Welcome to the chickens

So maybe I’m not technically a vet’s kid, but I’m a vet’s grandkid. My grandpa was a veterinarian ever since he graduated from Iowa State University way back in the 1950s. He started out his practice as a large animal veterinarian and found his first ever job working in the Dakotas vaccinating heads of cattle for the ranchers out there. He had so many stories of being called out in a snowstorm to help a birthing Heffer deliver, or for some other emergency. He even served in WW2 as a meat inspector for a brief time. But it was his time spent out on the ruthless winter prairies working with cattle and horses where he made his money, enough to switch his practice over to small animal and buy a building.

But this was long before my time. By the time I came around his practice was long established. In fact he had his practice long enough by the time I came around that I could hear stories of my mother growing up being forced to work in the clinic on the weekends. I think all four of his kids worked on the weekends there, all the way up to high school. I can recount my aunt telling me stories that he made her work, much to her dismay as a senior in high school.

He was one of the initial veterinarians in town, and turned into one of the OGs by the time he retired. Thankfully I was able to grow up going to his practice and it was a defining time in my young life. After his kids all grew up, he hired a lovely older women named Carmen to work the front desk, and I can distinctly remember her greeting me every time I came in.

He also had an in-wall aquarium with a ornate gold border and I loved watching the fish swim around. But the clinic always had a smell, obviously right? But it was a mix of cleaning chemicals and dogs (mostly due to the kennel in the back). It’s scent always burned the inside of my nostrils when I would first step into his practice.

One horrifying part of his clinic were the preserved ring and tape worms he had sitting in jars of formaldehyde. He even had a one-eye stillborn kitten. I was always drawn to his specimens but also repulsed.  

When I was very young he also had chickens in the back. Now I’m not sure if I can remember the chickens on my own, or if I can remember being told about the chickens. But interestingly enough the chickens came up in conversation the other day with my optometrist. Apparently, I have a small scar on my retina. I was surprised when the doctor asked me if I grew up with chickens, and I was like, “Yeah, actually. My Grandpa had them behind his vet practice”. I guess the type of scar I have has something to do with chickens? Anyways, it was like a lightening flash of nostalgia when I had to talk about those chickens again.

It’s kinda hard to write this, because my grandpa just passed away this week. So it’s a really bitter sweet thing to recall my early days at his practice. I’ll talk more about him later, he really was something else.