In my life, defining moments tend to hit unexpectedly – with full force, and relentless clarity. Not so much those moments I had expected to be life altering, but the ones that blindside me and could never have been foreseen. Moments I couldn’t have prepared for, even if I had tried.

One such moment happened for me in the dimly lit surroundings of a veterinary exam room at UC Davis in 2006. I, a junior in vet school at the time, was there with a rescue dog, Violet.

Violet was a scruffy coated terrier mix with root beer brown eyes and a golden cream coat . Just a few weeks prior, she had been rescued from a cruelty case and had proved unbelievably resilient, vibrant, and emotionally intact despite some significant physical scars and wounds.

Myself, along with my husband Moncho, had been caring for her at an animal sanctuary where we were living at the time, Animal Place. Every day she seemed more trusting, each positive experience with a human reinforcing the hope she had managed to maintain.

But after about a week , I started to notice abnormal twitches in her face. I recognized them for what they were the moment I saw them… the very first signs of Distemper – a deadly, viral neurologic disease that is easily prevented with a simple vaccine…but with her background, she hadn’t been vaccinated until we got her, which had clearly been too late.

Being a vet student at the time and without the absolute certainty of a diagnosis, I decided to take her in to my school for evaluation. Even though I knew, I wanted confirmation…I wanted to be proven wrong.

I should share that, as a vet student, I was never at ease within the ivory tower of academia. The patients I was fixing to serve didn’t fit our average clientele at UC Davis – they didn’t have owners who could afford $5,000 diagnostic procedures, kidney transplants, and cosmetic orthodontics.

The animals I was going to school to help needed things like…oh, say, basic deworming and a steady food supply, a roof over their head, and $2.50 vaccine that prevented deadly neurologic viruses…

So, of course, it was with an already well established low-level of discomfort that I came to bring Violet in and have her evaluated.  When asked by the attending clinician if we could take her for an ophthalmologic exam I said yes…even though I knew by Violet’s now wobbly gait in the rear, coupled with her  increasingly severe head twitches that the diagnosis was already clear, it was classic Distemper.

It is in that ophthalmologic exam room that the moment happened.

Violet’s eyes were dilated by sterile eye drops for the exam. Two drops each in those sweet brown eyes that struggled to understand what was going on. The lights were lowered as the  specialist began her exam, with a crowd of veterinary students and a veterinary resident all packed in the room with us.

The clinician was looking for anterior uveitis,  a  hallmark of Distemper.

The uveitis was quickly confirmed and demonstrated for all in the room.

“Oh, that is so sad” said one of the students, as Violet quietly shifted her weight into me.

So sad, I thought, as my eyes burning with tears.

“Do her owners know?” asked the same student

“She has no owner” I managed to choke out, “She is a rescue dog”.

“Oh, thank goodness!” replied the student as a collective sigh of relief filled the room. She was homeless, thus the tragedy of the moment was somehow lessened since their was no person to connect it to directly. No one’s heart to break out in the waiting room.

I, however, was having the opposite reaction.

Somehow saying the words “She has no owner” seemed to be the most tragic statement I had ever uttered out loud. Like a verbal admission of this animal’s complete and utter vulnerability.

I felt the room freeze and poor Violet helpless at its center, in complete isolation, with no owner.  No one to advocate for her. No one who had ever vaccinated her. No one who loved her and would care for her in her moment of need. No one who would ever fully understand the love she was capable of behind those root beer brown eyes.

No one who would grieve for her once she was gone.

So, while the rest of my colleagues were somehow comforted by the lack of an owner, I myself was devastated by the profound implications of that statement.

No, Violet didn’t have an owner.

I held my breath as my chest tightened, hoping the dim lighting of the exam room would allow my now damp face to remain discreet….fumbling a bit,  I tried to regain my composure, as the collective pain of  homeless animals everywhere shot straight through me and landed flat on that exam table beside us both.

Violet was euthanized the next day.

I can’t say that I will ever be able to fully explain the realization and far reaching implications that moment provoked in me.

But, what I can say is that I picked up the pain off that exam table and held it as far away as I could from Violet for those final 24 hours.  Myself, and the others of us who were caring for her, showered her with love, tenderness, and comfort as we struggled to give her just a taste of what she had never had before saying goodbye.

And, we all grieved deeply for her.

Ultimately, that grief, coupled with the profundity of that moment , have never left my heart. Over the years, as a shelter veterinarian and through my work with CWOB, I have heard “at least there is no owner” when there is a tragic situation surrounding a homeless animal more times than I can remember.

Many times when I hear it, I am struck with that same breathtaking sadness. Other times, it even makes me a little angry. Most times , however,  it just makes me remember why I chose to spend my life advocating for, caring for, and rehoming animals who don’t have owners and whose inherent beauty and value are in no way defined by that. It also helps fuel my desire to do whatever I can through my work with CWOB to prevent animals from becoming homeless in the first place.

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