Farewell my Darling Professor
In veterinary school, we learn to spay and neuter with animals from the local humane society or rescue organizations. I will never forget when my surgery partner came around the corner holding what looked like an ancient black scruffy dog with silver highlights around his muzzle and feet. We began our pre-surgical examination and when we examined his mouth, to our amazement, he had puppy teeth. He was a scared, silver baby. I immediately claimed him. It was love at first sight. I prayed for twenty four hours as I waited for the rescue leader to call me back and let me know that he did not have a home. He was all mine and my life would never be the same.
After his neuter, we were able to bring him home and he grew into a magnificent goldendoodle. This was before the breed was popular and he was, of course, an accidental breeding with a golden retriever and a black standard poodle. My husband and I named him Poe. Poe would teach me the meaning of unconditional love. We often joked about his demeanor claiming that he was a man tired of living life in the fast lane so he put on a dog suit to escape the high pressure world. He was a spectacular soul.
When I opened my veterinary hospital, he would accompany me to work every day. He patiently waited outside each exam room and when I was done, he would quietly follow me downstairs to the treatment room. He kept a close eye on me and loved everything about coming to work. He was delighted to meet new faces and could not figure out why some dogs did not like him and some cats were afraid of him. After a long day’s work he would come home and sit patiently by the fridge waiting for an ice treat. Poe was the most zen animal I had ever been around.
But my Poe would only live a short ten years. He died from megaesophagus secondary to myasthenia gravis. We took him to UF vet school, a full circle for him, and my professor did everything possible to save him. When it did not look good, Dr. Hill called us and we raced the two hours to get to him. He was in the ICU. I walked in and he looked up at me. He was on telemetry at the time so I could hear his heartbeat reverberating around the ward. His eyes were tired.
On my hands and knees I leaned down to him and gently cradled his head. I thanked him for the years he gave me and I held him. I heard his heartbeat start to slow down and I told him he could go. They wanted to perform CPR and I gently told everyone to let him be. I held him until I heard the last heartbeat and I knew that he had waited for me so that he could go.
I drove home with my beloved dog in a coffin and I was numb. I don’t remember much about that trip home except that we stopped at a gas station along the way and I jumped when I turned around and saw the coffin. It would be hours before I could let him out of my sight and take him to the funeral home for cremation. It was my first real loss. It was deeply painful and I had no idea how to deal with this amount of grief. For days I lied in bed and cried. I cried for Poe. I cried for myself. I cried because he would never again greet me outside that exam room door or wait for that ice treat he loved so much.
After days of inconsolable crying and weeks of depression, my husband asked if there was any way that we could look for another goldendoodle because by this time the world had caught on to the magic of this mutt. He had tried everything to help me and was at a loss. I was disgusted with this thought. How could my beloved dog be so cavalierly replaced? But the truth was that I was not recovering well and I didn’t know what to do. So I reluctantly began the search for another dog. Never to replace my beloved Poe, but to distract me from the deep sadness that had set in. Within thirty minutes staring at me was a black and silver goldendoodle from Alabama. He was just 5 months old and incredibly adorable. Likely he wasn’t the first to go because of his odd coloring. I looked at his photo and said to myself “You will be Professor Poe.”
So we packed up our kids and took a very long drive to meet our new addition. The excitement of meeting this little fellow derailed me from my grief and I felt as if Poe was sending me a gift. And what a gift he was. He was shy and lovely, soft and fluffy, and he hated car rides. He tried as hard as he could to climb into our kids’ car seats for comfort. Our children giggled with delight as he wiggled between them. They paid no attention to the buckets of saliva he drooled everywhere with his car sickness that thankfully he outgrew.
My heart felt lighter and happier. We arrived home and he walked directly into our house and sat by the refrigerator. My heart skipped a beat. He could not possibly be waiting for an ice chip, could he? I watched him carefully as I went to the fridge and opened and closed it. He waited. Then I opened the freezer and closed it. He waited. Finally, I took an ice chip and leaned down to hand it to him. He wagged his tail, took it as if to say, “Finally lady you got it right.” He wandered off happily to explore his new home.
