The sun is shining as I pull into the driveway of a spacious, well-kept, vet-friendly barn. The electric gate at the end of the paved, tree-lined drive opens automatically and, after backing into the convenient, covered “vet area” (specially designated at the corner of the barn), I’m greeted by the owner, who smiles and offers me a steaming cup of coffee.
“Ah,” I think, “being a horse vet is a glorious occupation.”
Just as I’m preparing to examine the horse—presented in an immaculate, well-lit room—I’m awakened from this lovely dream by the rude screeching of my pager. A client needs me—“now”—for a nasty laceration on her yearling’s left hind leg. Groaning, I roll out of bed and pull on my jeans—remembering as I do that this particular client, though extremely…
