Christmas 1990

By Barry Whitworth, DVM

It was Christmas Eve. I was closely monitoring the clock, counting down the minutes until I could head home. The boss had talked about closing the clinic down early, and I was ready. My wife and new nine-month-old daughter were waiting for me to get off work so we could begin our holiday celebrations.

In the midst of my Yuletide daydreaming, I heard the sound of the boss drive up to the clinic. He motioned for me to get in and silence filled the truck for a moment. Finally, the boss broke the quiet, “Barry, I think it’s time for you to get on down the road.” When he said, “Get on down the road,” he was not talking about a farm call. He was firing me on Christmas Eve.

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