The most rewarding job

A veterinary technician's job is challenging at best. We often work long hours in a physically demanding field. The pay isn't stellar, and perhaps we aren't recognized as much as we'd like. I think it's easy to feel like you've reached a wall. What do we do if we don't want to be a manager? After five years of working as a technician, I experienced this dilemma. I wasn't ready to leave the field. And I certainly wasn't qualified for—or interested in—management.

Stacie Knapp, CVT, volunteers at a spay and neuter clinic in the Mayan Riviera, where animals touch her heart in ways that make her weak in the knees.

I began to look outside of my job for a stronger sense of fulfillment. I felt like my life was really good, and even though I didn't have much, I wanted to give back somehow. Internet searches led me to a nonprofit organization that seemed to be tailored to my needs. My love for animals and my love for the ocean came together south of the border, in an area they call the Mayan Riviera. There's a spay and neuter clinic there that's designed to help people who can't afford to sterilize their pets. I applied as a volunteer and was accepted. Since 2000, I have visited seven times, six of those times as a volunteer and once as a bride.

A tiny friend

The trips have melted together into a solitary memory, but I can still tease out particular events that touched my heart. For example, an emaciated black-and-white kitten appeared one day at the clinic. She was about 3½ weeks old and tiny, with white mucus membranes from fleabite anemia. Her whiskers were singed from foraging in burning trash heaps.

Juan, a veterinarian and friend, asked me to hold her while he shaved her arm. I assumed she was getting a catheter for re-hydration until the all-too-familiar pink juice appeared. She was going to be euthanized. The look of horror I gave Juan froze him. I pleaded with him not to go through with this. "Look at her eyes," I told him. "It isn't her time." I've been in this field long enough to have that sense; this wasn't her time.

"Give me 24 hours," I asked. "With some subcutaneous fluids, a warm bed, and some good meals, she'll be as good as new." I named her Sylvia just in case I really needed 48 hours; Juan has a black-and-white cat named Sylvester. Let's just call it insurance.

As it turned out, I didn't need the extra time. After a bath, rest, food, and love, the kitten was as good as new. I carried her around in my tank top. She would gaze up at me, and my heart would melt. I considered smuggling her across the border, but post-9/11, I decided it wasn't a good idea. Instead Salvador, a friend, took Sylvia with him to Cancun and found her a loving home. Her owners send me pictures now and then; her name has since changed to Jinksey. She's beautiful, and her life is an extension of mine.

A timely rescue

Another favorite memory involves a tan, 1-year-old Shepherd mix. One day I was walking down the streets in Tulum, Mexico, with a friend when this pup ran up to us, tail wagging, smile beaming, and stole my heart. It was as if she'd been looking for us all morning and had finally found us. She had a limp and a leg that had healed improperly from an injury. We suspected she'd been hit by a car at some point, because she ran into the streets without caution. She played with us as we walked by, grabbing our shoes with her teeth, wrapping her legs around ours, and nearly pulling our feet out from under us.

Mark that date! National Veterinary Technician Week is Oct. 9 to 15.

My friend Juli must not have been giving the dog enough attention, because the small pup grabbed the hem of her shorts and began to pull hard. Juli held on to her shorts with all her might, but it didn't keep her from showing her underwear to all the locals, who laughed at the crazy gringa show.

After a few minutes, the locals decided to help. They yelled and threw rocks at the dog until she darted into traffic. We reassured them that we wanted the dog with us, and when we coaxed the scrappy Shepherd from in between cars I looped my belt around her neck. She went to the clinic with us, where she was spayed.

She spent the week with us and schmoozed everyone she met. Her constant shoe-biting antics prompted me to name her Nadia—derived from naughty. It fit, and we all fell in love with her playful personality. She eventually found a loving home with a family who kept her off the streets.

My experiences in Mexico have been wonderful and fulfilling. I've worked with some of the most talented, compassionate people in our field. I've made friends who inspire me with their kindness. Animals have touched my heart in ways that made me weak in the knees when it was time to climb back on the plane for home. So if you've also had that "now what?" feeling, I'd recommend that you consider donating your time and skills. There are so many opportunities and so many pets in need. And you'll come back to your daily role as a technician with a new appreciation of the fulfillment your skills can bring.

EDITORS' NOTE: Do you have a special story to share about the bond between people and pets?

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Stacie Knapp, CVT, is the president-elect for the Colorado Association of Certified Veterinary Technicians. She works at the Veterinary Referral Center in Denver. Please send questions or comments to: firstline@advanstar.com