Beginning tomorrow morning, Vet Med Word of the Day is back!
Tune in for fun and interesting words that I've rediscovered during my summer studying.
And stay tuned later in the academic year for new and fascinating words from my sophomore year!
Don't let the excitement overwhelm you!
Monday, August 24, 2009
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Capstone, here I come
I officially finished my studying 13 hours before Capstone is scheduled to commence.
I feel relatively prepared. I have reviewed just about everything from last year, and fortunately most of it came back to me pretty quickly.
But I still can't wait to get this over with....
You know that old joke that goes, "What do you call the guy that graduated last in his class from medical school?" --- "Doctor." Well, my current mantra is: I only need 70% to pass!
Expect a post-Capstone update tomorrow night.
I feel relatively prepared. I have reviewed just about everything from last year, and fortunately most of it came back to me pretty quickly.
But I still can't wait to get this over with....
You know that old joke that goes, "What do you call the guy that graduated last in his class from medical school?" --- "Doctor." Well, my current mantra is: I only need 70% to pass!
Expect a post-Capstone update tomorrow night.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Just a quick note to say...
...expect to hear much more from me after about 4 pm on Monday!
Due to the ever-looming, fast-approaching Capstone exam on Monday, the next 71 hours of my life will be spent doing some serious studying/reviewing of last year's material.
But hey, who wanted to enjoy their last 3 days of summer vacation anyway??
Due to the ever-looming, fast-approaching Capstone exam on Monday, the next 71 hours of my life will be spent doing some serious studying/reviewing of last year's material.
But hey, who wanted to enjoy their last 3 days of summer vacation anyway??
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Who needs a diet and exercise, anyhow?
As the Massachusetts portion of the summer grinds to an end, I find my self less and less enthused with exercise and more inclined to sit in front of the computer in my free time and eat plenty of delicious desserts in the dining hall.
I started out pretty well, jogging 4 or 5 days a week. Then it was 2 or 3 days a week. Then once a week. Now it's been quite awhile since I put on my workout clothes.
But I keep telling myself, in just a week I'll be back home in Windsor, with a treadmill all to myself, and I can study and run and feel like I'm multitasking.
While I was keeping up with my jogging routine, I didn't feel too bad about having some desserts at lunch or dinner.
But last night I went for both Boston cream pie AND raspberry cheesecake with my dinner. (It was so worth it.) And the night before that, I treated myself to dinner and a sundae at Friendly's in Great Barrington.
In my defense, I'll have to miss Ice Cream Sundae Night at the dining hall tonight, since I need to go pick up Mom in Albany.
But most of all**, I can't wait until, 6 or so days from now, when I am safely back in Windsor and well on my way to being ensconced back in my regular, comfortable routine. With whatever food I want to cook for myself, a pair of cats, air-conditioning, and a decent mattress.
**Actually, most of all, I can't wait until this darned Capstone exam is over. I keep thinking to myself that it won't be that bad, that my teachers know we have to remember an incredible amount of material from last year, that they will focus on the big points and not be too nitpicky. Then I wake up from a nightmare about Parasitology.... ticks, mites, and lice, oh my!
I started out pretty well, jogging 4 or 5 days a week. Then it was 2 or 3 days a week. Then once a week. Now it's been quite awhile since I put on my workout clothes.
But I keep telling myself, in just a week I'll be back home in Windsor, with a treadmill all to myself, and I can study and run and feel like I'm multitasking.
While I was keeping up with my jogging routine, I didn't feel too bad about having some desserts at lunch or dinner.
But last night I went for both Boston cream pie AND raspberry cheesecake with my dinner. (It was so worth it.) And the night before that, I treated myself to dinner and a sundae at Friendly's in Great Barrington.
In my defense, I'll have to miss Ice Cream Sundae Night at the dining hall tonight, since I need to go pick up Mom in Albany.
But most of all**, I can't wait until, 6 or so days from now, when I am safely back in Windsor and well on my way to being ensconced back in my regular, comfortable routine. With whatever food I want to cook for myself, a pair of cats, air-conditioning, and a decent mattress.
**Actually, most of all, I can't wait until this darned Capstone exam is over. I keep thinking to myself that it won't be that bad, that my teachers know we have to remember an incredible amount of material from last year, that they will focus on the big points and not be too nitpicky. Then I wake up from a nightmare about Parasitology.... ticks, mites, and lice, oh my!
Friday, August 7, 2009
But I KNOW you're the place with the tent!
As the summer concert season winds down, things are pretty slow in the Box Office. After all, we're done with 3 of the 5 concerts so are only selling tickets for 2 more.
And we're currently in competition with another nearby venue (performing "Carmina burana") to see who gets the most concertgoers for tomorrow night. (I fear we're losing badly.)
