It’s Tortilla Time| Hi I’m Tori and this is my Story

Co-op was utter mayhem today.

It began as I observed a Yorkshire Terrier undergo a routine dentistry. I find dental procedures fascinating, don’t get me wrong, but I much prefer invasive operations such as spays and neuters. As I was watching teeth being extracted from the petite pooch, a vet tech suggested that I clean a few kennels. This shouldn’t be a problem, I thought, I can get this done in five minutes.

I had barely begun this task when another veterinary technician instructed me to walk the dogs in boarding and clean the floors. I hurried to complete the cleaning of the kennels and went to walk the boarders. I was tickled when I saw the two dogs that I would be walking; a fluffy little Bichon puppy and an adorable Westie mix. Piece of cake.

Though as it would turn out, the Bichon would crap all over its kennel, resulting in me cleaning this particularly smelly mess. Amidst gagging and nose-plugging, I would look at the sweet faced puppy and wonder how it could possibly produce such a foul-smelling odour.

The Westie mix was a high-strung little dog with horrendous leash manners. It pulled with such gusto that it would strain on the end of the leash, walking on two feet. It was quite a sight to behold.

When I returned to the clinic, I was then told to begin a load of laundry before I started the floors. As my luck would have it, there were about three loads that required folding. I began this tedious task, but was interrupted when a call from upstairs asked for an extra pair of hands to aid in a nail-trimming. A vet tech told me to go.

I don’t particularly mind holding animals for nail trims. I envisioned the sweet little dog that I would restrain for the nail-trimming, but realized I was sorely mistaken when I was told that it would be an ill-behaved 100+ lb. German Shepherd. Great. I wrestled with this dog as it screamed bloody-murder, but eventually needed the help of two other veterinary technicians and a veterinarian.

I returned to the downstairs area out of breath, and quickly continued my folding. ‘After you’re done folding, can you please take out the garbage? It’s REALLY stinky.’

And she wasn’t lying. It smelled like death. Far worse than the puppy shit I had cleaned up earlier. If hell had a smell, it would undoubtedly be the aroma of that garbage bag. I began gagging, my eyes watering. I could feel my stomach churn.

As if the smell wasn’t bad enough, the bag was ridiculously heavy. I had to use every ounce of strength I could possibly muster and drag that baby up the stairs.

As I replaced the garbage bag, my boss stood before me with a cheerful aura. ‘So, how was your weekend?’ she asked. Well let’s see, how would you rate being branded a ‘back stabber’ by your friend for no apparent reason?
‘Pretty uneventful but okay,’ I lied.
‘UNEVENTFUL? You mean you didn’t do anything young and hip or go to any parties???’
‘Well not this weekend,’ I calmly responded, resisting any urge I had to jump on an exam table and begin hurling random objects across the room.

As I was about to begin the floors, yet another veterinary technician approached me and asked me to feed and medicate a cat in boarding. I complied, and was instructed how to properly give the cat its medication. I took a syringe and filled it with the medication. I had inserted slightly too much, so I began to push some out. As I did so, the medication shot about five feet in the air and got all over the ceiling.
‘SHIT!’ I gasped, though fortunately no one was within earshot.

I cleaned up that mess, mopped the floors and ran the hell out before anyone could ask me to do anything else.