I reflect on that moment often thinking that Poe sent Professor with a message to say, “I’m ok, you’re ok, we’re ok.” But perhaps it was just a coincidence. Whatever actually happened, I felt that Poe was with me and the grief subsided a bit. But even today, writing about Poe, spontaneous tears erupt because his death still feels like it happened yesterday. And it has been fourteen years almost to the day.
So I took that message from Poe and began getting Professor, affectionately known as Fessy, acclimated to his new life. He started at a very young age going to work with me. However, this guy was much different than Poe. Professor did not like to come upstairs to the exam room. He found a little corner that he declared his own. He would wait patiently for me there until I was back downstairs and when he heard my voice, he would trot over and sit by my feet. Eventually, he would just lift his head and acknowledge me and go back to sleeping.
He was a very agreeable and quiet fellow until the one day he met his first Sandhill Crane. These magnificent long legged wading birds stand up to 4 feet tall with a giant wingspan. Sandhills love to sift through the dirt to find grubs, however, often they find themselves right beside highways and in danger of being hit by a car. Because we were a wildlife hospital too, we often would get these birds in to care for them after a car strike. So when we placed a Sandhill in a glass run and that bird opened his wingspan at Professor because, after all, Professor loved to check on his patients, my sweet quiet dog began howling and shaking. I quickly gathered him up and covered the poor crane already traumatized. I took Professor to his corner and let him calm down.
Our local wildlife rehabber would bring us many cranes over the next decade and each and every time, Professor would sound the alarm. What became even more incredible is that he would begin howling when the rehabber pulled into the driveway. He would not even wait to see what was brought in, only that something possibly terrifying was about to walk in the hospital. Professor grew to be afraid of that rehabber and there was nothing that he could do to get in my dog’s good graces. Fessy did not like him or his frightening wildlife.
Over the years, this became hilarious. Out of the blue, Professor would sound the alarm and my technicians knew immediately to put him in a safe place and five minutes later, the rehabber would walk in. Every single time. It was his job and he took it very seriously. He needed to warn the group that possibly a dinosaur looking creature was entering the premises and clearly we should take cover, as he was.
Over time the grief subsided over my loss of Poe and I was able to find gratitude and peace over his passing. I am so grateful for Professor. He lit up our world with his funny attitude and fluffy head. I sit and write all this while my darling dog is cuddled up next to me and in his last few days of life. Just before we left Hawaii, I knew that he did not have much time and I selfishly asked him to please stay a bit longer for me. I wanted to get him to California and onto our farm. That is where I wanted to say goodbye to him. He rallied and did beautifully as he crossed the ocean in flight and then sat perched up on a dog bed in the front seat beside me as we drove from LA to Northern California. He pranced all around the farm and met my horses.
But now, it is time for me to let him go and find that space where I can be so grateful for his gifts. He came into my life when I needed him most and brought laughter and happiness to our family. He was unwavering in his love and dedication and even now as he struggles to get out of bed, it is to find me. He rests only when I am out of the house or right beside him.
We have two paths when we are faced with a loss. We can choose to focus on the sadness or we can choose to focus on the beauty of life. This time I choose to be sad for a short time and then find gratitude and happiness in his life. He is truly a gift. He is the gentle reminder of why we do what we do. If for a moment, we clear away all the bullshit that surrounds our profession and we focus on the power of pets, we can feel our hearts expanding and healing. They have the ability to transform our lives and we have the distinct privilege of caring for them.
Like what you hear? Follow me on The Veterinary Compassion Fatigue Project Spotify and Apple Podcast, my website theveterinarycompassionfatigueproject.com, Facebook, YouTube and Instagram @TVCFP. Let’s keep talking about what we face in the veterinary and animal care world and ways that we can help each other. We are thrilled to announce the first annual restorative retreat April 3rd-6th, 2025 in Petaluma, California. You cannot afford to miss this. Leave your family at home and bring your coworkers. This is meant just for you. As always, I hope you find what you are looking for and share it with anyone who needs it.
With love and hope,
Dr. Erin Holder