It's long been on my heart to return to a simpler way of providing veterinary care - a way in which the whole animal is considered, people are valued, entire families are brought into discussions, teaching & explanation are standard practice, time is allowed to minister to needs, and long term solutions are the ultimate goal. And furthermore, I feel a responsibility to help those whose life situations simply don't allow them access to the veterinary help they need for their animals.
I do a very poor job of writing when I fear it’ll come across as “selling something.” And that’s not what I’m here to do. So can I tell you a story?
It was the smoky summer of 2020. Clients were still locked out of the building. Pets were triaged over the phone by over-tired, over-timed veterinary technicians, while owners and animals sat in over-heating cars with air conditioners blasting.
I was so, absolutely over it - over the lock outs, over the propaganda, over separating animals from their owners for hours on end, all in the name of preventing human illness. I’ll let you take a stab at what the “success” rate was of those reptilian corporate policies.
Her glare penetrated the glass door as I walked through it to talk to her, face-to-face, outside in the afternoon heat. Her weathered arms were crossed over her button-up shirt, frizzled grey hair sweated to her furious face. I could see by the way her boots stood their ground as I opened the door up toward her, that I was in for it. I was the enemy before I said a word.
“Where’s my dog?” she seethed in my direction.
“I have him receiving oxygen supplementation, ma’am. He’s a very sick dog, I’m concerned that…”
She cut me off, “Well no shit, he’s sick. Why the hell do you think I’m here? He’s been sick for three weeks. I’ve been sleeping on the floor with him every night, and calling you vets, every damn one of you in the county, every damn day. Guess how easy it is to get an appointment with you people these days? I don’t drive any more. If it wasn’t for my neighbor here driving me down the mountain, I guess…I don’t know. I just would’ve watched him die in my RV.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Where’s my DOG?!” Her shout cracked with a sob. “It’s just me and him. He was my husband’s dog, but he…” she gathered herself, “Ranger is all I have.”
“Screw corporate policy,” I thought silently. This is insane. Her dog is dying and this broken lady is shut out of the building. I’m not doing this anymore.
To my left was an unmarked, unlocked door into a back hallway. I turned the handle and told her to follow me.
I walked quickly and she kept pace with me. The first employee we passed raced after us waving masks, “Excuse me! Ma’am you need this to enter the building!”
“Nope!” I called back without looking. “No she doesn’t!”
The bewildered lady followed me to the dark ultrasound room where a wonderfully patient vet tech held an oxygen mask over the huffing Border Collie’s muzzle. As weak as he was, the white tip of Ranger’s tail raised to half mast to give a wag, as his beloved owner approached to lay her face on his neck.
Her gnarled fingers buried themselves into his dense coat over each shoulder.
My chest cramped with the news I had to soon give her. Oh Lord, I wished I could save this dog. But it was too late.
“Ok,” she said raising her head, “tell me. What do we do?”
“I need to show you something ma’am.”
Wiping her eyes, she watched as I applied ultrasound gel to the shaved, right side of Ranger’s pendulous abdomen and pressed the probe into it.
I explained the image on the screen, “His belly is full of blood.”
I stopped there. She knew by the shadows on my face that there was nothing I could do at this point to fix him. I didn’t have to tell her that the normal tissue of her 14 year old dog’s spleen had been obliterated by a tumor, and that his liver was also affected. I didn’t have to tell her that I’d sampled the fluid to confirm it was blood.
I didn’t have to tell her it was time to let him go.
She saw him struggling for every breath. Her gut told her his suffering couldn’t be prolonged.
I strained my eyes to see her name on the chart across the table. Janet.
“I’m so, so sorry, Janet.”
She told me to do it quickly.
Within a few seconds, Ranger relaxed in her arms, and all was silent.
Running my left hand down Ranger’s bony spine and hugging Janet around her thin shoulders with my right, my heart sank to the floor.
She turned and threw her arms around my neck.
“I just needed to know it was the right thing to do!” she wept, “I just needed to know I wasn’t giving up on him too soon! It should’ve been sooner, I know. I just didn’t, I mean I couldn’t, there was no one to tell me it was okay.”
“I just needed help,” Janet whispered. “And that’s not something I’m accustomed to asking for.”
“I know. Me neither,” I echoed as she released her hands from my scrub top. “But I’m confident you did everything you could for Ranger, and I’ve no doubt the Lord is working this out for good.”
Janet’s steely eyes twinkled. “Well I can’t say that I’ve ever once heard a vet speak of God like that. You’re a believer then?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Well then, I guess we have that in common, young lady,” she replied. “And I’m sorry I swore at you out there, I was just…”
I cut her off, “It’s completely understandable given the circumstances.”
These absolutely insane circumstances, I thought to myself, as Janet and I walked bare-faced through a sea of eyeballs glaring at us over the top of cloth masks.
This is no way to treat people! I screamed in my head. It’s no way to treat animals.
