A Day in the Life of a Veterinarian: Paws, People, and Pressure- A Cultural Narrative

By: Hannah Elizabeth Williams

The fluorescent lights hum above, casting a sterile glow over the cramped, baby-blue waiting room of Advanced Care Veterinary Hospital. The air is thick with the scent of antiseptic and wet fur. A phone rings behind the front desk, shrill and unanswered. Valentine’s Day decorations linger, left over from the holiday. The receptionist, with tired eyes and a frizzy ponytail, barely glances up, her fingers tapping away at the keyboard. Anastasia Redman, I think. Then, recognition flickers in her eyes. Today, I’m not her coworker’s best friend—I’m the journalist, here to ask questions and invade her space. Her lips press into something between a greeting and a question, still undecided.

In the corner, a mother shifts anxiously, her hand gripping a leash while the other rocks a stroller. The dog at her feet, a wiry terrier mix, barks sharply when it sees me. The baby sleeps peacefully in the stroller, while his older brother kneels by the door, scribbling his name on the chalkboard. Every few moments, he mutters to himself, pausing to glance at me with wide, eager eyes.

The phone rings again. A voice calls a name from the back. The walls feel close, not from their size, but from the overwhelming emotion packed into such a small space.

Then Sara Prusinskas appears as my best friend—today, just a vet assistant and my guide. Her Pokemon scrubs are dusted with fur, and her familiar smile widens when she sees me. “You ready to clock in?” she teases, adjusting the gray baby carrier on her chest, where a tiny ball of fluff peeks out, beady black eyes blinking up at me.

I glance down at my legal pad, pen ready, but already I know no notes could capture everything happening in this chaotic little hospital.

—----------

“And who’s this little guy?” I ask curiously, gently rubbing the dog’s forehead with the pad of my index finger. He’s a little black-and-white furball with teary eyes. Poor guy. 

Bodhi, a ten-week-old Terrier-Yorkshire mix with teary eyes, is cradled in Sara’s arms. He was taken in for routine puppy vaccines earlier today, but on the way home, he vomited in his carrier. His owner panicked, making a sharp U-turn straight back to the hospital. The vet techs had taken over immediately, ushering her into the waiting room while they worked to stabilize the tiny pup.

Now, after a dose of steroids and Benadryl, Bodhi is swaddled like an infant and passed around among the staff like a therapy dog. Thirty minutes later, he is reunited with his mother, who wraps him in a long, relieved embrace as the receptionist calmly explains his post-care instructions.

"Pre-medicate him with Benadryl before future appointments," Sara tells the mother before we watch her disappear through the farmhouse-style doorway. "It’s common. We have a lot of patients who need it before their vaccines. They might unknowingly be allergic or known to react poorly to it."

Sara is a two-year vet assistant at Advanced Care. She is completing the required hours in the state of California to go to Vet Tech school. 

The hospital settles into a lull. The exam rooms sit empty, the waiting room silent. But in the back, the team is still buzzing.

"You know the number one rule about the Appalachian mountains, right?" Sara calls out, her voice carrying across the room. Always the random talk, that girl. But it really makes the personality of the place.

Beverly Quock, a fellow Registered Vet Technician (RVT) in training, looks up from the floor in confusion. Sara is bent at a 90-degree angle over the exam table, back strained awkwardly. She is over 6 foot.

"What on Earth are you doing?" she laughs and I put my head in my hand with a smile. These are usual Sara antics.

Sara straightens, groaning as she stretches. "Trying to crack my back," she laughs, then remembers the conversation. "Oh! But yeah. If you go into those woods and hear something… No, you didn’t. That’s how you get ‘got’." For context, she was referring to a ‘found footage’ on Tiktok we saw the night before. Not sure if it was true, but I am not the type to go find out and neither are they.

Angela Frayne, who attended five months of schooling as a Vet Assistant (VA) but was hired as a Client Service Representative (CSR), was prepping “boo-boo bandages” across the room during the downtime to let out a yelp. "I heard about that!” 

There are many consumer tasks, as corporate tagged them, that the staff completes during downtime when no patients are around. Some of these can include preparing saline flushes, taking out trash, restocking exam rooms, and going over inventory. That doesn’t hold the staff back from endless conversations though.

Dr. Yvette Lopez, clad in all-purple scrubs, strides past with a clipboard. "I used to live near there," she muses. "Never did that. But I also never saw anything weird." She narrows her eyes. "Where did you even hear this?"

