We animal lovers are not prepared for trips to the Veterinary Clinic. I have had to go every day since last Thursday when my dog was attacked by a pit bull who left her, poor thing, full of wounds that have to be treated there daily to avoid infection, and has to be injected with a third generation antibiotic I got on my own, because the vet called me aside and assured me that penicillin would not heal her. Tari is already out of danger of death, but the danger of infection has not disappeared. That was the reason for my silence of these recent days.
The animal clinic is a dirty and horrible place where there are frightening fleas and even treecreeper ticks. In contract, the veterinarians and technicians perform stoic work, without the conditions, proper medications, with the clinic always crowded, to save the pets that usually arrive in extremis. I have seen everything from a bright collie arrive in a gorgeous car with an ornate kennel, to the humble mutt carried in a bag by an old retired man, and have seen those specialists working with equal interest in each case. If I were not so “shocked” I would have taken photos the very nice or awful, as the case may be, animals and owners.
On Monday, Tari should get her stitches out; after that, I hope to get away from that place with a mixture of gratitude and disgust.
April 13 2012