Dr. Christy Corp-Minamiji, a veterinarian living in Northern California, wrote a particularly poignant piece for the April issue of The Horse: Your Guide To Equine Health Care that I want to share with those who might not have seen it. 

It was a dream job, a forever job. In vet school I swore I would never practice small animal medicine or do research. I would be a large animal vet. The universe laughs when we say “never.” My first job was in small animal practice, the second in research/technical services. Then after a year at home with my oldest daughter, I received the magic phone call offering me an associate position at the perfect clinic. It was an established large animal practice, about 70% equine, with just enough other species to add spice. The RVT (registered veterinary technician) had been with the practice for years, the office staff knew the clients as well as their own families, and my boss had a sense of humor.

But no job is perfect. My first truck was a stick-shift with questionable steering and a cantankerous transmission. For two years my boss and I alternated emergency call–every other night and every other weekend. The work was physically and mentally exhausting. You haven’t been tired until you’ve floated seven sets of teeth on a spring day while eight months pregnant.

Our equine clientele filled the spectrum: We treated ponies and drafts, racehorses and Western pleasure horses, Friesians and Arabs, hunters and reiners. We visited patients in show barns and in tumbledown backyards. I learned never to equate budget with appearances: A millionaire might balk at the cost of bloodwork, yet we had one client who lived in her car so that her Social Security check could support her horse

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