Round Two: Remember to thank a vet tech

A year ago at this time, I wrote about the trials and tribulations of the 2.5 years I spent working in animal care.

I did it to coincide with National Veterinary Technician Week. And by the time I had finished, I knew Part Two was coming in 2024 because one column on the topic wasn’t going to be nearly enough. I’m not sure one book would cover it all, either.

So, with National Veterinary Technician Week 2024 having just come to an end Oct. 19, I bring you … Part Two.

And I’ll start with this: National Veterinary Technician Week should be National Veterinary Technician Month. Because, like the one-column premise, one week doesn’t seem like nearly enough time to honor one of the most thankless professions on the planet.

From the front-row seat I had in the industry for a few years, the entire career field seemed thankless. For veterinarians, vet techs and kennel staff alike, the shifts are arduous, pressure-packed, and physically and mentally draining. Yet customers often treat them poorly, seeing those who work in animal care as not worthy of their respect and consideration.

For instance:

At a kennel I worked at in Portage County, I arrived for my 4 p.m. shift and immediately set about my tasks, which included walking the dogs, getting dinners ready, giving medications, cleaning kennel runs and cages of any messes (and there were always messes), and preparing to open the kennel to customers. I was the only employee on shift for the evening.

When the time came, I went up front to open the door for customers and was shocked to see a woman — a very angry woman — already standing in the lobby waiting for me. “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” she demanded. I had no idea how she had gotten in without a key, who she was, why she was there, and if I needed to hit the police button located underneath our front desk to have her unceremoniously escorted from the premises.

I figured I would operate on the assumption that she was here to pick up her dog from the kennel — while making sure to stay close to the police button.

I wanted to say: “I’ve been busy cleaning dog diarrhea and vomit and making sure animals that needed their meds got them on time. So how was your tea and crumpets party?”

Instead, I told her the time the kennel opened to customers, a statement she completely ignored. “I’VE BEEN BANGING ON THE DOOR FOR 15 MINUTES!!!”

“How did you get in?” I asked.

“ONE OF THE WORKERS LET ME IN,” she responded, referring to a contractor working in the facility. That was all kinds of unauthorized — but a different matter at the moment.

“I’ve been in the back, so I was unable to hear knocking on the door,” I told her, then repeated: “We didn’t open to customers until just now.”

“HOW COULD YOU NOT HEAR ME FOR 15 MINUTES???” she demanded.

I got the impression I could slip out of the room and she could just as easily have this conversation with herself. My attendance wasn’t necessary.

Trying to distract her from her one-track mind, I said: “OK, so who are you picking up today?”

Her answer: “My dog.”

I had 20-some dogs in the back. Her answer wasn’t helpful — and she knew it.

“OK,” I said, swallowing hard by this time. “And what’s the dog’s name?”

She told me, which, thankfully, released me from her presence and allowed me to go back to the dog area, where I’d much rather be anyway. She had a small, pleasant dog that I could carry in my arms, so I scooped up the dog and an accompanying bag of treats and walked back to the front desk, handing the dog over — and counting the seconds until this unpleasant human being walked out of my life forever.

Then a miracle happened: Upon taking the dog into her arms, the woman smiled, which I hadn’t thought possible. Unfortunately, the smile lasted as long as it took her to count the number of treats in the clear plastic bag. “WHY ARE THERE SO MANY TREATS?!? YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO GIVE HER TREATS EVERY DAY!!!”

“We did,” I answered. “She wasn’t eating them, so we stopped giving her treats so they wouldn’t go to waste.”

To this, our charmer responded: “YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO GIVE HER TREATS EVERY DAY!!! WHAT’S YOUR NAME? I’M CALLING THE DOCTOR HERE AND TURNING YOU IN. YOU WON’T BE WORKING HERE NEXT WEEK!!!”

Well, she was right about that. I’d already turned in my notice and only had a few days left to work at the kennel.

“Tom Hardesty,” I replied.

“How do you spell that?” she snorted.

It took everything in my power not to say: “T-O-M.”