Sara hesitates. "TikTok."

The room erupts in groans. 

"What? It was video evidence! You guys just don’t get it" she groans.

At this point I find myself wondering what’s happening out front at the reception desk. I know that one of the other receptionists, Maddy Jordan, is up there by herself. She must feel cut off from the rest of the team being out there in the front room. Excusing myself to the staff, I pass through one of the exam rooms to the lobby. 

Maddy is their current receptionist. I asked her why she’s just reception if a big animal person. Why not train to become a vet assistant? “I don’t like to do the hands-on stuff. I help restrain them when they need me but otherwise no,” Maddy says.

A flash of red passes under me and through my legs causing me to freeze. I look down to see a small Jack Russell Terrier in a Christmas sweater looking up at me. That’s Ted, Maddy explains to me. He is the office dog. Their manager, Megan Gilliatt, was fostering him as a rescue from Mexico and brought him to work every day. When Maddy laid eyes on him she knew that he was the one. Now he’s Maddy’s new pet. They are still in training though, seeing as he peed at my feet in a territorial demeanor. He’s in love with my dog Daisy, however. “He loves big women,” Sara jokes later.

Speaking of Sara, she comes running up to the front in a panic.  I raised my eyebrow at her, not knowing if I need to stay out of the way or not. “There’s a cat coding in the back if you want to see that,” is all I get before she finishes slamming on the keyboard and races back again. I excuse myself from Maddy and jet back there, overthinking where to stand so I am not in the way and shifting from foot to foot. 

Flynn, a black cat with diabetes, is in a crisis. After a vet put an IV on him he began open mouth breathing, which is a sign of distress in animals. His respiratory issues increased. “Immediately it was all hands on deck to make sure he was not struggling to maintain acceptable oxygen levels,” Beverly explains while slowly lowering Flynn into his carrier, machines attached to his left front leg. 

A patient came in for a refill of an anti-inflammatory when the coding occurred, and Sara halts all of her other responsibilities to tend to him. “Just had to let the patient’s owner know what was going on as a reason for the extra wait.”

“Starships” by Nicki Minaj plays on the radio next to the exam table as they finally set Flynn in there. Carrying him out, the clients stood at the ready waiting for instructions. He is going to be admitted to the emergency hospital down the street for treatment. While Sara finished giving them instructions, Maddy at reception calls to the place down the street to prepare for him and sent over the necessary documents. 

As Flynn’s mom and dad left, Sara turned to me and let out a big breath. “Hungry?” I gave her a puzzled look and blink at her.

“You- you don’t need a second?” was my response. That was traumatic. I thought she needed to take a breath or something. 

She grabbed my wrist, announcing we were finally going to lunch, and dragged me to the El Pollo Loco next door. “I have over 30,000 points here, it's a problem.” 

When Sara and I return, a big white floof waits in the lobby to greet us: Toque, a wary 90-pound Great Pyrenees hiding behind his mom's legs. In the exam room, Sara eases into the visit, offering him a treat before sitting on the white fur-covered floor to talk with Mom.

Not all patients are as easy to win over. Some require extra caution—something Mickey and Sara learned the hard way. "Mickey and Sara almost got eaten by another dog trying to do that," Beverly quips as we sit in the hallway. Sara sighs, explaining the dog had an alert on her chart, but she moved too fast. The owner had to return to help muzzle her before they could draw blood. A team effort that sometimes involves the parent. Seems iffy. 

Mickey Coleman, experienced from working in various shelters and hospitals, is not an official RVT but is skilled enough to draw blood independently.

Back in Toque’s exam, Sara notes his panting and offers water, which he rejects. The checkup feels like a pediatrician visit. "Any signs of depression at home?" she asks. Mom shakes her head. Sara lets Toque sniff the otoscope before checking his ears. Janelle, his mom, requests a nail trim before we step out to let Dr. Lopez in.

"Big kids are the most nervous," Lopez smiles when Toque refuses her treat as she walks in. Kneeling, she listens to his heartbeat, her scrubs now covered in enough fur to make another Toque. She reviews preventive care options, emphasizing heartworm and flea prevention.

"Why Toque?" she asks. Janelle laughs. "We’re Canadian—it’s named after the winter hat. More masculine than Mittens."

Sara swaps back in, confirming the treatment plan before joking, "Let me get my ducks in a row and I’ll come for the big goober." In the back, she preps two shots and one oral vaccine.

