My COVID Diaries: let the small animal vets out

I never write these diaries in advance – partly because I am not remotely organised enough to do so, but mostly because I want them to be a true reflection of the week that has just gone.

When I look back at my last week in practice (commencing 22 June), one resounding theme exists – the weather.

This does not feel as hard‑hitting as some previous themes, but I reckon every British writer (can I call myself that now?) is allowed at least one column per lifetime to talk about the weather.

Knowing the Great British summer, by the time this is published it will probably be pouring with rain and I will have moved on to complaining about that instead. I shall keep it out of next week’s column though, I promise.

Herriot dream

As a child, I imagined myself as a James Herriot vet – roaming the countryside in a battered Land Rover, with a Labrador retriever on the passenger seat.

As always, life took me on a different path, and I ended up in the one area I said I had no interest in when I started vet school – small animal practice. A vocation that involves spending 10-plus hours a day inside a building that may, or may not, have windows.

It has been a highlight of my pandemic experience to spend more time outdoors, as we are completing many of our consultations in the practice car park or garden. A growing body of research shows that spending just two hours a week in nature is associated with better health and well‑being¹. I wonder if my colleagues in farm and equine practice feel better for it?

I am sure it has had a positive impact on me – not least the stark contrast to the shrinking walls of lockdown living.

Consults seem to go well, and rapport is easy to find without a table between us. The dogs are happy to be examined in an environment that was not inherently frightening, and only one has escaped across the car park.

Euthanasias

I have written in previous entries about my fears of what COVID euthanasias would look like. Outside, on a glorious day, they are pretty special. I will never forget the black Labrador retriever that went peacefully to sleep on the grass with the sun on her face, and the birds singing; her mum and I sat by her side.

Everything is just a little lighter in the sun, it seems.

Although, I will admit that as temperatures soared to 30°C last week, I thought I may melt into a congealed pile of plastic personal protective equipment mid-history.

As I tried to concentrate on descriptions of itchy ears and mysterious red lumps between toes, all I could see was the Wicked Witch of the West shouting “I’m melting!”. My thin plastic gown would surely be the first to go, mixed with swirls of pink from my washing-up gloves dripping on top. The visor would slide down to join them.

A sticky demise.

Outdoor clinics

It is possible the sun had gone to my head. It certainly went to my nose, as hay fever frequently rendered me a swollen, sweaty mess.

But British weather complaining out the way, access to nature has taken on a new significance in the past months – and heatstroke, hay fever and dodgy scrub tans accepted, it is something I do not want to lose.

The evidence says we are happier outdoors, so maybe small animal vets should not be permanently confined to windowless consulting rooms.

What if, for the sake of our happiness and well‑being, we set up canine clinics outside in practice gardens for the afternoon on nice days?

COVID-19 forced us outside, and we have flexed and embraced the change. Is it time to shake up what being a small animal vet looks like, or do I just not want to let that James Herriot dream go?