Vet School Quotes

Listen, now, you're going to die, Ray-mond K. K. K. Hessel, tonight. You might die in one second or in one hour, you decide. So lie to me. Tell me the first thing off the top of your head. Make something up. I don't give a shit. I have a gun. Finally, you were listening and coming out of the little tragedy in your head. Fill in the blank. What does Raymond Hessel want to be when he grows up? Go home, you said you just wanted to go home, please. No shit, I said. But after that, how did you want to spend your life? If you could do anything in the world. Make something up. You didn't know. Then you're dead right now, I said. I said, now turn your head. Death to commence in ten, in nine, in eight. A vet, you said. You want to be a vet, a veterinarian. You could be in school working your ass off, Raymond Hessel, or you could be dead. You choose. I stuffed your wallet into the back of your jeans. So you really wanted to be an animal doctor. I took the saltwater muzzle of the gun off one cheek and pressed it against another. Is that what you've always wanted to be, Dr. Raymond K. K. K. K. Hessel, a veterinarian?... So, I said, go back to school. If you wake up tomorrow morning, you find a way to get back into school. I have your license. I know who you are. I know where you live. I'm keeping your license, and I'm going to check on you, mister Raymond K. Hessel. In three months, and then six months, and then a year, and if you aren't back in school on your way to being a veterinarian, you will be dead... Raymond K. K. Hessel, your dinner is going to taste better than any meal you've ever eaten, and tomorrow will be the most beautiful day of your life.

John and I both caught the child’s cold. John stayed in bed for two days; I took the new kitten to the vet and bought groceries and did dishes and laundry and planned all the meals and took the child to school and so on. I took one nap but otherwise kept everything up. And that is a mother’s cold.

Though everyone had been uniformly gracious with me throughout our visit, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being vetted in some way and that I’d already come up short. Peter was the one they wanted; I was merely the collateral—the boyfriend, the grad-school widow. I was accustomed to monopolizing Peter’s affection, but for the first time in our relationship, I felt like I’d arrived at a meeting only to find all the seats at the table filled.

progressives wrote the Common Core standards, used money from the 2009 stimulus bill to bribe states into adopting them, and are now “vetting” the tests that will eventually shape the curriculum used by school districts all across the United States.

And as for those high school students who tell me they would rather be a cat than an MD because they prefer to deal with animals and not to deal with people, I let them know they have it all wrong. Veterinarians get to work with animals. We get to work for people.

It might be instructive to try seeing things from the perspective of, say, a God-fearing hard-working rural-Midwestern military vet. It's not that hard. Imaging gazing through his eyes at the world of MTV and the content of video games, at the gross sexualization of children's fashions, at Janet Jackson flashing her aureole on what's supposed to be a holy day. Imagine you're him having to explain to your youngest what oral sex is and what it's got to do with a US president. Ads for penis enlargers and HOT WET SLUTS are popping up out of nowhere on your family's computer. Your kids' school is teaching them WWII and Vietnam in terms of Japanese internment and the horrors of My Lai. Homosexuals are demanding holy matrimony; your doctor's moving away because he can't afford the lawsuit insurance; illegal aliens want driver's licenses; Hollywood elites are bashing America and making millions from it; the president's ridiculed for reading his Bible; priests are diddling kids left and right. Shit, the country's been directly attacked, and people aren't supporting our commander in chief.