So lately I've been spending hours on end sitting in the Box Office alone, answering the phone and selling tickets occasionally, and studying, organizing things, and generally finding miscellaneous activities to do the rest of the time.
With that in mind, you can see how I would almost welcome the chance to deal with an utterly crazy caller this afternoon:
Her: Now, the choral festival… I was there last year, you’re the place with the huge tent?
Me: We don’t have our concerts in a tent. They are in a concert shed. Perhaps you're thinking of someplace else?
Her: No, I was there last year, and it was in a tent. A really big tent, with hundreds of people in it.
Me: Well, we have a physical building that used to be a hockey arena. Maybe it looked like a tent from the outside.
Her: Didn’t you do Solomon last year?
Me: Yes, we did.
Her: Not very many people do Solomon – Solomon by Handel, you know – so I know it was you that had the tent.
Me: We did do Solomon and it was not in a tent.
Her: And you’re the place where you have to park a half a mile away and walk to the concert?
Me: There is a bit of a walk from the parking area.
Her: And you did Solomon.
Me: Yes.
Her: Then you’re the place with the tent.
Me: No, we don’t have a---
Her: But aren’t you right off Route 42 or whatever it is?
Me: Yes, we’re just off Route 41.
Her: Then you’re the place with the tent.
Me: No. I don’t know about previous years, but last year and this year our concerts are in a building that used to be an enclosed hockey rink and has since been converted into a concert facility. It is a concert shed, not a formal concert hall, but it is a physical structure that stands year round, not a tent.
Me (wanting to add): (And didn't you notice the roof and concert floor and concrete walls and lighting fixtures and etc. etc. etc.)
Her: But I KNOW it was a tent last year.
Me: Would you like to reserve some tickets?
Her: I’ll have to call you back.
- - - - -
So she calls back half an hour later:
Me: Box Off--- (she cuts me off)
Her: I’ve just gone on the website and it says the concerts are in a concert shed.
Me: Yes, that’s right.
Her: So it must have just been last year that it was in a tent.
Me: No, it’s in the same place it was last year.
Her: But it says right here that it’s in a shed this year, but you said it was in a building.
Me: Well, as I define it, a concert shed is a building. This structure is permanent, mostly indoors, and exists year round, so I call it a building.
Her: So it’s not a tent.
Me: No, it’s not a tent.
(silence)
Her: Well, I guess we’ll still come.
(I did get a whopping $35 order out of that cumulative 15 minutes of my life that I’ll never get back. The hilarity and resulting conversation that I'll be able to use to entertain the other staff here were worth it though.)
And we're currently in competition with another nearby venue (performing "Carmina burana") to see who gets the most concertgoers for tomorrow night. (I fear we're losing badly.)
So lately I've been spending hours on end sitting in the Box Office alone, answering the phone and selling tickets occasionally, and studying, organizing things, and generally finding miscellaneous activities to do the rest of the time.
With that in mind, you can see how I would almost welcome the chance to deal with an utterly crazy caller this afternoon:
Her: Now, the choral festival… I was there last year, you’re the place with the huge tent?
Me: We don’t have our concerts in a tent. They are in a concert shed. Perhaps you're thinking of someplace else?
Her: No, I was there last year, and it was in a tent. A really big tent, with hundreds of people in it.
Me: Well, we have a physical building that used to be a hockey arena. Maybe it looked like a tent from the outside.
Her: Didn’t you do Solomon last year?
Me: Yes, we did.
Her: Not very many people do Solomon – Solomon by Handel, you know – so I know it was you that had the tent.
Me: We did do Solomon and it was not in a tent.
Her: And you’re the place where you have to park a half a mile away and walk to the concert?
Me: There is a bit of a walk from the parking area.
Her: And you did Solomon.
Me: Yes.
Her: Then you’re the place with the tent.
Me: No, we don’t have a---
Her: But aren’t you right off Route 42 or whatever it is?
Me: Yes, we’re just off Route 41.
Her: Then you’re the place with the tent.
Me: No. I don’t know about previous years, but last year and this year our concerts are in a building that used to be an enclosed hockey rink and has since been converted into a concert facility. It is a concert shed, not a formal concert hall, but it is a physical structure that stands year round, not a tent.
Me (wanting to add): (And didn't you notice the roof and concert floor and concrete walls and lighting fixtures and etc. etc. etc.)
Her: But I KNOW it was a tent last year.
Me: Would you like to reserve some tickets?
Her: I’ll have to call you back.
- - - - -
So she calls back half an hour later:
Me: Box Off--- (she cuts me off)
Her: I’ve just gone on the website and it says the concerts are in a concert shed.
