Although I have no pretensions about becoming a "down-under' James Herriott, writer of marvellous veterinary stories, there is no doubt the life of an animal therapist is not without a degree of variability.
Although I have no pretensions about becoming a "down-under' James Herriott, writer of marvellous veterinary stories, there is no doubt the life of an animal therapist is not without a degree of variability.
It is a mere 8.30am on a Friday morning and the Centre is buzzing. The consulting room is awash with shredded paper (more on that later!). Chi, the Centre's dog, has disappeared outside to meet the meat delivery man, waiting for a bone to drop off the back of his truck; a young lad saunters in with a beaten up old Pitbull, wanting some help; the phone is ringing hot for the White Tai spider remedy; new reference books have arrived by courier to be filed into an already bulging library; the aroma, emanating from the dispensary, blends scented herbal potpourri with freshly roasted coffee; and one of the Training Centre's students stands by the office with a handful of mastitis study notes and a myriad of questions.