It is a strange time to be practicing veterinary medicine. I have mentioned in previous articles that we are seeing pets without their owners — or pet parents as we call them! All veterinary clinics in Phase I have been mandated to operate with closed doors. That means that pets are collected from the vehicle by a staff member wearing personal protective equipment (PPE).  Many who have entered Stage 2 are deciding to continue this way, at least for now.

Most veterinarians are introverts. We strongly dislike conflict, and gravitated toward veterinary medicine because we connect with animals. Then … we graduated and found out that most of our job is client communication. Ted Morris, a vet-turned-comedian, once joked on CBC that he wished pets would be pushed through a doggy door with a note explaining what was wrong. Well, his wish has now come true, and … it is strange.

The hospital is eerily quiet without clients in the building.

Everyone seems to be finding their own way of filling this void. Last week I heard my technician having an in-depth conversation with a feline patient in the treatment room. We play music more loudly. We swear when we stub our toes. And I am finding us interacting with our patients in a less “clinical” manner.

While we of course have to perform tests like physical examinations, blood samples, urine samples, ophthalmic exams, etc., without “mom and dad” around we are offering more comfort — and it seems to mostly be in the form of silliness with them:

We play with them more.

We hang out with them more (lunch is best in the company of a cat).

We let them run free more.

We “speak” for them more (you know, in that silly voice you use in the privacy of your home to explain what your pet must be thinking).

We groom them more (a coat can get ruffled recovering from surgery).

We hug them more.

Lately, our favourite pastime is lovingly and creatively renaming pets as a description instead of their breed. For example, a Chihuahua would be called a “landshark” (for obvious reasons) and a bitey Pomeranian, a “danger floof” — you get the gist.

Is all of this silliness for them — a way to instil calm in the absence of a familiar face? Or is it for us — a way of coping with the stress, and lightening the mood throughout the day? Probably both.

We are learning a lot during this time — about ourselves, about what is most important to us, and how veterinary medicine might change. Undoubtedly we will integrate some of the new protocol changes into our practice moving forward. Maybe, hopefully, some of this silliness will remain too.