So you know, human docs often wear scrubs because it’s the only way to respectably wear a comfy pair of pajamas to work. Most physicians don’t really need them unless they’re going into the OR. (Even then, we would hope they’d put on a fresh pair—not the one they’ve been wandering the hospital wards in all day.)

Vets wear scrubs for their lounge-y feel, sure, but when I wear scrubs…it’s because I just got peed on…again. Much as I try to wear my work-designated home-clothes to the office, I just can’t seem to make it home in them. And it’s not just the urine fouling things up—it’s the anal glands, stray fecal matter and that impossible-to-dispel aroma of infected ears, among other olfactory treasures my dogs so enjoy.

Ever wonder how pets seem to gravitate towards vets at dinner parties? The host will inevitably exclaim, “Look! Maisey knows she loves animals!” as the furball sniffs my shins in a transcendent state of bliss. Meanwhile, I’m trying to enjoy my cheese plate, all the while keeping my mouth shut on the provenance of the smell Fluffy can’t seem to get enough of. But I’ll never tell…not in polite company, anyway.

At least once every workday someone will shout, “Fluffy, no!…Omigod I’m so sorry she never does that.” Never happens a lot in vet hospitals. And it always seems to happen on my shoes, down my pant legs, on my scrub top or some other vet-centric surface. (I wear glasses and you definitely don’t want to know what nasty bits of scum have landed there over the course of my last vision prescription. And to think the poor woman at the optical boutique has no idea why the nooks and crannies of my glasses need professional cleaning more often than most women get manicures.)

Never also happens on the floor a lot. For some obscure reason some owners will not inform you of its presence there until you’ve trod right over it. Right there’s a commercial for the ubiquitous plastic clogs you might see us wear when we walk into Starbucks—or maybe not. Just don’t think about it next time you see me standing in line in front of you with my bright orange clown-shoes. Be grateful for the overpowering coffee aroma, instead.

For your part, help us out a little. If never happened last time perhaps you might think to warn us this time. We certainly don’t mind a little of the inevitable but some days I wonder how every stray in Miami doesn’t show up at my feet given the wafting scent of never I perpetually emit.