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me. Joan may need some help, too, at the desk. The book looks pretty full today, so there should be plenty to do.”
    There was, of course, no question that Lisa and I would take Dr. Norris up on his offer. The only question was who would work with Dr. Vann. It turned out Lisa’s parents decided for us. They had committed to a monthly Saturday class and had sports tournaments that fell on the occasional Saturdays. Since Dr. Vann’s clinic was within biking distance where Dr. Norris’ wasn’t, Lisa took the volunteer position with Dr. Vann.
    Just as Dr. Norris had said, Paul Vann was a natural teacher who genuinely enjoyed people, pets and his profession. Tall, with thinning red hair and a full beard, Dr. Vann had an easy laugh and a natural way with animals. Lisa adored him, adored his clinic and adored the work. So much so that, after a few weeks, she began going in on Sundays, too, to help out with the day’s cleaning, feeding and treatments as well as with the heavy-duty weekly cleaning chores such as washing windows and waxing floors. And it wasn’t long before I was biking my way over there, too, right alongside her on Sunday mornings, the lure of the animals too strong to deny.
    Had we wanted to see the truth, we would have known that Norris and Vann were coming out far ahead in this game. Not only were they getting free labor, they were both getting out of paying an employee on Saturdays and Vann on Sundays as well. Plus, we were generating income for the clinics by grooming a fair number of dogs and cats. It was profitable to keep us on. We were fast learners, conscientious, dependable and good at what we were doing. And all they had to spend in return for our service was a little knowledge, and most of that siphoned out in the natural course of their business.
    Like with my job at the airfield – before being drafted into babysitting – I was getting what I thought was a fair return: a few minutes with the animals in exchange for a few hours of work. And at 15, I believed simply being around the animals was pay enough.
    Four months after the volunteer work began it was over. For me, at least. I turned 16 at semester’s end and summer demanded a full-time paying job to earn money for college. And since I was going to skip my junior year based on my academic record , I’d only have this summer and the next to save up for vet school.
    Reluctantly I bade the clinic, the vets, the assistants and the animals farewell and turned my attention to filling orders in a warehouse: lugging a cart up and down long aisles in a hot metal building and counting out paintbrushes and skeins of yarn for handicraft stores nationwide. I endured the menial labor and looked forward to fall, the start of my senior year, and weekends once again cleaning cages and bathing dogs.
    I began planning my next years – graduation, college, vet school – in meticulous detail, confident of success. Confident that the pieces would all fall with exacting grace right into the holes I so carefully chiseled out for them.  

     

College Is Only a Setback Away
     
    The long faces in the kitchen didn’t overly concern me. I was hot and tired after a day of filling orders at the warehouse and a bike ride home. A bit of dinner, a little TV and a good book were all I had mind for.
    “Honey, I’m afraid we have some bad news.”
    I immediately went into denial mode. The life I was structuring had no room for bad news, so there simply couldn’t be anything bad happening that would affect me. My mom brushed a strand of graying hair off her cheek. “Your dad’s company – well, they’ve laid him off.”
    I glanced at my dad, a solemn man in his late-40s with little formal education faced with a sinking economy marked by high unemployment and even higher inflation. Unperturbed, I remained confident in my plan. This was a minor setback, nothing more. A hiccup in the family. Dad would find another job and off he would go every weekday morning once