My Take Tuesday: Tempus Est Brevis 

In 1977, a small building was built on the west end of Springville. The inconspicuous edifice was the only structure on the south side of 400 South, just west of the train tracks. Open green fields on all sides extended all the way, uninterrupted to the nearby city of Spanish Fork. Mountain West Animal Hospital began its long history of providing quality veterinary services to the surrounding community since its humble beginnings over 43 years ago. 

As I reflect on the legacy of the business started so long ago by Dr. Harold Davis, I am amazed at the growth of the surrounding community. The open green fields of long ago are now dotted with new developments. Some nostalgia is inevitable as I look at old photos of the clinic in the late 1970s. 

This pandemic has been difficult for us all. Our lives have changed in ways few of us could have imagined at the start of 2020. Yet, time marches steadily on, and life remains as fragile as ever. Death has also abruptly impacted many of us. So many loyal clients and beloved patients of Mountain West Animal Hospital have passed away during these last few months. 

This past weekend, I received the news that a dear client and friend died unexpectedly after a brief illness. Tears streamed down my face as I spoke with the sister of this wonderful woman on Saturday afternoon. 

Glenna Wyeth was one of the very first clients to visit the new clinic in 1977. Over the following four decades, she continued to loyally bring her pets in to see Dr. Davis. She had dozens and dozens of cats and dogs that she lovingly took care of over the years. She gave her best to each of them. She provided them with wonderful lives and she loved each of them dearly. 

When I purchased the clinic in January of 2014, I felt a tremendous amount of pressure. I resolved to try my best to take care of the clients and patients that had been so loyal for so many years. Glenna was one of the very first clients that I met after purchasing Mountain West Animal Hospital. She accepted me without hesitation and made me feel welcomed at the clinic. Each interaction I have since had with her have been the same. She felt like a family member. 

The longer I practice veterinary medicine, the more obvious it becomes to me that my job is as much about communication with the two-legged clients as it is about the care I provide for dogs and cats. I give my all with each interaction and loyal clients have a special place in my heart. Caring is contagious. I feel reciprocity with these wonderful people that trust me with the care of their pets. 

Glenna wouldn’t want any praise like this, but I give it for me. Her death has caused me to reexamine my own life, and to try to find better ways to live it. As lives are saved and others are lost, I remember how important it is for someone to take initiative and to tend to the responsibility to care for the helpless and to speak for those without a voice.

There are days that change the times and there is a time to say goodbye. Glenna, I send my love to you. I tip my hat to you for your insatiable desire to help end suffering in pets, and for the dedicated love and attention you have provided to each of the four-legged family members that have lived in your home. 

Even though now you are called to round up the stray animals in heaven, I can see you with even a wider smile on your face surrounded by tail-wagging dogs and cats.

When all is said and done, loyalty is all too often a matter of convenience. It is readily available when self-interests are fulfilled and benefit is mutualistic or even comensalistic. The true test of character is when, no matter what the cost, loyalty is shown when there exists no sphere of recognition potential, no roar and support of a crowd and no chance of fame or fortune. Glenna, you were loyal. You taught me so much about how I could improve myself, without saying a word. You trusted me and I will always be grateful for that. 

The tears that fall from my eyes are not just for you, but are also for those of us that have to continue on without your physical presence, without the sound of your laugh and the sight of your contagious smile. 

Rest in peace, Glenna. Your influence will forever remain in my heart. 

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM