“It’s always the women who have to make these decsions. There’s nothing wrong with the way you feel. But we both know what needs to happen,” I said. I’m sure I sounded strong and certain to the lady in the examining room, who looked up at me with teary eyes, a damp tissue wadded in her fingers. Really, I wanted to be the one with the tears and the tissues. Why does it only happen, I thought, to the good ones, the cheerful ones, the ones who talk, and perch on your shoulder and nibble your ear?
“My son and husband are going to be devastated. They love that parakeet,” the lady said.
“I’ll give you a few minutes, than send the tech in.” I had to get out of there. I ran to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on my face to rinse away sudden tears. Why, oh why had I decided to go into veterinary medicine and treat birds? Even though they flew, and yes, sometimes lived to be older than people, but the little ones were always in danger. Dogs, cats, hawks, cold, heat, ticks, worms and vacuum cleaners were always killing these birds. Or like this bird, dying of AGY—Avian Gastric Yeast.
“Oh, get over it,” I told myself. “It could be worse, you could be a hamster vet, treating the Bic lighters of the animal kingdom.”
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I really like the idea of this vet wishing she were her patients, wanting to be "the one with the tears and the tissues." It's an interesting comic situation, and there's something darkly comic, too, about the mortality rate of these poor birds. I'd be interested in seeing this expanded. I didn't quite understand the analogy between hamsters and Bic lighters - is it because they're disposable in the same way?
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