Arrivederci First Year

Well, that was one hell of a year.

Which is absolutely insane, not least because I’m not sure I’ve even come to terms with the fact that I made it to vet school at all! I guess I’ll have to wrap my noggin around it, because year two begins in three months.

I remember so clearly the first time I visited Easter Bush to tour its facilities. I recall walking around its impressive teaching building and world-class hospitals, and having to close my gaping mouth at regular intervals. It was like a gleaming artist’s impression of the future, absolute perfection. And absolutely unattainable.

I remember seeing the students moving between lectures and working in the hospitals – my idols. These people were among the very best of their generation, and had made it through some of the toughest selection processes to study at a world-renowned institution of science. I wondered what it must be like to have that affirmation, and to belong to such a tight family of professionals.

In all honesty, I can’t tell you all that much about affirmation… I still can’t quite believe I made it.

But there’s certainly a lot to be said for my new family. Continue Reading!

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On Your Marks

So this is it, the final furlongĀ – two more weeks and our first year at the Dick Vet will be over.

I’ll save my speech for the finale, there’s a significant chance that the next fortnight will see more fatalities than the Grand National. I may not be Rule the World, but I’m doing everything possible to stay with the field!

And, in contrast to the metaphor, that involves lots… and lots… of this:

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It would be nice to think that this is an expression of deep intellectual thought, but I think it’s best to be honest: this is the face of someone who has no idea how to fit 800 hours of material into the next 7 days. Continue reading!

Lambing Live

“Where in God’s name are they coming from!? No! There goes another! No! Shut the gate – you’re too slow! I CAN’T COPE WITH THIS ANY MORE!”

It was dark, and she was frightening me. I’d been on the farm for all of two hours, and was already being crushed under the pressure of a sheep-centred disaster. Ewes were plunging through the gates and spilling into the yard, barging past me while I tried to filter instructions from the shepherd’s wailing.

Think! What’s the yard layout, where are the exits? Where are the sheep likely to bolt?

Half an hour later, I was ramming the last ewe’s backside through the gate and slamming it shut behind her. Little did I know that this would be a routine event, and that I was going to have to get used to the shouting. Continue Reading!