Toque is too big for the exam table, so Sara, Beverly, and Mickey work on the floor. "You’re okay, little seal," Sara coos. She grabs a can of Kong spray cheese, aiming for his mouth but missing, covering his upper lip. Laughter erupts. "Oh, you have cheese on your lip, baby. I can’t send you back to Mom like that."

His first shot is in the right rear for rabies, the DHPP (Distemper, Hepatitis, Parainfluenza, Parvovirus) is administered in the front left before the last one is given orally. This is to protect against the four most common canine diseases.  “We put them in different areas so we know what vaccine it is if they ever had an allergic reaction take place,” Mickey explains. Three drops of blood are also taken for the in-house heartworm testing. 

All the while, the workers give the big guy one million distractions to choose from while they complete these tasks. A bunch of “good boys” are given along with hugs and kisses. Beverly attempts to push a treat into his mouth and lets out a disappointed “aw” when it hits the floor in rejection. “He doesn't want the cookies,” she continued falsely sobbing. 

Sara gets off the floor and runs the test while the other two finish up cutting his nails in a very team-oriented fashion. “The last tech lead we had wasn’t team-oriented at all so it was difficult to get assistance. But it was also hard to offer assistance when it was needed because of ego and mansplaining,” Mickey rolled her eyes and scoffed. 

They’re talking about Jason, a past RVT who was hired when they were understaffed. He made around $30 an hour, which makes sense considering his 11 years of experience, but their manager was new and wanted better things out of Jason. He was made lead technician and started taking a lot of the surgery load off of Doctor Rosales, currently on maternity leave, but he allegedly made a lot of mistakes. 

Returning from the test lab, Sara dropped to both knees and began exaggeratingly huffing Toque saying “You smell like a dog.” 

“He said “I worked hard on those nails you know and you took them all off,” Beverly mocks jokingly as they finished up the last paw. “Ooh my hips are going to pop,” Mickey announces before trying to adjust her posture. 

Some nail techs have an easier time with nail trimmings, but for Sara, they are a complete no-go. “I hate them. They’ll usually give me a juicy anal gland and I will be happy.” I thought she was joking at first but alas Sara followed with “Having the potential to draw blood wielding a metal contraption in my hand. Not like a gloved finger and lube is better but you would be surprised how much easier one is over the other.” 

She’s better than me. One sight of blood and I’d be gone, but she persists. 

It seems like hours, but after about 30 minutes it was time to release Toque back to his mommy. I observe as Beverly and Mickey help each other off the nail-covered floor. “Do you want this room before I take it?” Mickey asks with a smirk. They have a stand off and start playing rock, paper, scissors. Mickey took the gold. It was for their next patient: a wiener dog named Abby. Mickey skips off to the room while Beverly swept up the station for the next patient. 

Reception processes and prepares Toque’s paperwork while Sara races around in the back preparing her written prescription. Opening their cabinet to reveal an assortment of colored pill bottles, she explains that every hospital is different in their system which can be confusing. Their most common cases to prescribe are for ears, librella (arthritis in older dogs), skin issues, and anal glands. 

“One time we had a cute Frenchie with a prolapsed anus and I had to run next door to the liquor store to pick up a bag of sugar,” Sara explains, and when I look at her in utter confusion she adds,” It helps retract if you sprinkle it on there.”

This leads me to ask the dreadful question of what was the grossest case, which I regret as soon as I ask. Angela laughed and said “We had a cattle dog come in from Ramona with maggots on her vagina. Her vulva was hooded so it was all tucked in there.”

“She’s a good girl but a repeat offender,” Sara joked. I felt my lunch was going to come up and wonder out loud how they ate after that. 

“One of our old vet techs used to munch on his homemade salad while emptying an anal gland,” Beverly hollered from down the hall. 

At this point I’m glad I write about it and don’t have to see or perform it. 

To erase that picture from my brain, I focused on Sara printing out the prescription, getting it signed by doctor Lopez, and taking it out to the client. 

“We keep track if the prescriptions are sent out or written because we’ve had people try to get around that into getting double for both their pets instead of the one,” Sara explains to me as she goes. “It can cause issues if they do, say for the heartworm medication, because different doses are for different weights and it can hurt the dogs.”

“Owner compliance is the hard part. Honestly, animals are the easy part,” Angela admits. 

