Chapter 1

31 Dec

Last paragraph of Preface?
I can hardly believe that this story is true myself, and it happened to me.  Things hadn’t always been this way.  In fact, being estranged from my parents, and frequently black-out drunk, was a far-cry from my obsessively-managed, if not happy-go-lucky childhood.  I had always been an overachiever with doting, overly-supportive parents, a big goal, and later, a mentor who believed in me whole-heartedly.

Chapter 1:  Innocence and Interest? (find a better title)

I never did have a back-up plan.  I have always wanted to be a veterinarian.  I was loquacious about my dream even when I was four years old.  I would have said it earlier, if I had the vocabulary to describe my calling in life.  Even before I could speak, it was well known that I loved animals.

I was born on a reservation in Montana, and my dad and mom and I lived in a modest blue double-wide with a forest of trees separating our yard from the wider world.  My parents knew I preferred the company of animals.  If they could not locate me in the house or around the yard as a toddler, they knew to check the dog house.  They would find me, urine soaked, smelling of “dog” curled up with our six puppies.  As an ingenuine child, it never occurred to me that the pups did not smell that great.  Naive as I was, I had an early inclination towards the scientific process.  My mom discovered this predication while doing laundry.  She would routinely check my pockets, expecting to find maybe a crayon or cracker, and instead encountering orangy-colored caterpillar gut-goo, from the specimens I had collected earlier. To this day, my mom refuses to check pockets.

I also learned the pitfalls of being a veterinarian early-on.  Once, I sustained a scratch on my small, upturned nose, because our cat, Eeben, did not appreciate me eating her cat food.  Despite setbacks like that, I always had a repore with animals.  An only child, I learned the value of sharing by interacting with the sheltie we owned at the time.  There are two photographs:  One of me drinking from a red sippy-cup with the dog watching, and the next of Sandy, the dog, drinking from the sippy-cup as I held it for her.  I also leaned about patience and dedication as a guiless youth, both necessary in veterinary medicine.  I always had cats growing up and would lovingly, dress them up in my old baby clothes and persistently “train” them to walk upright.  I artlessly knew if we worked hard enough, Squirt would learn to walk on two legs.  Squirt would be a model (though slow) student for a long time, then eventually give me just enough of a bite or scratch to be released, and run outside in his dress.  My hunger to become a veterinarian was evident to everyone even when I was little.  I was credulous in my dream, never fathoming I could possibly fail.  In my unaffected mind, I knew I would be a veterinarian because I had the drive. Despite my childhood antics, my parents not only supported me in this endeavor, they verbosely encouraged me unreservedly to pursue my dream.


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