Dog Doc

    I’m a vet, but no other vet does what I do, which is live animal trance mediumship.  My Veterinary Spiritual Dictionary defines trance as, “Being under the direct hypnotic control of an animal Influence,” It defines “Mediumship” as “the process by which an individual veterinarian acts as a channel for the animal spirit influences,” and X-Ray Clairvoyance as “a foyrm of clairvoyance which partakes of the X-Ray and seems to be objective. The vet that possesses this power is able to see the physical inside animal through intervening physical flesh, can perceive the internal parts of the animal ‘s body, diagnose animal disease, and observe the operations of healing and decay”.   Regular trance mediums allow dead spirits to enter their bodies and speak through them.  What I do, as a veterinarian, is stare at the live animal’s eyes, for 7 minutes and 46 seconds; 7 minutes and 46 seconds exactly.  Most animals hate this, since they realize I am about to enter their body, and they growl/bark/hiss/try to bite me, but once I switch places with them, my job as a vet becomes much easier.  

See, no matter how hard other vets try, they cannot really communicate with the animals.  For example, a human can see an eye chart and read the letters on the eye chart, whereas a dog can’t, but when I enter the animal’s body, through animal trace mediumship, I can see what’s going on in their eyes, ears, etc.

I never want my human clients to know my secret, ‘cause if they did, I’d have lines out the door, the owners’d try to have the animal communicate with them, the newscasters would want interviews, etc., and I don’t want that.  I just want to switch with the dog, cat, etc., give them the medication or surgery, charge the humans, and go home to my normal life in my normal car.  

Perhaps you, the reader, wander what I mean by switch.  Well, I work with a nurse, who understands and respects my wishes, and, after I use the bathroom (so they won’t mark their territories), I allow the animal to enter my human body, while I enter their body.  I’ve discovered having the nurse lock my body in the bathroom, while I examine the patient internally, is the best for everyone.  The animals don’t know how to speak words and ain’t used to opposable thumbs.

Once an animal did escape with my body.  Through some jumping and squeezing, a cat squeezed my body out the one foot wide window.  It chased mice and followed a mouse to the dumpster in the back, but the nurse found me and brought me back to the bathroom.  She did her bet to clean me up.  

Then, when I’m finished internally examining the animal, I raise the right paw three times, the nurse brings my body back from the restroom, I stare at myself for seven minutes and 46 seconds, and I go back in my body.  Think of me like the professional Clark Kent, who just wants people to see Clark Kent, make some money, and help some animals.  It took several experiments to understand that 7 minutes and 46 seconds was the exact time.  If I get a partial trance, the animal shook a lot, as though I’m some water it can’t shake off.  If I stare longer, it becomes more difficult to reenter my body, but after a year-and-a-half of experiments, the nurse and I got it:  7 minutes and 46 seconds.  

Other than my trance secret, I have a pretty normal life:  I own a two story house with a basement, there are two cars in my wife and I’s garage, I pay my bills, an average number of people come to my vet’s office, but, unlike ordinary vets, all the customers leave happy and most leave healed.  I could be rich, famous, on talk shows, published, but then I’d never get the privacy and quiet  life I want.  So, as long as the nurse stays silent, (and I pay her well to stay silent), I can keep leading my serene life.  I have a Roth IRA and am saving up for a quiet retirement in Jamaica.  Warm weather, my wife and I surrounded by beaches, few people knowing my name, and the only one asking for my signature is the cashier behind the counter after I slide my credit card.  No one needs to know my secret.  Nobody, especially not the press.  When the humans asks “How did you know our dog/cat had that?” I tell them I’m a vet.  That’s my job.  Nobody needs to know.  Nobody.   In eight years, I’ll have a quiet retirement as long as nobody knows.  Nobody knows. 

*

        Then, some new age woman came in with her Pomeranian.  I told her everything I do in the back is private.  Don’t come back there.   But, she has great hearing.  Great.   So, she heard the nurse say something to me about going into trance now.   Then, the inevitable started to happen 

        “Trance?   I’ve gone into trance before . . .   But why?” She asked

         I had to think fast, but then the switch took place and the nurse took my switched body into the bathroom 

        The lady came into the room where I (as a dog) was, and she asked, “Where’s Doctor Terr?

        The nurse concealed her nervousness with a smile.

       “Um . . .   He needed to go to the bathroom.”

       “I felt the dog’s body and it was clear she had a broken bone in the last vertebrae of her tail.   Small cast.  No big deal.  I thought of taping three times to get back in my body, but the New Age Lady was still there.  Crap.  

       “I heard you say something about trance.   Are you a medium?  The lady asked

      “No, I’m not a medium,” the nurse said, “and I said pants.   The Doc brought the wrong set of pants.”

     “Oh,” the yoga lady said

      “Please go back to the waiting room.  We’ll let you know when we’re finished” the nurse said.

“Okay,” And the lady went back to the waiting room

The nurse brought my body back and we switched.  I told the yoga lady what was wrong with her dog and told her I had diarrhea.   The lady smiled and said, “Right, diarrhea.”

I thought about “accidentally” switching places with the yoga lady, getting her high, and switching back, so no one would believe her, but that wouldn’t be right.  So, I let her and her dog, after I cast the tail, go.  It cost the lady $220.  And that was the beginning of the end of my serenity.