Being a horse doctor is wonderful. Just about every day I get up, knowing that I’m going to be outside, working with what-I-think is one of the most wonderful creatures on the planet. So strong, so patient, so willing to trust, so willing to do the most amazing things for people, asking nothing more than a little attention and a good bit of food.
Being a horse doctor is terrible. Not a day goes by that I don’t worry. I worry about if a horse is getting better. I worry about making a difficult diagnosis that I client may not want to hear. I worry that I won’t get called. I worry that I will get called when I have something that I really want to do. I rarely get a full night’s sleep. Sometimes it’s because I get a call to go out to see a sick or injured horse. Sometimes it’s because I’m worrying. My phone rings all the time: when I’m in the shower, or at the gym, at a restaurant, or even in the bathroom. I’ve coached young boys playing games while consoling concerned horse owners. I’ve spoken to concerned horse owners while on vacation, walking through the streets of foreign countries. I carry a terrible responsibility: to help horses, to help people.
Being a horse doctor is wonderful. Just about every day, I wake up knowing that I’m going to go out and help somebody, and help a horse. I like that. It feels like I’m doing something good for the world. I really love horses.
Being a horse doctor is wonderful. Just about every day, I get to see friends who I have known for years. Friends who have shared triumphs and tragedies, and with whom I have shared my own. I have become part of their lives. Friends who trust me, not just to do the right thing by their horse, but to do the right thing. Friends with whom I have shared joy and laughter, triumph and heartbreak, both in the horse world, and beyond.
Being a horse doctor is terrible. In addition to my own concerns, I become part of every client’s worry about his or her horse. I share hurt and despair when bad things happen: and especially at the end. Each client has his or her personal pain – I carry a little bit of each and every one. I have seen awful accidents happen to horses, bad memories that I won’t be able to forget, and that I don’t want to describe. I wonder if, in some way, these are not like the emotional scars that soldiers take away from battle. Not as extreme, not as emotionally devastating, but just as real.
Being a horse doctor is terrible. I have made countless decisions that affect the lives of other people, and their horses. Happily, almost all of them have turned out well. But not all. Sometimes it’s not possible. Sometimes bad things happen, no matter how much you know, how well you work, how perfectly you do your job. I remember the battles that I’ve lost, and the people that I’ve lost them with. Soon, there will be another battle to fight, and I will fight it as hard as I can, replacing some of the old memories with new ones. Again and again.
Being a horse doctor is wonderful. I live comfortably, but not extravagantly. I can go out to a nice restaurant every once in a while. As a veterinarian, I still get a little respect. There seems to always be something to do. My days aren’t boring, and in between my work, I get to play some: on the golf course, in magic sessions – isn’t horse medicine just another kind of magic? – with friends, with family.
Being a horse doctor is wonderful. I wouldn’t have chosen any other profession. No matter how terrible it can be sometimes.