Clients can be rude and it can be upsetting for them when cases don’t go their way. Doctor Lopez dealt with a cat case the week prior where the animal came in for back pain with fleas. The client said there was also chronic bloody stool so she took a look and didn’t see anything else concerning besides what she treated. But that client left a one-star review and attached a picture of her cat's anal gland, which they didn’t see her for, and Doctor Lopez was left irritated. “They didn’t want to believe their cat was aggressive, either. I don't care to risk myself or clients.” 

“I also honored our $25 wellness exam special even though the cat was not a wellness case when she came in,” Sara adds from beside me. The woman had over 200 negative reviews on Yelp. 

Ending the day all huddled in reception, I noticed they were all on Facetime with someone. Peaking my head through I saw it was their manager, Megan, showing off her right hand cast post-surgery. The whole team had called their manager on her day off not to solve a problem but to see how she was holding up. Oddly sweet, but maybe that’s because I never see managers so close with their team. Mine would tell me to kick rocks. 

—------

As we walked through the hospital I stop short at the whiteboard. It used to be busy with tasks, but all are faded now. “That was our task board. It helped us when we had more people here to stay on task, but now that we have a more positive work culture everyone just keeps doing what they need to do and micromanagement isn’t necessary,” Sara explains. They once had a no-phone rule for a while because the person, who is no longer there, was abusing the rule: Jason. 

Their hospital seemed to be littered with positive workforce reinforcements. They have a vision board with ‘good noodle stars’ on accomplishments to promote healthy competition. It’s covered in funny photos of the team. 

“It’s a lot more comfortable at the moment,” Angela explains. “When relief doctors were brought in, which are like substitute teachers, they do things completely different from the regular doctor. But, you have to follow their directions but also not do anything our regular doctor wouldn’t sign off on.”

Sara recalls a time when there was a patient who had a skin tag between their toes. The regular doctor wanted to schedule a surgery time, but it angered the relief doctor. As a compromise, Sara and Mickey agreed to use lidocaine to numb it and just pluck the tag off in the same visit. “It would have taken up a surgery slot for no reason and slowed down scheduling,” Mickey explains as she fixes the rest of her paperwork.. 

Continuing our walkthrough I couldn’t help but point out the piled-up tampons next to the crash cart. Laughter ensued. “We use those to plug up poop during anal glands,” Angela laughs. Innovative. 

PetVet says they prioritize team-building, scheduling mandatory ‘lunch and learn’ sessions monthly—free lunch paired with a presentation. Sara says the latest one focused on personality types, linking them to dog breeds: German shepherds (protective leaders), Jack Russell terriers (energetic and vocal), cats (independent and reserved), and golden retrievers (enthusiastic and positive). They exercise highlighted team dynamics and common traits.

Sara notes that the presenter seemed surprised by their enthusiasm. "I think she sees other hospitals that don’t have the same teamwork ethic as us."

Best Friends Veterinary Hospital,a parent hospital down the street from them, closed a few months ago. Beverly was a VA there before working at this location. She was actually the only one transferred out when forced to close due to lack of staff. “There were a lot of cliques among staff and they did not work well with each other,” Beverly complains during her break. She mentions many nights when they were so short-staffed that she had to close by herself. 

When she worked at another vet hospital in Hawaii, the older vet techs didn’t let her into their inner circle. It took a long time for them to believe in the younger kids who worked there, which led to her being unable to draw blood for over a year. “It was so stressful I even diverted to human medicine,” Beverly exclaims. She saw a vet tech, very high-strung,  yell at others and watched a coworker storm out because of it. Beverly tells me she was trying out Hematology, but found her way back to Vet work anyways. 

Now she’s here, training to be an RVT and going through schooling that PetVet pays for. Even though I was told that many here hate upper management, it’s on a case-by-case basis. “PetVet likes to keep a tight lip on any possible complaints and image issues,” an employee, who wishes to remain anonymous, claims outside of work hours.

Last year, PetVet stated that all their phone calls would be recorded and gave specific instructions to be “personable” and “high energy" during client conversations. It’s causing paranoia and annoyance among coworkers, although some are learning to love it for its unexpected benefits. 

“Clients like to pull shit on me all the time,” Maddy tells me at the front desk. “I had a client that had a heartworm expired waiver from Best Friends and she tried to get two different prescriptions for the same weight even though it was for two different dogs. It was dangerous and I declined.” Maddy goes on to explain that the client became passive-aggressive and demanded to speak to the doctor even though she was getting ready for surgery. When the doctor answered, she responded in a fake surprise tone, “Oh, she was like that? Well, we record all our phone calls so I will check immediately and get back to you.” The client backed down after hearing that her passive-aggressive tone had been recorded. 

