All Dogs Go to Kevin: Everything Three Dogs Taught Me (That I Didn't Learn in Veterinary School)
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ALL DOGS GO TO KEVIN is a humorous and touching memoir that will appeal to anyone who has ever loved an animal or lost hours in James Herriot's classic veterinary stories.
wish we could.” Shortly thereafter, Animal Control brought in a dog who had been hit by a car. The poor thing was in bad shape, and we did what we could to stabilize him and provide pain relief while attempting to contact the owners. A man arrived an hour later, screwing his eyes together as he took in the sight of his pup. “Broken back, you said?” “I think so,” I told him. I was holding in my hand an estimate for the various things we could do, X-rays and fluids and possible transfers to the
again, my office was bugging me about something or another. I paused in the produce aisle and read the text. Susan: PLZ CALL DAISY DEAD CRAP BAD THX Daisy died? She was only three! Her parents, the Greenes, were two of my favorite clients—kind to us and absolutely enamored of their little Standard Poodle pup. She was their baby. Maybe it was OK that the office bugged me this one time. I quickly called back. “Susan, it’s Jessica… What the heck?” “Oh my God, Dr. V, it’s bad. Mr. Greene called
my head out the door. “Manny?” “Got it,” he said, jogging around the corner with a nylon leash in his hand. “Come on, Koa.” “I’m so sorry,” I said, returning to Tank. I prodded his generous belly to see if he was in pain and if anything seemed swollen or out of place. “When was the last time he had diarrhea?” “Last night,” the owner said. “But it was this weird green color and—” He paused, furrowing his eyebrow as he looked at the back door. A small yellow puddle of pee was seeping under the
completely unconscious. We waited our turn to greet him. “Keep fighting,” Brian said, patting his dear friend on the shoulder before stepping back and allowing me a moment. I walked up to Kevin, distraught at the sight of him lying so still. I picked up his hand, remembering how he used to pick me up and shake the crinkles out of my spine as a form of greeting. I put it to my cheek, wanting to believe he would awaken at any moment and start talking to me about Niles, or some old embarrassing
as mine. I know this now all too well, but I also know that rather than fear and dread that moment, I need to treasure the one I have now. The pain of the loss is the price we have to pay for all the wonder we accumulate building up to it, and as much as we forget this in our distress our loved ones aren’t really gone, not entirely. Their mark on us lives on, the myriad ways they make us better people just by being themselves, a truly phenomenal gift. Which explains why we keep going back for