I helped Janet to the check out desk, only to discover she hadn’t but $100. My request to the front desk that she receive a promissory note for the remainder, giving her as long as she needed to pay, was met with frustration from the receptionist. But with some begging & pleading from me to the front desk, Janet was able to make it out the door with most of her dignity intact.
I hugged her as we said goodbye in the very place where our first meeting went so sideways. The boulder didn’t soon leave my throat - as I couldn’t shake the image of her going home to the mountains companionless that day, picking up her Ranger’s bedding from the floor of her RV, perhaps talking to her beloved husband in her sleep that night.
I can’t help the tears even now as I write this years later.
Driving home I thanked the Lord for Janet, for Ranger, for our time together that day. I prayed for His peace and compassion to follow Janet home, and through her every day to eternity.
And I thanked Him for the passive-aggressive reprimand I received for violating company policy and “setting a poor example” for the staff.
“If that was a poor example,” I mumbled to myself, “I think my example might become downright atrocious.” I recalled something about a “woe” for those who “put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter1.”
It was then that a seed was planted - a seed of prayer for another way to serve this calling. Not that I hadn’t prayed for the freedom to be home seven days a week with my family, I prayed for that every day. But it was then that I began to see that I’d been given a gift - I didn’t earn it, I didn’t deserve it - but I saw that God granted me a gift and I needed to earnestly pray for His will as to how I was to use it. I was to pray for Him to show me how to use this talent for His glory, without contradicting His commands to me as a woman, as a wife, as a mother, as keeper of my home. This wasn’t going to be a “career move.” It was to be a move into better service - answering a call.
I believe not even a sparrow falls beyond the sight of the Lord, and that we should love our neighbors as ourselves.
I believe the righteous person regards the life of their animal, and that every human being is created in the image of God.
By His grace, I’m a wife and mother, veterinarian, homesteader, and writer.
My roots are in this community - it's a privilege to be able to serve here.
And it’s from these headwaters that the concept for a new breed of veterinary practice has flowed.
So what would this veterinary service look like? It just happens to have 4 legs:
Membership: Members will be the backbone of this mobile veterinary practice. They will receive tailored veterinary care for their animals without the stress of an office visit. Members will have first priority for appointment scheduling, full access to Habit of Husbandry educational resources, and monthly educational phone consults.
Community Services: Memberships will not only benefit the members, but will go a step further to help provide veterinary care to underserved communities in the greater Redding area. Days will be set aside to go to these communities where we will "set up shop" and provide as much care as possible, at as low a cost as possible, for those who wouldn't otherwise have access to veterinary help.
Farm Husbandry Consulting: This is a boots-on-the-ground service for the brand new farmer and seasoned homesteader alike. Whether needing advice on how to start raising animals on a new property, or just looking for a new perspective on an old husbandry challenge, we can come alongside to provide support & guidance.
Online Husbandry Resources: Habit of Husbandry was started as a place to gather information, without sacrificing inspiration, for the care and stewardship of your animals and farm. HoH will continue on this mission, complimenting the veterinary service, and a paid subscription will be included in every veterinary practice membership.
As you know, everything is incredibly expensive these days, and starting a veterinary business is no exception.
The financial goal of $150K is a launching point and will help us:
acquire a dedicated vehicle for house calls with storage for medications, instruments, etc.
obtain necessary licensing, insurance, and permits to operate
purchase basic diagnostic equipment and medical supplies
set up a home-base office and computer system with veterinary medical software
At this stage, we would be able to provide our members with basic veterinary care for dogs, cats, and most farm animals, home euthanasias, as well as begin the Community Service and Husbandry Consulting legs of the practice.
At approximately the $500K mark:
We would have the ability to purchase a full-service veterinary unit that would allow for surgeries, dentistry, x-ray, ultrasound, as well as employment of a registered veterinary technician.
In short, the more funds we raise, the more services we can provide our members and community.
It’s humbling to ask for help. But at the end of the day, this doesn't belong to me and is not about me. This belongs to the Lord and is for the stewardship of His creatures. It's for you and for our community. And Lord willing, this veterinary service can serve as a template for communities far beyond our region.
“For every beast of the forest is Mine, And the cattle on a thousand hills. I know all the birds of the mountains, And the wild beasts of the field are Mine.” -Psalm 50:10-11
Ways to support:
GiveSendGo page here
Venmo @abdvm
PayPal here
Check to: Amanda Bork / PO Box 143 / Cottonwood, CA 96022
Pray & Share!
Other ideas? Email me at: amanda@habitofhusbandry.com
If you choose to give toward this endeavor, please, pretty please leave your preferred address in the comments below (email or mailing address), or email me your info at: amanda@habitofhusbandry.com, as I'd like to send you a personal 'thank you' for your generosity.
In gratitude, every donor of at least $50 will receive a 1 year paid subscription to Habit of Husbandry.
Each donor of $500 or more will receive a 1 year practice membership and 1 free first examination (when practice is operational)
I’m confident the Lord will work this endeavor precisely according to his purpose, and that He will provide as He sees best. I'm so grateful for your time, and I'm so excited to see where the Lord takes this.
Isaiah 5:20
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Wonderful!