After surgery, Megan shares her approach.

“We used to separate reception and practice as ‘front and back,’ but that hindered communication. Now, they collaborate to keep schedules aligned. A block on the schedule doesn’t mean we have time, so checking in hourly keeps things running smoothly.”

“I’ve never had a team like this,” she admits. Around the office, blue speech bubbles display coworker compliments. “I wasn’t even here on Valentine’s Day and came back to a desk full of gifts.”

When Dr. Lopez went on maternity leave, a relief doctor stepped in, unfamiliar with the team. Seeing Sara, Angela, and others dramatically lamenting Beverly’s absence, he assumed she’d been gone for weeks. When she arrived, he asked, “Oh, you must be Beverly. Just back from vacation?”

Beverly, unfazed, replied, “I worked eight hours yesterday.”

Another coworker, Emily, missed work the day I am here for her RVT test. I watched as the team sent a group photo wishing her luck. 

Many hospitals I’m hearing have a competitive and gatekeeping culture. I have yet to see much of that with this team. Seems they thrive on collaboration. “We succeed because we help each other,” Maddy says.

Still, challenges exist. For months, they lacked a manager, leaving Dr. Rosales to juggle scheduling and time-off requests—an adjustment for everyone. She is currently on maternity leave. 

“Some days are worse than others, but I know 100 percent that someone here will step up for me,” Mickey insists.. 

Sara had to put her old man cat Shookie down earlier this month. Megan sent her home for the day, but Sara was insistent on coming in the following day to continue working. Sara told me she set her boundary: no cat cases with euthanasia. However, when the flowers that she ordered for the team came in completely different it almost set Sara off. Buster’s mom, an elderly woman, was mixing up appointments in her head and gave Sara a mean mugging and bad attitude. “I couldn’t handle it and Mickey took it no problem when she saw I was red in the face and about to start sobbing at her.”

“Everyone does a good job at lending a hand, and we all try to be understanding of each other's emotions,” Mickey says. 

Previously working in an animal welfare and leadership role, Megan says she thought she was going to be depressed coming into this job. “I’m not going to go home every day and tell my husband every dog and cat that passed. It’s not fair to put that on them,” she shook her head at me. “Mickey and I fished a drowned dog out of a pool last week. We’re here for each other.”

However, Mickey and the other vet techs tell me it’s important to fall back on someone. “I like to text my boyfriend “You won’t believe this shit” and it’s good to have an outlet and say “You won’t believe what this girl said to me today.”

This practice is an inherently stressful environment. It can be a little easier when it’s a wellness exam and not a call about sickness. “It hurts the team to have a bunch of sick cases stacked on top of each other. That’s why it’s important to communicate with the reception and get them alternated, not giving them all to one person,” Megan explains. 

Most Vet Techs in the State of California obtain a Minimum Wage ($16.50), according to All Allied Health Schools. Long hours in high-stress situations while only making minimum wage. “You have to be able to switch in and out of controlling emotions. Disconnecting from some cases is easier than others,” Doctor Lopez starts. “Freaking out at the moment is not helpful. You need to disconnect and be the voice of reason.”

“It’s like a switch when I step through the door,” Angela shrugs when I move to her. “You have to leave stress at the door.”

But that’s the big question, isn’t it? Why is the veterinary profession so uniquely affected? According to the National Institute of Health, the rate of suicide among veterinarians is nearly twice that of dentists, more than double that of medical doctors, and a staggering four times higher than the general population. The weight of compassion fatigue, financial strain, long hours, and the emotional toll of euthanasia all contribute to a mental health crisis that too often goes unspoken.

I wouldn’t have even known this if my best friend hadn’t gone into this field. It’s such a high rate and many overlook it, including myself, because on the surface level, it’s just working with animals. 

The reality is, that this job isn’t just about working with animals—it’s about long hours, unpredictable challenges, and an emotional toll that doesn’t end when you clock out. Even a day off seems to help reset.

—--------

“Angela, do you want to work Saturday?” Megan asks from across the building. Angela responds in confirmation and I see Anastasia look between the two before speaking up. “I could also work Saturday.”

“No, you cannot yet,” Megan dismisses and Anastasia sighs saying, “But I owe the Government.” I hope she's referring to student loans. 

