My son checked in with me late this afternoon. As usual, we chatted about Hokie basketball. He thinks that Blackshear may have had the flu or something on Saturday. After venting about that, we shared our latest Dax predictions. I think he’s going to Stanford, and he thinks it will be Klempson. Then we just chatted in general. At some point, he began to fill me in on his day as a veterinary assistant. It was a banner day, apparently.


It all got started with the very first animal client- a poodle that had swallowed a sock. He said that the dog was in some distress, but they were well on the way to getting the situation under control. But the owner was absolutely inconsolable. She was screaming, “SAVE MY BABS!!! DON’T LET HER DIE!!!” over and over. She was so loud that the boarded dogs began howling. The place was simply a madhouse.


Right in the middle of that, a lady brought in an owl that had been plunked by a car. She had it in a box, and it was scratching and pecking to get out. My son said that he drew the short straw and had to get it out of the box and into a cage so they could assess it. When he opened the box, the owl escaped and began flapping all over the clinic. He began chasing it around the waiting area. The lady with the poodle was still balling uncontrollably and her dog was gagging on the sock.


As all of this was going on, a guy brought in a black lab with diarrhea. Just as they came in the front door, the dog let loose with an especially soupy mud pie right in the entry. He went up to the check in desk and began apologizing profusely for his pooch’s poop.


My son said that with the lady howling, the owl flapping, the caged dogs yapping, the lab pooping, and Babs gagging, no one had time to warn the guy with the cat in his arms who was coming in the front entry of the floor mess. Obviously, the cat had thrown up all over his work shirt and he was distracted trying to hold her and fight back his own gag reflex at the same time. Before my son could say anything, the guy stepped on the runny pile left by the lab and fell back on his ass right in the pile of crap. The cat, freed from his arms, bolted out the door.


The guy screamed for help and my son went running to get the cat before she darted across the highway. He said that he dove for the cat and caught her just before she made it to the street. As he turned back he saw the cat’s owner stepping off the sidewalk and onto the parking lot, that’s when he went down again on a patch of ice. It looked like he caught himself with his left hand, and he screamed out in pain.


So my son quickly ran the cat inside and put it in a cage then returned to assist the man into the waiting area. He was still grimacing in pain and holding his wrist with his good hand. Obviously a broken wrist, my son said. That’s when the owl came half-flying around the corner from the hallway and began attacking the man with the messed up wrist, vomit-stained shirt, and brown, soggy pants. The bird managed to get in a few pecks and talon scratches on him before my son launched himself at the owl, subdued it, and managed to stuff it into a vacant bird cage.


Then he went and called the rescue squad for the man with the messed up wrist, bird wounds, and soiled clothing.


After that, things began to calm down, he said. The lady stopped screaming, Babs stopped gagging as the sock was removed, the bird was sedated, the lab was sequestered, and the caged dogs relaxed. As he sat with the guy awaiting the rescue squad, the guy filled him in on the rest of his day, which had, apparently, been no better.


Who knew that being a veterinary assistant could be so eventful?