Takes a ton of money to be a vet, I know—once you get through college, there’s even more college. But if that can’t happen, I’d like to be a veterinarian’s assistant. This takes training too, but I can learn a lot just being a volunteer sometimes on Saturday mornings. Dad drives me there on his way to work. Dr. Collins’s clinic is attached to his house, and I’m early, so I just sit out on the steps, till he comes over and unlocks the door. “Didn’t think you’d be around much once school began,” Dr. Collins says, big old smile on his face. He is one tall man—six foot four. Big head. Big ears. Big hands. “I’ll come whenever I can,” I tell him. He did a good job treating a skin disease Shiloh had last June and I like him a lot. “Well, I sure won’t say no to that,” Dr. Collins says. “You know what to do, so I’ll go back and finish my coffee. Be with you in a while.” I pull on the gray cotton “kennel suit”—shirt and pants like the scrubs a surgeon wears.