Me: Yes, that’s right.
Her: So it must have just been last year that it was in a tent.
Me: No, it’s in the same place it was last year.
Her: But it says right here that it’s in a shed this year, but you said it was in a building.
Me: Well, as I define it, a concert shed is a building. This structure is permanent, mostly indoors, and exists year round, so I call it a building.
Her: So it’s not a tent.
Me: No, it’s not a tent.
(silence)
Her: Well, I guess we’ll still come.
(I did get a whopping $35 order out of that cumulative 15 minutes of my life that I’ll never get back. The hilarity and resulting conversation that I'll be able to use to entertain the other staff here were worth it though.)
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Box Office Question of the Day (3)
Today, we will take a moment to celebrate a Box Office question that I have not received (yet) this year, as opposed to last year:
Caller: "Oh, it's the Beethoven this week.... How does that one go again? Can you sing a little bit of it?"
Me: (stunned silence)
Me: No.
Caller: "Oh, it's the Beethoven this week.... How does that one go again? Can you sing a little bit of it?"
Me: (stunned silence)
Me: No.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
The misbehaving Berkshires Basset
I doubt that I'll ever be able to pass by a loose dog without at least stopping to look for an owner, try to catch it, and examine the ID tags.
"Daddy's Little Girl," my new Berkshires canine friend, is no exception.
I've seen "Daddy's Little Girl" ("Ms. Basset") out walking in the evenings with her owner several times. Mom occasionally lets Ms. Basset loose to drag her leash behind her, and Ms. Basset appears not to stray far.
But today when I was walking back from dinner, I saw Ms. Basset joyfully galloping across the field between the dining hall and the dorms.
She was clearly having way more fun than she would be if her mom knew she was running loose.
And she'd clearly been enjoying her newfound freedom for awhile, since she kept collapsing onto her side to pant and rest.
When I walked up to her, she meekly presented her belly for a rub, then stood up and wagged her tail, like she wanted to invite me to join her in her big adventure.
Sorry, Ms. Basset, you're asking the wrong passerby. This here's a Vet Student who Doesn't Like to See Dogs Running Loose. I regret to inform you that your fun is over.
Ms. Basset was equipped with a collar and 3 tags: a rabies tag, a city license, and a dog-bone-shaped tag that read simply "Daddy's Little Girl." (Note: not very useful information to help a Good Samaritan get your dog back to you if found in the evening or on a weekend...)
I thought I knew where Ms. Basset's mom lives, so I headed that way. Ms. Basset followed me for a half-dozen steps, then flopped over again. Nuh-uh, she seemed to say, I don't think I want to go home yet.
So, with a sigh, I bent down and hefted Ms. Basset into my arms.
Basset hounds sort of look like medium sized dogs, but really they are big dogs with little tiny legs. I'd say they average 45-65 pounds. Ms. Basset was on the upper end of this range. My biceps will be mad at me tomorrow.
I toted Ms. Basset over to her owner's presumed house, where she sat patiently next to me while I knocked on the door.
No answer.
With another sigh, I looked around the field and buildings, praying that I would see somebody besides a chorister - somebody that might actually know where Ms. Basset's mom lived.
No luck.
So Ms. Basset and I headed to another nearby house, a house where I knew Ms. Basset didn't live - but this house contained a family that owns a rat terrier, and thus I presumed they might know where Ms. Basset belonged.
However, Ms. Basset seemed to have gotten the idea that I wasn't a fun person to follow around. She again stopped dead in her tracks and refused to come with me.
Any other dog, I'd pull by the collar - but after sleeping on a terrible mattress for a month, I couldn't handle walking hunched over and dragging a 60 pound dog by the neck.
So Ms. Basset got to be carried again, as we stumbled our way across the lawn to the second house.
As luck would have it, nobody home.
Temporarily exhausted, Ms. Basset and I both went back to the lawn and rested on the grass.
And my vet school teachers would be so proud. ("Never pass up an opportunity to practice your physical exam.") I had nothing better to do, so Ms. Basset became my practice "patient."
I discovered the greasy red sore on her neck and the copious black gunk lining her ear canals.
And then, thank the Lord, another resident family walked into view.
Did they know where this pretty girl belonged?
Yes, they said, she lives in that house there. (And they gestured toward the house I'd checked originally.)
Not again, I thought to myself.
My arms couldn't handle anymore Basset weight, so I resigned myself to hunching over and dragging Ms. Basset along with me.
Upon my second visit to the house, I noticed a tie-out cable hiding in the bushes. I tied the cable to Ms. Basset's collar for good measure, before clipping it to her collar.
