Thursday, March 27, 2008
I’m at work and I’m angry. I’m not going to make enough money tonight to pay the babysitter. Where is my husband you ask? Why he is at work too, brewing beer, which is done 24/7. He’ll make enough to pay the babysitter. He’ll pay the babysitter and the federal government. That’s it. As for me I’m making diddly squat. Fifteen hours away from home, in the MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT for diddly squat. The only people making money are the sitter and good ‘ol “W.” That’s working on commission for you.
I’ve had two patients so far. One very old golden retriever. The dad, the human dad, was too lazy (or simply too much of a chicken shit) to bring the dog in himself. Instead he sent the dog with his young adult children and a credit card. Then he refused any and all diagnostics or treatment (over the phone, of course) and told me to send the dog home - he was going to shoot it in the head; after all the dog was not a child. And here is how a human child should be treated: the veterinarian whom they’ve never before met gets to inform them their father has decided to kill the beloved family pet. I told them I was sorry. They cried. They said it wasn’t my fault. I euthanized the bastard’s dog for free.
The second patient was a young heeler with a cut on his pad. They had no money either. They couldn’t afford surgery. So the dog went home with a bandage, an e-collar and antibiotics. At least they were nice. They didn’t ask me to euthanize their dog (which I would have refused to do by the way). They didn’t try to blame me for their money troubles as most people do. ‘Cause, ya know, I’m getting rich here.
After spending a little time making mad faces into the photo booth in my computer I feel slightly better. ‘Cause, ya know, I look ridiculous.
Now I am going to take a nap, on this hard futon by the cold, cold window, with the hopes that tomorrow I'll get to spend some quality time with my children because they are the people who make me truly rich.