Native American Project HSVMA Stipend

By: Amy Vlazny

Tufts Cummings School of Veterinary Medicine, Class of 2011

Through the windows of the car winding through the mountains north of Elko, Nevada, the landscape grew increasingly desolate.  Without a tree or building to give it form the valley seemed starkly flat, and the mountains, tipped with snow, jutted up suddenly in the distance.  The sandy ground was dusted with light snow and sparsely covered with drab sagebrush – the Nevada state flower.  The setting seemed as exotic as the high páramo of the Andes, the dry, frosty grasslands found at altitudes higher than trees can grow.  But, no; I was only in my country's very own snowy mountain desert.

I was taking this adventure into an area of the U.S. formerly unknown to me in order to participate in an HSVMA Field Services spay/neuter clinic at the Duck Valley Indian Reservation.  I was one of 25 veterinary students who, along with eight veterinarians and ten technicians, volunteers and staff, were now rolling into the town of Owyhee in a ten-car caravan behind a truck and trailer full of veterinary equipment, intending to spay, neuter, and vaccinate just about any dog or cat that would come through the gymnasium doors over the next four days.  They were four hectic and exhausting days, but the enthusiasm of the volunteers and the appreciation of our clients made for a rich learning experience and countless enjoyable interactions.   

One of the many highlights of the week was talking with Emmett, a middle-aged man who arrived at the clinic at 7 AM the first day, with one of his Border Collie crosses to be spayed.  Beaming, he boasted of her talents as a cattle dog, delighted to have such a captive audience.  As we took her back to a kennel to await anesthesia, he commented soberly, "I ain't ever waited for nobody at the hospital before, but I'm gonna wait for my dog."  Emmett spent the day in the community center's lobby, chatting with neighbors, getting the latest Rez news, and asking for hourly updates on his pup.  Even after they went home that afternoon, I caught glimpses of Emmett every day of the clinic, counseling his neighbors as they waited for their dogs and cats to be examined.  On the last day of the clinic, as I was packing up boxes, he made a point of coming to say goodbye.  "You come back here after you graduate next year," he said.  "Owyhee needs a good vet'narian."

I took a morning away from the clinic to give a presentation at the local high school.  I had gotten the idea from SAVMA's Native American Project, which grants funding to students doing veterinary work on reservations who also deliver a presentation to local students about veterinary career opportunities.  I had come up with a case study for the kids to work through as a class, that would demonstrate the interactions between veterinarians, technicians and assistants in a small animal hospital setting, focusing on the role and responsibilities of the technicians.  As I walked through the chilly morning drizzle from the community center to the nearby school, I hoped I would be able to keep the students involved and interested, and I worried that they would be impossible to engage in the discussion. 

Mrs. Dann's thirteen students were excited to hear that they were getting a break from their biology books that day.  I introduced the scene of the case study: The students would pretend to be technicians working at a small animal emergency hospital.  A woman had just arrived with her German Shepherd that was panting and acting agitated after eating his dinner and playing in the backyard.  I guided the students through some of the basic history questions that an ER technician would ask.  Already many of the students wanted to figure out what was wrong with the dog.  "Maybe he ate too much grass outside!"  "Maybe his food went bad and made him sick!"  "Maybe he's just tired from running around and that's why he's panting."

Next the students had to get a TPR on the dog.  They did a great job of brainstorming together how they might get a dog's pulse and temperature, drawing from their own experiences at the doctor's office or with livestock on their farms.  "The doctor takes a pulse from a person's wrist.  Where can you feel a pulse on a dog?"  And, "You take a cow's temperature by putting a thermometer in her rear end.  Is it the same for dogs?"  I was delighted that the kids were coming up with precisely the questions that would show them the kinds of things that they could learn in vet tech school.  While most of the kids had never interacted with a veterinarian, they all had animals at home, and some of them were experienced livestock handlers.  They could all relate to the story of the sick dog.  The veterinarian in the story asked her technician to calculate a sedation dose for the dog, and I was impressed that the students didn't shy away from the math.  Mrs. Dann commented, "This should be fresh in their minds.  This morning in chemistry class, we worked on unit conversions.  Here's a real-life application for them."  The students continued reading through the steps of the dog's diagnosis and treatment, and came to the happy ending of a dog that survived and returned to good health.  I left the students with handouts describing the educational and licensing requirements for pursuing careers in the veterinary field. 

The next day, utterly exhausted as I drove back to Reno through hours of barren, mountainous desert, I found myself wondering if any of Mrs. Dann's biology students would indeed end up considering veterinary careers, in a year or two from now, when they're preparing to graduate from high school.  The Duck Valley Reservation had been a beautiful, friendly and hospitable place, but one so far off the beaten track it was unlikely to attract professionals and business owners from distant cities and towns.  Our client Emmett was right, though:  Owyhee needs a good vet'narian.