Then I headed back across the field to my dorm to write Ms. Basset's owner a polite but to-the-point note ("Your dog was running loose around 7 pm. I didn't want her to get into trouble so I tied her up. Her ears really need to be cleaned") and get Ms. Basset some water.
By the time I had gone up the 58 steps to our room, and come back down, Ms. Basset was happily trotting off into the woods with her mom.
I thought briefly about following Mom for a minute and telling her Ms. Basset was loose - but my arms, legs, and back won that battle and convinced me to head back up the 58 stairs and sit down for awhile.
I hope Ms. Basset's mom cleans her ears. Why is it not surprising that the owners whose Basset you find running loose are the same owners who do not care for the ears of a breed of dog notorious for having terrible ear problems?
"Daddy's Little Girl," my new Berkshires canine friend, is no exception.
I've seen "Daddy's Little Girl" ("Ms. Basset") out walking in the evenings with her owner several times. Mom occasionally lets Ms. Basset loose to drag her leash behind her, and Ms. Basset appears not to stray far.
But today when I was walking back from dinner, I saw Ms. Basset joyfully galloping across the field between the dining hall and the dorms.
She was clearly having way more fun than she would be if her mom knew she was running loose.
And she'd clearly been enjoying her newfound freedom for awhile, since she kept collapsing onto her side to pant and rest.
When I walked up to her, she meekly presented her belly for a rub, then stood up and wagged her tail, like she wanted to invite me to join her in her big adventure.
Sorry, Ms. Basset, you're asking the wrong passerby. This here's a Vet Student who Doesn't Like to See Dogs Running Loose. I regret to inform you that your fun is over.
Ms. Basset was equipped with a collar and 3 tags: a rabies tag, a city license, and a dog-bone-shaped tag that read simply "Daddy's Little Girl." (Note: not very useful information to help a Good Samaritan get your dog back to you if found in the evening or on a weekend...)
I thought I knew where Ms. Basset's mom lives, so I headed that way. Ms. Basset followed me for a half-dozen steps, then flopped over again. Nuh-uh, she seemed to say, I don't think I want to go home yet.
So, with a sigh, I bent down and hefted Ms. Basset into my arms.
Basset hounds sort of look like medium sized dogs, but really they are big dogs with little tiny legs. I'd say they average 45-65 pounds. Ms. Basset was on the upper end of this range. My biceps will be mad at me tomorrow.
I toted Ms. Basset over to her owner's presumed house, where she sat patiently next to me while I knocked on the door.
No answer.
With another sigh, I looked around the field and buildings, praying that I would see somebody besides a chorister - somebody that might actually know where Ms. Basset's mom lived.
No luck.
So Ms. Basset and I headed to another nearby house, a house where I knew Ms. Basset didn't live - but this house contained a family that owns a rat terrier, and thus I presumed they might know where Ms. Basset belonged.
However, Ms. Basset seemed to have gotten the idea that I wasn't a fun person to follow around. She again stopped dead in her tracks and refused to come with me.
Any other dog, I'd pull by the collar - but after sleeping on a terrible mattress for a month, I couldn't handle walking hunched over and dragging a 60 pound dog by the neck.
So Ms. Basset got to be carried again, as we stumbled our way across the lawn to the second house.
As luck would have it, nobody home.
Temporarily exhausted, Ms. Basset and I both went back to the lawn and rested on the grass.
And my vet school teachers would be so proud. ("Never pass up an opportunity to practice your physical exam.") I had nothing better to do, so Ms. Basset became my practice "patient."
I discovered the greasy red sore on her neck and the copious black gunk lining her ear canals.
And then, thank the Lord, another resident family walked into view.
Did they know where this pretty girl belonged?
Yes, they said, she lives in that house there. (And they gestured toward the house I'd checked originally.)
Not again, I thought to myself.
My arms couldn't handle anymore Basset weight, so I resigned myself to hunching over and dragging Ms. Basset along with me.
Upon my second visit to the house, I noticed a tie-out cable hiding in the bushes. I tied the cable to Ms. Basset's collar for good measure, before clipping it to her collar.
Then I headed back across the field to my dorm to write Ms. Basset's owner a polite but to-the-point note ("Your dog was running loose around 7 pm. I didn't want her to get into trouble so I tied her up. Her ears really need to be cleaned") and get Ms. Basset some water.
By the time I had gone up the 58 steps to our room, and come back down, Ms. Basset was happily trotting off into the woods with her mom.
I thought briefly about following Mom for a minute and telling her Ms. Basset was loose - but my arms, legs, and back won that battle and convinced me to head back up the 58 stairs and sit down for awhile.
I hope Ms. Basset's mom cleans her ears. Why is it not surprising that the owners whose Basset you find running loose are the same owners who do not care for the ears of a breed of dog notorious for having terrible ear problems?
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