But I gathered myself, spelled out my last name for her — twice, even though she didn’t ask for the repeat spelling — and, 4.5 years later, I’m still waiting to hear from the doctor.

The woman then held the dog up in front of her, apologized to the dog — “Mommy’s sorry he didn’t give you any treats, honey,” she said as I watched from the other side of the front desk in horror and awe — then walked out of the building. And, thankfully, my life.

That’s the kind of disrespectful, hostile treatment I’m talking about, and that was just one instance. Poor treatment by customers and employers is nothing new to rank-and-file employees in America — we’ve got it down to a fine art — but it’s especially galling when it comes at the expense of people who are trying to help you.

It’s far worse for vet techs, because they are on the front lines of life and death. It’s a charged, pressure-packed atmosphere, and they’re dealing with pet owners who are scared, stressed out and angry about the situation their sick dog or cat is in at that moment. I know, because I’ve been that pet owner more times than is beneficial to my mental health. Pet owners want answers, cures and miracles, and they want them now.

And the miracles happen. When I worked as an overnight veterinary assistant at an animal hospital in Summit County a few years ago — it was just the critters and me from about midnight to 7 a.m. — I lost count of the number of dogs and cats I expected to either die on my watch or soon after I clocked out in the morning, only to learn that they had gone home and were doing well. It’s a testament to how good — how damn good — veterinarians are and the critical role their techs play in serving and saving animals.

Vet techs are often the first responders of the veterinary industry. We had a vet tech on call every night, and my job was to call them for help and answers should a medical situation arise, which usually solved any problem that came up. In extreme cases, a veterinarian needed to be called in for emergency treatment. It struck me early on in that job the depth of knowledge that veterinary technicians possess about medications and treatments and how skillful they are in applying treatment techniques. I knew they just didn’t cuddle puppies, but I had no idea their expertise ran so deep.

However, knowledge, quick thinking and skill for the job aren’t the whole story with vet techs. These are human beings, and the mental and emotional toll of constantly dealing with sick and dying animals adds up over time. It’s a lot, and there’s only so much a person can take. Some vet techs last years and years, some last a few minutes. A survey by the National Association of Veterinary Technicians in America, a non-profit organization that promotes the veterinary technology profession, found that about 57% of technicians change careers within the first five years due to low pay, long and physically demanding hours, poor benefits and burnout.

The good news: Employment of veterinary technicians is projected to grow 19% from 2023 to 2033 — much faster than the average for all occupations. It’s an encouraging sign that there are still people out there willing to do this noble and necessary work.

So the next time you have to take Muffy to the vet, remember that the person assisting the veterinarian isn’t there to get rich. That person is there because they love animals and have dedicated themselves to helping them. They’ve already experienced a full day of death, injury and suffering of pets as well as the angst and grief of their owners before you even walked through the door. They’re physically spent and mentally exhausted, but there they are at that exam room, table, ready to do whatever is necessary to help.

They know you are scared, panicked and stressed. And they understand it — because they are pet owners, too. They have walked in your shoes, they have felt that fear, they have suffered that grief when their own dogs or cats have passed on. They know exactly what you are thinking and feeling.

I consider my time in veterinary care a blessing and a curse. It was a blessing to be surrounded by so many talented, intelligent, caring people who taught me so much about a field I never dreamed I would be involved in, and it was a blessing to play a role — even one as small as mine — in helping, comforting and saving so many dogs and cats.

It was a curse to see some of the horrific things that came with the job — things I wish I could unsee but instead are forever etched in my mind’s eye. I will always remember “my” patients who didn’t make it, like the bulldog in the oxygen chamber and the cat whose paw I held all night while we listened to the radio together. He died shortly after I left in the morning. I will never forget any of them.

And most of all, it was a blessing to work with our vet techs. Many times, I watched them come in at 7 a.m., worked with them until my shift ended at 8 a.m., went home, slept all day, got up, ate dinner and went back in at 10 p.m. — and one or two of them were still there. Their work ethic and dedication was astounding.

So to vet techs everywhere: Thank you. And know that what you do and what you go through every day is appreciated.

Especially by those in the fur coats.