By Dr. Jason Harrison, DVM — Tawas Animal Hospital
One of the first things I learned as a small-town veterinarian is this:
There is no such thing as a “normal day.”
Veterinary medicine doesn’t run on a clock.
It runs on need — urgent, emotional, unpredictable need.
And somehow… we find a way.
🌅 7:30 AM — The Start of Controlled Chaos
Every day starts the same:
Our entire team arrives together at 7:30 AM, and the moment we walk in, the world starts moving.
We care for more than 5,000 active patients with two doctors — more than what most general practices carry nationwide. So yes… we are busy. We are needed.
Each doctor has:
- 16-20 scheduled appointments
- 2 urgent same-day appointments
= 18-22 patients per doctor per day — before the emergencies arrive.
There is no spare room in the calendar —
because pets don’t get sick by appointment.
🌅 From Sunshine to Storms — Before Lunch
My day may start like a Hallmark movie:
- A new puppy exam
- Kids giggling while their dog kisses my face
- A senior kitty doing great on her medication
- A proud pet parent showing me pictures of their dog dressed as a taco
Joy. Smiles. Tail wags.
The kind of medicine that fills your cup.
And then — often without warning — the phone rings:
“My dog just collapsed.”
“My cat can’t breathe.”
“We’re on our way and it’s bad.”
Suddenly, the entire day pivots.
The same hands that held a puppy for vaccines are now placing life-saving IV lines.
The same voices praising a brave cat are now urgently calling for oxygen.
One hour I’m laughing.
The next, I’m helping a family say their final goodbye.
It’s emotional whiplash.
And you feel every moment.
🧡 The Hardest Lesson: Joy and Heartbreak Live Side by Side
People often ask me:
“How do you go from a euthanasia to a puppy exam — and still smile?”
The answer is simple:
Every patient and every family deserves my whole heart.
I’ve learned:
- The puppy in Room 1 shouldn’t feel the grief still on my shoulders
- The terminal patient in Room 2 deserves every ounce of my compassion
- Every goodbye deserves a moment of stillness
- Every hello deserves celebration
Some days, those moments happen within the same 10 minutes.
Veterinary medicine has taught me to:
- Hold space for sorrow
- Celebrate joy
- Move forward — not because I don’t care
…but because someone else needs me next
🩺 In Between It All — The Work You Don’t See
Even on the days when I don’t have late-night emergencies,
I go home, grab some dinner…
and then I sit at my kitchen table for a couple of hours completing medical records.
- Every diagnosis must be documented
- Every medication must be verified
- Every plan must be clearly communicated
Our days are long.
But they are an honest day’s work — earned with heart, sweat, and compassion.
🚑 When Emergencies Rewrite the Schedule
Every day — without exception — a pet arrives who cannot wait.
Some families waited a month for their appointment.
Others woke up to a crisis.
And this is where we rely on:
- Our team to triage, stabilize, and communicate
- Our clients to trust our medical judgment
- And each other to stay steady when the pressure rises
Some emergencies get treated and go home —
and those feel like fireworks inside your chest.
Other emergencies turn into:
- late-night surgeries
- overnight monitoring
- hourly treatments
And those days become nights that never end.
I may leave at 8–9 PM,
but my nurses — God bless their hearts — return at 10 or 11 PM
to check on a recovering patient…
because comfort and survival don’t wait.
Then after 5-6 hours of sleep, we do it all again.
For the pets.
For their families.
For the love of this work.
🧠 What I’ve Learned from the Wild Days
1️⃣ Purpose is louder than exhaustion
2️⃣ Joy and grief are both sacred
3️⃣ Teamwork turns chaos into hope
4️⃣ Trust from clients is the greatest gift
5️⃣ Love — in all forms — keeps this profession going
These days can break us.
These days also build us.
Most do a little of both.
And still… even after the hardest ones…
I wake up ready for the next.
Because every goodbye is followed by a new hello —
another puppy, another hope-filled family,
another chance to make life better for someone who can’t speak for themselves.
That is the beautiful, wild balance of veterinary medicine.
And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
🏡 Why I Chose the Life of a Small-Town Veterinarian
People sometimes ask me why I would take on this kind of pace in a small town — why not join a bigger hospital where the workload could be spread out?
The answer is simple:
This life is in my blood.
I was born and raised in Cheboygan, Michigan — a small town just like Tawas.
I’m the son of a plumber — of a family plumbing business over 75 years old.
I grew up watching my dad:
- get out of bed in the middle of the night when someone’s pipes burst
- show up to help neighbors without question
- work long, honest days without complaint
- put community before convenience
I didn’t know it then, but I was learning what a calling looks like.
My parents taught me:
- Faith gives us purpose
- Privilege comes with responsibility
- Service is a way of life
- You take care of your neighbors — because they’ll take care of you
And to my surprise, my days as a veterinarian look a whole lot like my father’s.
He wasn’t the kind of man who only worked when the phone rang.
If he saw a need — he stopped. Every time.
- A car stuck in the snow
- A boat stranded on a sandbar
- A snowmobile broken on the trail
- Someone walking miles in the cold
- A small accident on the side of the road
Tool belt on. Muck boots ready. No questions asked.
As a teenager, I’ll admit… I sat in the passenger seat thinking:
“Dad, PLEASE stop talking to everyone — someone will see me!” 😅
But now I understand exactly what he showed me:
Your community is your responsibility.
Your neighbors are your blessing.
Your faith is your guide.
Small-town life isn’t always easy.
Everyone knows your name.
Everyone knows where to find you.
The demand is high — the expectations even higher.
But the love here?
The support?
The belief that we are all in this together?
That is the reward.
And I wouldn’t want to serve anywhere else
but here —
with the people God has entrusted me to care for.
— Dr. Jason Harrison, DVM
Tawas Animal Hospital