Or is it the opposite-that the US has moved so far and so fast toward cultural permissiveness that we've reached a kind of apsidal point? It might be instructive to try seeing things from the perspective of, say, a God-fearing hard-working rural-Midwestern military vet. It's not that hard. Imagine gazing through his eyes at the world of MTV and the content of video games, at the gross sexualization of children's fashions, at Janet Jackson flashing her aureole on what's supposed to be a holy day. Imagine you're him having to explain to your youngest what oral sex is and what it's got to do with a US president. Ads for penis enlargers and Hot Wet Sluts are popping up out of nowhere on your family's computer. Your kids' school is teaching them WWII and Vietnam in terms of Japanese internment and the horrors of My Lai. Homosexuals are demanding holy matrimony; your doctor's moving away because he can't afford the lawsuit insurance; illegal aliens want driver's licenses; Hollywood elites are bashing America and making millions from it; the president's ridiculed for reading his Bible; priests are diddling kids left and right. Shit, the country's been directly attacked, and people aren't supporting our commander in chief. Assume for a moment that it's not silly to see things this man's way. What cogent, compelling, relevant message can the center and left offer him? Can we bear to admit that we've actually helped set him up to hear "We 're better than they are" not as twisted and scary but as refreshing and redemptive and true? If so, then now what?

The way you see the change in a person you've been away from for a long time, where somebody who sees him every day, day in, day out, wouldn't notice because the change is gradual. All up the coast I could see the signs of what the Combine had accomplished since I was last through this country, things like, for example a train stopping at a station and laying a string of full-grown men in mirrored suits and machined hats, laying them like a hatch of identical insects, half-life things coming pht-pht-pht out of the last car, then hooting its electric whistle and moving on down the spoiled land to deposit another hatch. Or things like five thousand houses punched out identical by a machine and strung across the hills outside of town, so fresh from the factory theyre still linked together like sausages, a sign saying NEST IN THE WEST HOMES NO DWN. PAYMENT FOR VETS, a playground down the hill from the houses, behind a checker-wire fence and another sign that read ST. LUKE'S SCHOOL FOR BOYS there were five thousand kids in green corduroy pants and white shirts under green pullover sweaters playing crack-the-whip across an acre of crushed gravel. The line popped and twisted and jerked like a snake, and every crack popped a little kid off the end, sent him rolling up against the fence like a tumbleweed. Every crack. And it was always the same little kid, over and over. All that five thousand kids lived in those five thousand houses, owned by those guys that got off the train. The houses looked so much alike that, time and time again, the kids went home by mistake to different houses and different families. Nobody ever noticed. They ate and went to bed. The only one they noticed was the little kid at the end of the whip. He'd always be so scuffed and bruised that he'd show up out of place wherever he went. He wasn't able to open up and laugh either. It's a hard thing to laugh if you can feel the pressure of those beams coming from every new car that passes, or every new house you pass.

purpose of the memorial was to show their devotion to those rebel vets both dead and still living and to teach their increasingly irreverent sons the true meaning of the Lost Cause. This gave them, many of whom were college graduates, a sense of purpose; they were the teachers and it was in the schoolroom and the Sunday school room that the most important work of indoctrination took place. In addition, the women’s suffrage movement was making itself felt throughout the country and the men reckoned on Lost Cause activity keeping their women safe from that. At 10 a.m. the brass band blared Dixie and a bevy of white-gloved ladies pulled the velvet cord that removed the white satin cloak from the gleaming statue. A gasp ran through the crowd. Hamilton had no public

A server arrives to top up our glasses. I wait till he’s poured, returned the bottle to its bucket, and laid the white napkin over the top. ‘A group of us had the idea three or four years ago. You met Gen—I was at uni with her, Callum, and Zach, our other co-founders. I went to school with Cal and Zach too. There were so many flash members’ clubs opening up around Mayfair. We joined a few, and they were fun. Predictable. Total meat markets, obviously. They got formulaic pretty quickly. Just posh people looking to get fucked and fuck. We felt that, for the amount of money they were charging, we should get more bang for our buck. Stupid pun intended.’ She rewards my lame joke with a little smile. ‘Anyway, there were some pop-up sex clubs around that were killing it. We thought it would be fun to try something more permanent. Somewhere with rules and vetting that meant you were far safer than in any of those other places, but where you could also try out things that maybe you’d just fantasised about.’ She nods. ‘Makes sense. Maddy never goes home alone from Annabel’s. I worry sometimes, because a lot of these guys are super-entitled, and God knows what they might think they’re entitled to. It freaks me out.’ ‘Exactly. The safety and the freedom go hand in hand. You can’t let go if you don’t feel safe. That’s at the heart of everything we do.’ ‘So why the name Alchemy?

