This week has been a good week.  The onslaught of euthanasias has lessened.
     It seems we have been helping a lot of our long time patients out of their misery in the last month or so.  It gets to me.
     I do not regret euthanizing any of them, but I mourn the loss of the bond between them and their owners.  I remember some of these fur babies from when they were just kittens or puppies.  As a veterinary student I did not realize grief was a part of the job. The vet schools could do a service to students by some kind of counseling on how to cope with it.   Still, even after 20 years, occasionally a loss just overwhelms me with sadness and existential despair.  Ultimately all of my patients end up dead.  No matter how hard I try or how many things I study to keep up to date.
     I accept the inevitability of it, but still when I realize Molly is 12, it comes as a surprise.  I try to focus on the memories I have of Molly or Lexie or Emma or Scully.  Remembering the good times is sometimes the best I can do.  It is true each animal takes a piece of me.
     And then I find the joy in meeting new puppy Boo for the first time.  And the cycle begins anew.