I DON’T REMEMBER THE TWO WEEKS AFTER I LOST MY PETS IN THE house fire. But I do remember coming out of my fog because of the support and love that came to me from many unexpected directions.
When I think about my life before the fire, I remember feeling useful and involved. I was practicing medicine and making my own way. I assumed then that most of my clients saw our relationship as strictly professional. I was someone they hired to heal their animals, nothing more. I wasn’t fully aware of the connective web of community that had already been woven.
After the fire, my clients came out of the woodwork and brought me back to life. The word spread, and I was awash in so many thoughtful gifts. These animal-loving people seemed to feel that I had made a difference in their lives, and they wanted to help me recover mine. I felt my life’s purpose come back to me. Although the sadness of that day will always be remembered, the shock of it was washed away by the kindness of people I barely knew, and their pets that I knew so well. Through their animals, we all connected.
Because my clients love the animals I care for and correctly assume that I care about their animals as well, they seem to think of me as part of the family. That could explain some of the strange late-night phone calls I’ve had over the years.
One time at 2 A.M., I was awakened by a call from a woman.
“If a mouse bit my chinchilla,” she said, “would there be anything you could do?” I pinched my wrist; no, I wasn’t dreaming.
“Did a mouse bite your chinchilla?” I cautiously (and sleepily) asked.
“No,” she said, “but I just wanted your opinion.”
We all know how the night can inspire hypothetical situations and magnify our fears. Besides, what if someday a mouse did bite her chinchilla? I wouldn’t want her to despair.
“Well, that depends on how big the mouse is,” I said. “If it’s bigger than your chinchilla . . . I mean, if it’s a monster mouse, we could have a problem. If it’s not, I could handle it.”
She thanked me, hung up, and presumably had a good night’s sleep.
It’s nice to know that even half asleep, in the middle of the night, I can allay an owner’s fears, and at least hypothetically cure a chinchilla.