In my forty-two years as a veterinarian, I answered countless questions. Most of the time, I was pretty well prepared to do so. If I didn’t know the answer, I could look it up or ask someone more knowledgeable. But every so often, I got hit with a question that left me at a loss for words. Or rather, words I could actually say to a client whom I wish to keep.

For example, back when I had to take calls before the emergency clinic opened, I was frequently asked, “Will my dog (cat, bird, etc.) die if I wait until tomorrow?” I was always tempted to make a snarky comment as to the current state of my crystal ball—especially if it was two a.m.—but I managed to refrain. Most people simply didn’t realize how impossible and unfair that question was. I’d explain that, with a few exceptions, I couldn’t assess their pet’s condition over the phone, and if there was any doubt, they should bring it in. Many people, however, still seemed to think I had some exceptional power of being able to diagnose and treat vague symptoms over the telephone. Then came the real issue—the emergency fee. They didn’t want to pay for rousting me out of my warm bed in the middle of the night if it could wait. But they also didn’t want to live with the guilt if Fluffy didn’t make it through the night. That’s when I’d hear, “You’re the VET! Do you think it can wait?” A true no-win situation. Of course, nowadays, they can simply text pictures of their animal. Isn’t modern technology great?

I even had people ask, AFTER talking to them on the phone, meeting them at the clinic, introducing myself, treating the animal, and collecting the bill, “Now are YOU the vet?” One would think verifying my identity would come before handing over a beloved pet to the first warm body that happened upon the scene.

Occasionally, someone presented an animal who was taking its last breath and asked if it could have a nail trim while there or what they could do about the fleas. I managed not to blurt out, “Don’t worry, the fleas will jump off after the dog (cat) is dead.” As for the nail trim, sure, why not? It’s much easier to do a nail trim on an animal that isn’t squirming or biting.

Sometimes, when an owner brought in a pet for a certain procedure or surgery, they asked, “Have you ever done this before?” Now, in all fairness, this is a perfectly legitimate concern and a reasonable question. But the devil in me was always tempted to answer, “No, but there’s a first time for everything!” Similarly, when people asked, “Have you ever seen anything like this before?” it was rarely a rare, exotic disease that had me scratching my head in bewilderment, but rather something I saw twenty times a day, like allergies.

One memorable night, I was called in to see a dog for a life-threatening emergency that needed immediate surgery. The owners had always seen another doctor in the practice, but he was out of town. With horror on their faces, they asked, “Well, WHO is going to do the surgery?” I thought about offering to call the janitor to see if he was available, but instead, I gently assured them that not only was I qualified to do the surgery, but I was the only option at the moment. (The dog recovered beautifully, by the way.)

Some questions, however, were so baffling they left me speechless, such as “Do you know anything about” (fill in the blank.) A concerned breeder once handed me a box of newborn puppies and asked, “Do you know anything about puppies?” I thought this was rather an odd question, considering the fact I DID manage to graduate from veterinary school. I have a diploma that says so. Surely, I must know SOMETHING about puppies. After all, I know SOMETHING about a lot of things—like airplanes, for example. I know they have wings and an engine. But it’s probably best if I’m not asked to fly one.

My all-time favorite was, “Do you have to go to school to be a veterinarian?” I only have to wonder what these people thought concerning our professional ability. Did they think I earned my degree by taking a few correspondence courses that I studied during commercials of re-runs of “Gilligan’s Island,” sending in a form, and receiving a mail-order license to practice veterinary medicine?

But the question that stopped me cold was one I heard from time to time when an owner had to make the difficult decision to put their pet to sleep and opted not to be present. “You’re not going to EXPERIMENT on him, are you?” I could only imagine what was going through the heads of these dis-traught individuals. Did they visualize a Dr. Franken-Fannon, compassionate and trustworthy by day, but by night, drawing the blinds and retreating to my la-BOR-atory for sinister experiments?

In actuality, I usually attempted something much more improbable. As much as I would have liked to stay and work into the wee hours of the night to advance the cause of science, I usually went home where I made a determined, although often futile, attempt to get through an entire fifteen-minute dinner without the phone ringing. This might seem an odd goal, but you’ll understand when I tell you that, for many years, our home was shared by one of the strangest types of animal known to man—the North American teenager.