Megan and I return to our conversation and she dives into an info-dump about their programs.

“Not One More Vet’ is a vet field nonprofit organization that targets the suicide rate in the veterinary industry. PetVet has a theme every year. Last year was “always say yes to people” and this year, after teaming up with this nonprofit, it is called “wellbeing for staff.” 

Anyone who works for PetVet is allowed three free therapy visits per situation. “So Anastasia says she owes the government-” Megan begins.

“Which I do!” Anastasia hollers and Megan playfully rolls her eyes. I couldn’t imagine being that close with my manager where I could joke or playfully interrupt like that.

“And let’s say it’s on her mind and she wants to talk about it. That’s three visits for just one issue. For personal or work reasons,” Megan explains. “This also extends to your immediate family and they don’t have to be listed on benefits. A lot of people think corporations are just all talk but this is just one of the many steps.”

While those programs are good, I want to know what she does as a manager to help the team. Megan is a bridge of the team and corporate. What does she do as the front runner just in this building? 

“Sometimes, I hear someone’s struggling, and I’ll pull them aside,” she says. Even while recovering from surgery, she reaches out when a team member needed support. She emphasizes the importance of asking if talking will help rather than just offering generic resources.

“I feel lucky we’re so involved in each other’s lives. It might seem like an HR nightmare, but it makes us stronger.”

Despite corporate mental health services, some protocols still leave team members uneasy.

--------

Making my way back to the exam room Sara exclaims “Blood draws on dogs are so much better than cats!” 

“Really? I think cats. Cats are spicy and that’s fun,” Beverly teases. 

“I don’t know how to handle them, all my cats are declawed,” Sara laughs and side-eyes me like she said something taboo. Glancing to her side I see a box of necklaces. 

Sara explained that those are euthanasia necklaces. It’s a project the team started to make it more personable for the “fur babies” that are put down and don’t survive surgery or other intensive care. “We say it’s the last thing they’ll ever wear,” Sara pouts. It’s an important project to them I could tell. I interpreted that this is also partly their goodbye to the animal they have to put down. Gives more heart to it and maybe makes it a little easier on the team. 

 Megan buys the material for these out of her pocket. They make condolence cards signed by the entire office, clay paw and nose prints, and fur clippings they put in reused vaccine vials–All free of charge. 

“I wouldn’t call it a numbness we have when we lose a patient, but there is a separation between work and personal that is necessary to have, “ Angela explains. 

“It’s important to make the babies feel good and not dread going to work,” Beverly states. Their goals are aligned. The team can tell who does and does not work together. It’s one of the reasons for their continued success while many others crash and burn from their lack of teamwork. 

There seems to be hope for the future of veterinary medicine—especially if corporations continue to prioritize their employees' well-being. Offering benefits such as free therapy sessions, financial assistance for schooling, and improved workplace policies can help alleviate some of the pressures that contribute to mental health struggles. According to The Academy of Pet Careers, the average hourly pay for veterinary assistants and technicians is $17.24—a wage that often fails to reflect the emotional and physical demands of the job. Addressing financial stress is just one piece of the puzzle, but fostering a supportive, tight-knit team can make an immediate difference. A workplace built on collaboration, respect, and open conversations about mental health creates an environment where veterinary professionals feel valued and, most importantly, less alone in their struggles.

As the sun sets and the last patient and their dog leave, Maddy flips the sign from “Open!” to “Closed!” Workers move through the exam rooms, restocking and cleaning for the next day. Everything from chairs to tables is wiped down with lemon-lime disinfectant, followed by a sweep and mop of the floors. Sara pushes the yellow bucket to the back, empties it, and rings out the mop to dry overnight. Maddy, Sara, and Beverly lock up and wave goodbye before heading to their cars.

Sara gets into her 1990 Toyota Camry, shuts the door, and exhales deeply, the ringing in her ears the only sound after a busy day. She takes a moment before turning the key, starting the car, and heading home. The radio stays off as she unwinds in silence before the start of another day tomorrow.

At home, she's greeted by her bulldog, Diva, and Leanne, her Siamese cat, who still longs for her recently passed brother. Her lock screen lights up with a photo of her three other dogs—Harley, Hank, and Nox—waiting for her at her mother’s house in Lakeside. A quiet reminder of why she keeps going.

For Sara, it’s always been about the animals. Through the long hours and tough days, they make it worth it. Some people find their purpose in people. Others, like Sara, find it in the creatures who need them most.