When I was 11 years old, I watched as the vet pulled up the driveway of the farm I was working at for the summer. Being the hired hand, I was asked to bring the miniature Brahman inside and then asked to assist, which of course didn’t go any farther than holding a bottle of iodine. I watched the vet anesthetize the miniature bull and his eyes rolled loosely as he tried to focus on us standing over him. The vet held out his hands for more iodine as he thoroughly scrubbed his hands and began the process of changing the bull to a steer. I was mortified and horrified, but when I watched the steer up and happy a few hours later, I was hooked. This is what I wanted to do.
“It’s the hardest thing you’ll ever do” they told me. And I mean everyone who ever got the chance put in their two cents about just how hard this journey was going to be. “It’s the most competitive program in the country”, “You have to have, like, straight A’s to even be considered”, “better round out that resume!”, “better be prepared to work for it”. Anyone who heard I was striving for vet school was more than willing to inform me that I was headed for the most difficult path imaginable.
They were right.