, Dr. Prior is here (we had 3 vets who took turns doing in  hospital and home and farm visits).  "What has happened to Bonnie?" I as

For those of you following the saga of Ginger--there has been added one more challenge to her that she seems to be overcoming.   Three days ago Ginger came dashing inside when I opened the door at dusk to take Hannah out.  Blood was trickling down her side from what appeared at first glance to be a wound just over her hip.  She was not limping and she ate.  When I tried to examine the wound, she became the fierce feral and attempted to bite me.  No amount of cajoling and treats coaxed her into letting me touch the injury.  So I had to let her back out.  She slept in her little house, coming out next morning, yawning and stretching--still no limp.  The bleeding had ceased .  The hair surrounding the wound had been pulled out from her own efforts at cleaning the area.  I could see that a big scab had formed.   Ginger loves the dog's canned food.  (She won't touch canned cat food!)  If I feed Hannah when Ginger is in the apartment , that cat will push Hannah out of the way t

Many Valentines have found their way to me on February 14th through the many Valentine Days I have been around to witness. In grade school our teachers placed cardboard boxes beautifully decorated with red hearts and doily lace on their desks.  I remember Mother purchasing the right number ( in those days we sent a valentine to everyone in the class) of little valentines with cute baby animals or cartoon characters.  We carefully wrote on the backs To  "Marcia"  From  Cynthia.   Everyone in the class went home with the same number of cards and a red heart-shaped lollipop from the teacher.  I used to play with my cards on my bed that night.  When my little sister  began school, we would compare cards.  It was exciting and so much fun.  As I grew older Valentine's Day became more a day of hope and concern.  In Junior High valentines were only given to special friends and perhaps one even dared to send one to a boy.  Now the cards were in envelopes, making the suspen

Many years ago before I was married, I left Vermont to answer an ad for a veterinary assistant ( they had not developed the Vet Tech program as yet) in Stamford, Connecticut.  I was hired and joined the staff which included  the owner, Dr. John Nickerson, another young veterinarian, Dr. Hershhorn, an assistant gentleman who was actually a licensed veterinarian in his own country yet not allowed to practice as such in the U.S.,  a kennel man, Ralph, and now me. The clinic was in a historic old house.  The basement had been transformed into the kennel area,and treatment area. The street level floor contained a waiting room, lab, office and surgery.  The second level was an apartment where Ralph, his wife and baby lived.  The top floor was a cute little apartment where I lived, with my Sheltie dog, Tami and Persian cat, Snowman. Dr. Nickerson lived with his wife and two sons only a few miles away.  Having employees who lived in the hospital was an wonderful idea. I have not seen it v

I never intended to show or speak about my political leanings on this blog.  I am actually registered as Independent.  My family would no doubt say that applies to more than my political standing. I don't follow party lines when I vote.  I learn as much as I can about the candidates and vote for the individual.  Since I am pretty much home-bound, I vote by mail.     Like so many, I wonder if my vote even counts, yet I vote anyway--just in case. Yes I watched the SOTU last night.  All during the President's talk, Madam Pelosi made faces, smirked, shook her head, and then of course tore up her copy of the speech in front of the world.  To me she was behaving exactly as Robert (our Millenial age maintenance man) does when Kathryn (our Manager)  is speaking ---and Pelosi is far too old to use Millenialism as her excuse!  Between the disgusting performance at the Super Bowl half time and such disrespectful behavior  of government head figures, -I am sorry Pres. Trump,

Today when Phil was lifted from his cozy burrow and held up in front of a huge crowd early in the morning, in 10 degree, cloudy weather, he did not see his shadow, so he predicted an early Spring. Doesn't make much sense to me, for any woodchuck (groundhog) I ever knew would #1  not come out of that warm nest when it was still so dark and cold, and #2  would not be thinking Spring under those circumstances. But it is a tradition of long-standing, very cute, popular and fun. I understand he has not been very accurate in the past.  Had his den been here in Virginia this morning he would most certainly have seen his shadow.  He could have stretched out in sunshine under clear blue skies and basked in the 60 degree weather.  Of course there is no doubt he would have seen his shadow, but would he have cared?  I even saw a few dandelions, a favorite food of woodchucks, blooming today and lots of short, delectable greens. Phil wasn't in Virginia.  So I presume he was expected

I have been "under the weather" as the old saying goes. This past week I have had either a bad cold or a mini flu. Doesn't really matter what one calls it--it was miserable and I am relieved I recovered so quickly.   Those days when I was experiencing chills, muscles aches and all the symptoms of the common cold, even taking Hannah outside to potty seemed close to impossible.  Then I remembered days on the dairy farm when Dad's nose was running like a waterfall, yet coughing and sneezing, he was up at 4 am and off to the cold barn to milk the waiting cows.  I never heard him complain, though perhaps the cows did.  Mother, too, entered the cold room off the main barn where the large washtubs waited for her to plunge her hands into the soap and water to clean the milking equipment.  This was before in-line milking and all the pails, strainers, and the "claws" which were rubber-lined tubes that Dad slipped onto the cow's teats to gently extract the milk