One thing most people don’t fully comprehend is that the USDA, the United States Department of Agriculture, is for all intents and purposes run by big agro. Let me put it another way: the USDA is a giddy dystopian wonderland designed for the pleasure of big agribusiness. There are only a handful of American agribusiness corporations, and they essentially dictate what Americans eat because they essentially control the USDA. For example, the USDA created the nutritional pyramid first and foremost to serve agribusiness’s interests—not human physical needs. And thus the meals served to schools and to prisons reflect not what the bodies of growing boys and girls or aging men and women need to thrive and/or survive; rather, these meals, planned and vetted and carefully created by lockstep scads of bureaucratic drones, work to buttress the agribusiness economy—while costing the State (or the corporation running the institution) as little as possible.

I’m glad I stayed. That’s what I’ve learned, Frank. I am better and stronger than I ever thought, and when I go back to my daddy’s farm in Virginia and get back into vet school, I know there’s nothing that can stop me. I want it all, Frank. A husband, a kid, a career.

Our youngest brother, Roscoe, was in town from vet school because this week marked the one-year anniversary of our mother’s death. Ashley had sent a group text message earlier in the  week, saying, Dinner on Tuesday the 4th at home. Please be there or I’ll be forced to wax your beard from your face. You know I will… XOXO Ash So, in addition to everything else going wrong recently, I had that to look forward to.

Look, I get it. Clemson is a Southern school, and there is a strong military tradition in the region. I don’t doubt for a second that everyone associated with the football program and the university recognized the potential for a public relations windfall. They really had nothing to lose: give the decorated Army vet a uniform and let him take classes. Everybody wins. I suppose they never expected that I’d become anything other than a practice player and a goodwill ambassador for Clemson football. But I aspired to something more than that.

A smart girl," Pin said. "She will get there. She doesn't like being the queen of drama." Six years ago, Pin had come over from one of our Taiwanese partners. She still had a little idiom hiccup now and then. "Well, when is she going to toughen up? I know how important the tuition program is to her, how expensive vet school is. But how will she even get through if she can't handle a dead animal or two?" "Yes, but better she begin with compassion. Not everyone has it

She wanted to ask my advice but left without saying about what. Maybe she was reconsidering vet school. She'd finally gotten a sense of her limitations and wanted to pursue something realistic. Maybe she was going to quit and wanted a reference.

time we had already logged hours of investigative phone calls to vet schools around the nation,

Racing is not what it used to be. The purity's gone. In the beginning, people lived or the thunder of hoofs against the brown dirt track. Horses were treated like royalty. Now, they're like slaves.

For the sake of clarity, vocational education and training (VET) encompasses the cohort of students who do not pursue an academic tertiary education following completion of compulsory schooling but instead pursue trades and technical training.

She must have been kicked unseen or brushed by a car. Too young to know much, she was beginning to learn To use the newspapers spread on the kitchen floor And to win, wetting there, the words, “Good dog! Good dog!” We thought her shy malaise was a shot reaction. The autopsy disclosed a rupture in her liver. As we teased her with play, blood was filling her skin And her heart was learning to lie down forever. Monday morning, as the children were noisily fed And sent to school, she crawled beneath my youngest’s bed. We found her twisted limp but still alive. In the car to the vet’s, on my lap, she tried To bite my hand and died. I stroked her warm fur And my wife called in a voice imperious with tears. Though surrounded by love that would have upheld her, Nevertheless she sank and, stiffening, disappeared. Back home, we found that in the night her frame, Drawing near to dissolution, had endured the shame Of diarrhea and had dragged across the floor To a newspaper carelessly left there. Good dog. - John Updike, ‘Dog’s Death

