Krum / Yanong / Moore Animal Life: The Beginning

1. Auflage 2012
ISBN: 978-0-9884885-1-9
Verlag: Fluid Design Foundation
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 312 Seiten

Veterinary School- the Holy Grail and brass ring for animal lovers the world over. An Animal Life: The Beginning is a scientific medical mystery (animals and people are dying) and a quest for True Love (with a real cowboy) that unfolds as newbie first-year students struggle to survive the academic gauntlet of veterinary school.  If you love animals and ever wondered about going to vet school, here's your chance to experience the joys and challenges without being kicked, scratched or bitten and at 0.00001% the cost of tuition.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Krum, Howard

Yanong, Roy

Moore, Scott

Leseproben

Zoo vets — ironically — are a mysterious, exotic and routinely endangered species of animal doctor. Zoo vets toil inconspicuously, often nomadically through the fringe habitats where research, clinical medicine and environmental conservation overlap. They are, in a compound word, stereo-atypical — having no unifying personality, corporal configuration or political persuasion. This is not normal. For example, how common are: plumbers with suspenders, dancers with potbellies, or Republican Green Peace activists? Zoo veterinarians can be elephantine, wolfish, or mousy. They can display a bovine warmth, a hawkish stare, or crocodilian resolve. They can plow through their never-ending caseload with bullish intensity or a slothful inevitability. Some — on rare occasion — can be pigheaded, waspish, or even downright crabby, while others remain unflappable saints in any emergency and are surely destined to be lionized. There are deer-hunting carnivores, wildly-grazing omnivores, and strict lacto-, ovo-, everything’s a “no-no,” vegetarians. When the latest version of zoo vet was minted, there was no mold to be broken. Only one quality binds them all: a sacrificial fidelity to the Mission. Dr. Violet Marie Green was identical to every other zoo vet in the world, she was unique. Her mom, Miss Florida 1961, and her dad, a question mark, Violet last wore lipstick and big hair on July 4th, 1963. She was six years old when, after breaking a 2x4 with her fist (karate being her ‘talent’) and winning the overall contest, a Mini Miss pageant judge defined the word ‘independence’ for her. After careful consideration, as was her way, she replied, “Thank you sir, I understand,” and handed back her crown and scepter. After college, she suited up and excelled as a Peace Corps elementary school teacher in Haiti. Later, clad in formfitting neoprene, she was a Sea World dolphin trainer in Orlando — but was again unfulfilled. Today, she owns one unworn dress (little and black, a gift from her mom), one dark skirt, a lightweight V-neck sweater, seven pairs of Lycra running tights and a dozen holey (she would write it “Holy”) tees. Other than that, her absolutely everyday wear could be sorted into three piles: pile 1 — loose-fitting jade scrub tops; pile 2 — size two khaki cargo shorts; and, pile 3 — jog bras, hiking socks and Victoria’s Secret mini briefs. Although a fashion-unconscious accessorizer, she at least made an attempt: a stethoscope, mini Maglite, pocket calculator, wristwatch and pager (all in matching flat black) rested for 3-4 hours most nights atop her bedroom dresser. The more frilly stuff, like an 18-inch string of natural pearls, a gift from one unrequited admirer or another, sat in a box labeled “For Charity.” Dr. Violet Marie Green exhibits a cool warmth and dogged determination that has a gravity well beyond her toned and tanned, compact mass. Every person she has ever met would sum up her demeanor with one word: focused. Her focus is her patient, and everything flows from that point source — the research, the teaching and ultimately the Mission. The slender blades throbbed as they churned the humid, morning air. Dr. Violet Marie Green sat sideways, both feet resting on the M*A*S*H style chopper’s right runner as they skimmed the sassafras tops at 60 miles an hour. It was the perfect vehicle for the project and Mr. Davaris hadn’t even paused at her request. He simply barked over the walkie talkie, “You’ll have one by the end of the week.” The seamless cockpit bubble yielded panoramic views while the wide-open sides gave her easy outboard access and plenty of room to shoot. Her back straightened when she caught sight of their target and her sky-blue irises constricted to narrow her pupils, excluding the extraneous. The animal with the fluorescent orange number “7” spray-painted on its neck was now in full view. Poking the pilot in the shoulder with her left hand, she pointed with her right to the giraffe. Violet reached to her belt, flipped on her walkie talkie and pulled the headset over her golden blonde hair, “William, you guys in position?” The speaker crackled in response, “Hey, Doc. We’re about one click behind you at 5 o’clock.” She swiveled, looking back through the tail rotor and picked out the Range Rover’s dust