Really though, I love what I do. I love being able to provide comfort to the pets in my care. At times they're scared, anxious, hopeful and sometimes painful. Every last, little one of them wants to be well. Every last, little one of them is a fighter.
When I was a social worker, I found myself lending my ego to the patients in my care. Human brains are experts at behavioral rationalization. We can explain away our mistakes and flaws - blaming anything from timing, parents, our environments, to our astrological moon and sun signs. I'd come home exhausted and spent, frustrated by the poor choices of my patients. Not now, though. My furry patients are tough. They're little warriors. They just want to keep going - eating, drinking, scratching, playing - living. Even pain is masked when possible. Impressive.
So I come home wearing all these odors. I'm some kind of other-worldly pet ambassador, as far as Arwen and Nyxie are concerned. In a single day they don't even see that many other animals. What must they think? All I know is both girls are riveted by these smells, taking them all in usually with tails wagging wildly. The tails wag more slowly when there's a particularly sick patient I've held that day. As though excited to "meet" them, but sad for their predicament. They just know. But how? I suppose it doesn't really matter.
I've learned from the girls to live in the moment, so that stress stays at work. And it feels good to be reunited with my family, furry and otherwise. The girls greet and then examine me with such ardor - I'm kind of like their super hero. But stinkier.
