sometimes self care is just saying ‘this person is a fucking idiot’ and exiting their blog instead of continuing to hate read their awful opinions on things
It’s often said that nobody other than other veterinarians know what we truly go through. This isn’t helped by the fact that we’re often barred from discussing our work in civilized company and so we often don’t talk about these things, even with our nearest and dearest.
As a recent graduate I had explained to my dear Long Suffering Boyfriend (LSB) that my days at work were busy, hectic and fast. The message he absorbed from these descriptions was that I sometimes didn’t manage to eat lunch until 4pm. So he decided one day that he was going to be Best BoyfriendTM and bring me lunch at the clinic. A gourmet sandwich he’d made himself. He was going to show up right on 1pm and make me stop work for five minutes to eat this delicious food, and make all the other staff members insanely jealous.
At least, that was his cunning plan.
When he walked through the staff entrance into the back of the clinic, he was not greeted with adoration and delight.
He was greeted by a stern veterinary nurse with all the attitude of an army sergeant.
“Excellent. You! Take this!” she commanded, whisking my future lunch onto the bench and thrusting a towel into my LSB’s hands. Before he knew what was happening, he was dragged into the surgical suite.
“Here honey, catch!” I greeted him, not bothering to question his unexpected appearance and plopping a fresh bulldog puppy into his hands, still coated in amniotic membranes, before I returned to retrieving its siblings from the caesarean in front of me.
He would go on to describe the subsequent events as “Like 101 Dalmatians but with newborn bulldog puppies!”
He was swiftly educated in puppy resuscitation, learning how to rub them to stimulate breathing and how to make a makeshift oxygen crib out of a rectal glove.
The puppies just kept coming and coming. Twelve bulldog puppies revived by my two nurses and LSB. That uterus was more packed than a clown car. Let me tell you there is an art to stimulating four newborn puppies at a time to breathe properly. There were puppies everywhere, on tables and the counter. The sandwich was swiftly moved as more bench space was required.
While everyone was glad to see him, this was not the outcome he had been expecting when he walked into the clinic.
He did, however, refuse to leave the clinic until I’d eaten at least one bite.
I asked him what the one stand out lesson from the experience was. He said that “they’re weird and gross but it’s strange how quickly they go to cute and snuggly fuzzles as soon as they’re dry”. Also that bringing me lunch was appreciated, but pointnless.
in the tumblr tagging system, unsourced artwork is considered especially heinous. on this blogging platform, the users who source these felonies are part of an elite task force called the source your fucking artwork unit. these are their stories.
Back in the early aughts, when many millenials were in high school, before Facebook and Youtube, The Game began. No one knows who started it, but the moment we learned we were playing it, we began to lose. The goal of The Game is to forget you are playing The Game for as long as possible. The rules of The Game are as follows: Everyone is always playing The Game all the time; at school, during breakfast, at night when you are asleep, etc. The Game never ends. The moment you remember that you are playing The Game, you lose and must immediately announce to those around you, “I just lost The Game!” thus making them remember they are also playing The Game and causing them to lose as well. Upon losing, you begin The Game again. Sometimes players could go weeks or months without losing, sometimes only minutes. At the height of The Game’s popularity, it became common to see people at events such as Comic Con or midnight movie premieres, wearing t-shirts proclaiming “You just lost The Game!” Once they were noticed, groans and shouts of “Fuck you!” could be heard for miles. These people thrived on the chaos, taking great pleasure in the cries of their victims. Most people eventually grew bored of The Game, and many began to claim they won by choosing not to care about it anymore. Some rely on a particular XKCD comic strip or Tumblr post to lend a sense of legitimacy to their feeling of victory. They are fools. It is impossible to win The Game. There is only losing. Only a few diehards remain loyal to the rules. The drop in popularity has allowed many to keep from losing The Game for years at a time. The growth of social media has caused a minor resurgence, although without the satisfaction of real time auditory feedback when causing others to lose, The Game will likely fade back into obscurity once again. Someday when we are old and gray, our grandchildren will innocently ask us to play a game of checkers, and we will shriek and shout until the whole nursing home joins us in defeat. Death is the only release from The Game.
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