trail. “Gotcha, 10-4. Listen, keep your heads up, you have a small herd of elephant and two zebra out about 800 meters at 3 o’clock. Otherwise, it’s just like we expected, Lucy and her family are in the dense brush near the main water hole in sector 12.” She paused, then added, “I don’t like it. There’s too much water out here.” A hiss came to her left ear, “That’s what we’re here for — you know, to save the day! You gently push her towards that open space to the east, get the meds on board, and we’ll keep her dry.” He added, “Doc, you worry too much.” Violet pulled her strong smooth legs back into the cockpit, lifted the rifle from the rack, laid it across her lap and pulled open the bolt to expose the empty chamber. She heard the pilot whistle over the headset and say, “Damn, that’s hot stuff.” He wasn’t referring to the rifle but she didn’t catch the subtle pass. “A six-thousand-dollar, laser-guided, long-range, drug delivery device.” She focused on the trigger for a moment and then added, “We’re lucky to have it — I hate it.” The pilot, like the chopper, was new to the project so he did not yet know that, if possible, Dr. Green would practice veterinary medicine with just her bare hands, a pencil and a waterproof journal to take notes. She didn’t trust modern technology: it seemed dangerous to her and had the potential to really leave you hanging. A bandoleer of red-tufted, pressurized syringe darts was taped to the inside of the cockpit bubble. They were labeled and arranged sequentially with increasing amounts of M99. She slipped on safety goggles and latex gloves. If an errant drop of the stuff touched human skin, cardiac arrest would be only minutes away. Violet mumbled, “There’s gotta be a better way,” and then spoke into the mic, “William, I’m dosing her at 1800 pounds.” From the ground came the rumble of the vehicle and an Aussie twang, “Sounds about right to me, Guv’, especially considering she’s only two months along.” Violet carefully removed the needle’s protective cap, laid the dart in the chamber and slid the bolt closed with a clack. Violet hated darting, not only because of the intrinsic risk for patient overdose and traumatic injury, but because it was too much like hunting for her. She checked her harness connections and yelled to the pilot, “Try to give me a range of 100 yards, but if she spooks pull back.” She rotated to her right, planted both feet on the runner and without a second thought said, “I’m going out,” and pushed off into the not-so-thin air. When her 110-pound mass reached the end of its tether, the jolt slammed the chopper’s center of gravity to starboard. The pilot gunned the gas and jammed the stick to port to compensate for the tilt and mumbled, “Easy there, Rambo.” Violet strained at the end of her leash with the single-mindedness of a Pointer on a grouse and replied, “This is perfect.” Cantilevered out over the landing gear she clicked on the laser sight, raised the rifle to her shoulder and lit up the patient’s left rump with a bright red dot. Then suddenly, in her left ear she heard, “Doc! Flamingoes at 11 o’clock!” Automatically raising her left eyebrow to widen her field of view, she was instantly engulfed by a pink blur and then a fine red mist plastered her goggles. The pilot banked intuitively to the right but the rapid acceleration and pivot spun his passenger, slamming her face-first into the plexi cockpit. She scrambled briefly for footing on the slick bar and then fell. William shouted over the walkie talkie, “Vi!” Dangling from her harness under the chopper’s belly, with the dart gun still firmly in her left hand, Violet watched as her stethoscope tumbled, earpiece over bell, toward the ground 200 feet below. It landed with a sharp puff of dust and she winced, “That would have hurt…” The lost instrument exposed a pale tan line that ringed the back of her neck. “Violet…! Are you okay?” She reported to everyone, “I’m fine. Hold your location.” Without a pause she reached up, grabbed the landing gear, and with a one-handed pull up got her torso over the bar. She slid the gun into the cockpit and clambered like a chimp back into position. Readjusting her headset she said, “Thanks for the heads up, William. You saved our butts and most of that flock,” then added, “Chilean flamingoes… cotton candy pink and they eat with their heads upside down. After all I do for them they still try to kill me.” William questioned, “We should probably call this off.” “Nope, I’m good,” she scanned the horizon, “and Lucy’s still in place. Let’s go.” The pilot hovered briefly over the milling, confused family of giraffe and Dr. Green squeezed off the shot. This time nothing pink or red or any other color intervened. Like any good marksman, she could visualize the dart through its slight arc connecting with the target. She imagined the pressure surging away as the projectile dispensed the drug into the gluteus muscle group. Depressing a button on her black-lugged Timex to start the countdown, she reported into the microphone, “Okay folks, 8 minutes and 30 seconds until full effect. She’s all yours, William.” ...