They somehow figured out a way to make our parents cheer on our destruction instead of our success. We became the suspects, the terrorists living under their new roof, a marauding gang of anti-fascists ready to sell our souls for a couple of social media likes. Yes, Mom, we did it all for the lolz. What a laugh riot it has been to live under the highest inflation and lowest economy so we could pay into safety nets that would be consumed before we ever had a chance. We were all giving our lives in some way, over griddles with burger patties, in hallways of our schools to preserve the Second Amendment, or in deserts for you to fill up your SUV. Hell, there wasn’t a single one of us that didn’t know someone who had fought in Iraq and Afghanistan. They would return through that same revolving door. I sometimes wondered when they would replace the Vietnam vets on the street corners, panhandling on the Panhandle. “Never forget!” Oh, how we would forget their faces soon enough. They would be hidden under scruffy beards and ignored by the VA. Living in a military town, we knew all too well the song and dance. Just another cog in the machine of how our generation was being forgotten before it ever got a chance to begin.

Then, gradually, women began to enter vet schools. By 1975, they represented half of all students; by 2000, nearly three-quarters—and most of them wanted to treat pets.

BACK IN THE Pleistocene era when I went to vet school, female students were a rarity and not a blessed one.

Teacher’s pet, teacher’s pet. When Dink gets sick, he goes to the vet.

I don't sing anymore and I don't dance. My favorite color is green and I haven't picked up a basketball since he stuck a knife through mine for bouncing it against the side of the house. I stopped bringing home animals a long time ago because I realized I didn't want them to be caged with me – when I realized they were safer in the wild than with me. I'm not going to go to college and become a vet because I've failed every single one of my classes for the last three years." I kept my gaze trained on his as I spoke. "Even if, by some miraculous intervention, I managed to pull my school marks up and pass my exams, I'm not naïve enough to believe I could ever afford to go to college. I don't want to travel the world anymore, and my ultimate ambition is to survive

And for a while, I hated that I’d followed him here and lost him anyway, but I stuck it out, and now I’m glad I stayed. That’s what I’ve learned, Frank. I am better and stronger than I ever thought, and when I go back to my daddy’s farm in Virginia and get back into vet school, I know there’s nothing that can stop me. I want it all, Frank. A husband, a kid, a career. A big ole life that ends when I can barely get out of my rocker, with kids and animals and friends all around me. You’ll find out what you want over here, too. I promise.

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In the movies she had loved growing up, death always came in one of two ways - with an atonal breath and then a panicked, desperate grab for the last vestiges of life, or with a deep, peaceful exhalation followed by a contented sigh. Either way, the act of dying was a remarkable moment that commanded the attention of all those in proximity. But Sam had learned the truth about death in vet school: it wasn't special at all. It wasn't even an event. Death was only the failure of life. It crept into the vacuum created when you couldn't beg, cajole, or push life out any further. This was why death always eventually won; the act of fostering life requires constant diligence and we tire or get distracted far too easily.

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Shannon,” Darren said with a sigh. “I didn’t want to leave you behind.” “But you did, Darren,” I whispered, forcing myself not to blink. “You did leave us behind.” “Do you hate me?” “No.” I sighed. “But I don’t know who you are anymore.” I lifted my gaze to meet his. “And you don’t know me, either.” “I know who you are, Shannon,” he said, voice trembling. “You’re my baby sister who loves to sing and dance and read—and you’re smart. You’re so smart, Shannon. You’ve got the best school marks out of all of us. You love to play basketball. You love animals. Your favorite color is pink. You’re always bringing home injured animals and birds and nursing them back to health. You want to go to University College Dublin to study to be a veterinarian, and your ultimate ambition in life has always been to travel the world.” “I don’t sing anymore and I don’t dance. My favorite color is green, and I haven’t picked up a basketball since Da stuck a knife through mine for bouncing it against the side of the house. I stopped bringing home animals a long time ago because I realized I didn’t want them to be caged with me—when I realized they were safer in the wild than with me. I’m not going to go to college and become a vet because I’ve failed every single one of my classes for the last three years.