Suzanne gets up early. And I mean early: 4:30 a.m.
She squeezes in a quick workout because in her line of work, strength and mobility aren’t optional. As the owner of a private mixed-animal veterinary practice, she never knows when she’ll be holding the sedated head of a 1,300-pound Friesian for a dental float or wrestling a stubborn calf on a cold, muddy morning.
She watches the sun rise over the train tracks that cut through the east side of her property, takes one quiet moment to appreciate it, then gets to work.
She feeds her kids breakfast, gets them dressed, gives her child with chronic illness his daily medicine, kisses her husband, and heads out the door for the first call of the day.
The day
First stop is a family farm 30 miles west. The Smiths’ young goat, Daisy, is down and refusing to eat: classic signs of urinary blockage, painful and life-threatening if not caught quickly. The kids are in tears, hovering close while Suzanne examines her. She passes a catheter, relieves the pressure, starts fluids and pain relief, and leaves the family with clear instructions and hope. Daisy is already perking up by the time she packs up.
Next are four Coggins tests and vaccines on two sweet Quarter Horses and two saucy Arabians. It takes longer than planned because one of the Arabs decides she’s not getting haltered today. Suzanne works patiently with the owner until they get it done. No rushing, no corporate clock ticking.
She grabs a quick lunch on the road and pushes into the afternoon. One call is a routine senior dog wellness exam. Another is a horse with an abscess that needs soaking and bandaging. The last one is the hardest: an older mare in full colic distress, thrashing in pain despite everything tried. After honest conversation with the devastated family, Suzanne stays with them through the peaceful euthanasia, helps with the arrangements, and makes sure they aren’t alone in that moment.
With the truck finally pointed home, Suzanne stops by her small animal office as things are winding down. She chats with her receptionists, her tech, and her associate. She checks tomorrow’s schedule, then looks in on the parvo puppy she admitted two days ago. Everyone thought he wouldn’t make it, but he’s finally holding down food and wagging his tail a little. She calls the owner with the hopeful update.
Suzanne heads home, picks up her kids from school, and is greeted with screeching hugs and kisses. They know their mom works hard, and they’re proud of her.
The kind of vet you find in a privately-owned practice
She makes her own schedule. She makes her own calls. She’ll roll out the door at 1:00 a.m. to save your colicking horse because the buck stops with her, not some distant corporate policy manual. Suzanne is deeply part of her community. She is loved and respected. She would never not come when your animal needs her.
Corporate clinics? They don’t allow this life. Rigid productivity quotas, liability rules that kill house calls, and centralized scheduling mean the best vets either burn out or walk away. The Suzannes don’t survive long in that system.
“And the next day, Suzanne gets up.”
If you want a vet who shows up like this for your animals and your family, start your search at CorpFree.org, the only directory of certified independent practices.
