“Happy work is as gratifying as sex or hard laughter or love or good drugs.”

Anne Lammott from her book, Hard Laughter.

Looking back on my life, I have few regrets. Surprisingly, everything sort of fell into place on it’s own.  God had His master plan for my life and He did not let my poor decision making stand in His way. It’s been a good life and I am immeasurably blessed.

But one thing I never found is happy work.  I witnessed it up close and personal and I wanted it.  Oh, how I wanted it.  I just never found it.

My dad had happy work.  He was a lucky guy.  He owned his own veterinarian practice.  He got to take care of dogs and cats all day.  He got to be the hero and he got to be the boss. During the holidays, his clients would shower him with their appreciation, filling the break room with homemade baked goods. He brought home the over flow.  

Dad worked 10 hour days, six or seven days a week. He worked alone the first ten years until he took on a partner. He got up in the middle of the night for emergencies.  He went to the scene of the accident when a dog got hit by a car, sometimes taking us with him. When an animal was in critical condition, Dad would bring it home to sleep in a box in our den.  There was no emergency clinic or ICU in those days.

The clinic was our home away from home. Dad hired brothers Mose and Robert while they were both still in high school.  They started out cleaning cages and holding dogs. Robert ended up helping out with the front desk and Mose actually did a lot of vet tech type things.  Peggy and then Mrs. Good answered the phone, kept appointments and did paper work.  They were like a family to us. 

As I got older, I started working at the front desk to make some money before I left for graduate school.  I worked there my last year in Memphis, 1980.  There was a terrible heat wave that summer.  Dogs were dropping like flies. There was also a parvo epidemic.  Robert and I formed a bond as we manned the front desk that hot, busy summer.

Naturally, we had lots of pets all throughout my childhood. Usually strays and rejects.  Someone brought a collie mix in who had heart worms.  The treatment was brutal and expensive. Rather than pay their bill, the owners abandoned the dog and Lassie became our childhood best friend.  She met us at the end of the block everyday when we walked home from school.  When I was in third grade she had puppies and the entire neighborhood crowded into our den to watch. 

We found our cat,Tabby, wandering around the neighborhood when I was about five years old.  Mom told us that if we couldn’t find his owner we could keep him.  We rang a few doorbells and declared him an orphan and he was added to the menagerie.  There was Aster, short for “Eden’s Aster”. Also known as Aster the Disaster.  He was an Airdale born to a breeder who wanted him put down because one of his testicles had not dropped.  Dad brought him home instead. Dad was a softie.

While I was in Austin at graduate school, Mom told me that they had had to put Tabby to sleep.  He was over twenty years old and his health was failing.  The last straw was that he was doing his business on the floor air vents and Mom had her limits.  Pee in the air conditioning was definitely a limit.

I came home for Thanksgiving that year and stopped by the clinic to hang out with Robert and the gang.  The break room was full of the usual holiday loot and we were making pigs of ourselves. I told Robert what a shame it was about Tabby. He asked me what I meant.  I said, you know, about his dying.  “He’s not dead.  He’s here, in the back.  Do you want to see him?”  

Well, Tabby looked awful. It broke my heart. Three months in a cage will do that. It was obvious that he was dying. His eyes pleaded for relief. Robert said that Dad would not put him to sleep. It was a no brainer for me.  I asked Robert to do it. And he did. Dad and I never discussed it. Mom never knew. She thought he had died in August.