Stethoscope to trowel and back again

'Oh I have the nagging itch, the urge to to wonder..'

Feb 08, 2026

I was seventeen and editing the school magazine and that line from an anonymously written short story reached out, grabbed at my heart and stayed with me three decades on. It embodied all of my restlessness as I navigated adolescence and beyond, trying to discern which life choice was ‘right,’ which would lead to a ‘good’ job.

Growing up, the emotions held in a dog’s limpid gaze or flitting over the face of a naughty pony would capture my attention and make me yearn to understand them better. Becoming a Vet seemed to be the only obvious answer to the desire to nurture, understand and be outside with things that seemed tangible and real. It promised a stable career and satisfied my parents demands for safety and a steady income. It seemed the perfect fit. So I, a far from A-Grade student, immersed myself in the difficult task of making it happen, drip-fed by James Herriot’s tales of community, rolling Yorkshire dales and a calling that mattered to him and his clients, both human and animal.

Years of study followed, watching dust motes sparkle in light beams through dusty library windows. Pouring over glass jars filled with formalin and weird and wonderful animal parts. Memorising the cranial nerves and parts of the brain. Cooped up indoors, trying to catch glimpses of wind-blown tree canopies and gusts of raindrops beyond that seemed to make manifest the roiling emotions within.

Occasionally the day brightened and we were taken onto the Vet School’s farm. There we learnt important skills like, how to make a cow lie down and how to catch a disinterested goat. (Answer: A. Tie them up using the exact method for a paper parcel and then pull the rope. B. Turn around and pretend to be doing something else, they’re far too nosy to resist!) All the while I waited and waited for the day when I would be released and life would start to become a bit more exciting.

I hit the ground running as a shiny new 20 something in sole charge of a branch practice.

When I graduated, Vets unlike Doctors, were technically as qualified on Day 1 as a Vet with 25 years experience. I still feel for the client that paid £25 for a pre-hibernation check for their tortoise. I picked it up and with my 5 days of professional experience and not a single clue about tortoises, pronounced ‘yep, it looks fine!’ (I had yet to learn about weight to shell ratios). I equally wince when I remember the poor gerbil that I gave a German Shepherd sized dose of Ivermectin to, because I got my decimal points in the wrong place! You’ll be pleased to know new graduate Vets are given a lot more supervision these days.

But I soon found that nothing had prepared me for hours and hours in a sterile, brightly lit, window-less room. Herriot, I discovered, hadn’t had to face offering the ‘right’ treatment plan to families that cherished their pets but didn’t have thousands of pounds spare to make it happen. In his day they did what they could and then when they reached the end of their limited treatment options he was united with his clients in grief and a determination to do the right thing and let them go peacefully.

In the UK, your dog is your property by law and as long as you seek Veterinary attention when they need it, what you do or don’t do is entirely up to you. James hadn’t described nursing terminally ill pets night after night. He hadn’t had to watch them suffer and breathe their last despite his ministrations and counsel, because their owners couldn’t face elective euthanasia to ease their passing. It only happened a handful of times but those poor dogs will stay with me all my life. I remember one particularly dark night shift watching a lovely young Labrador suffocate and die from the tumour that had overtaken him, while my Nurse and I watched helpless and then wept.

And through it all nature whispered and called, the nagging itch, the urge to wonder….what would my life look like if I listened?

In the Spring of 2025, burnt out and disillusioned with a role that no longer made sense to me, I left my safe, steady, corporate Vet job for the uncertainty of self-employment. I wanted to remember the stories of my youth and become at last the Vet I imagined I would be.

Could I be a mobile vet, touring the lanes of Cornwall, getting to know my patients, being a part of their lives and watching them grow? Ah, it was not to be. Our governing body only permits such an offering if you can provide 24-7 care. My nearest out of hours provider, the afore-mentioned corporate had no interest in supporting my ambitions and so the dream had to be scaled back and reimagined.

I now provide an end-of life service for pets in my county called Vet At Home. And more by accident than design, I have ended up working with the very best kinds of pet guardians. The only people that look for a service like mine are those that really cherish their pets and are able to face their own personal pain and grief and make the kindest, bravest choice to ease their pets passing, to let them go gently. They are the kind of people that have carefully considered the Gold-standard treatment plan and chosen pragmatism and kindness instead. I love my clients, they are the very best of us.

But helping them is heavy work and I feel the weight of their sadness when I leave them. So I take it to the place I have always gone. To my garden. Where the unfurling of a bud that was closed yesterday fills me with delight and the sparkle of sunlight of newly polished leaves talks to me of the circle of life on this earth to which we are bound. That in dying there is life and that in stillness there is hope and that the birds flight is bright in the empty sky.

David Austin Rose, The Lark Ascending and Tulip Copper Image

Some seeds will not grow without a long period of time cloistered in the dark. They need the cold of winter and the warmth of spring. The cycles of freeze-thaw, freeze-thaw before they will burst into life. So it is with my little seedling.

Precious and Wild is a long harboured dream. As wild flowers that are somehow just right in their Maytime splendour. Contrasting colour and shapes, jostled together in perfect harmony on the banks of the Cornish Hedges. So too, somehow, the bright bursting joy of my little Flower Farm, planted next to the muted hues of loss, is off-set and enriched like the finest of paintings by any Dutch Master.

And as I weave my way through this glittering journey filled with wonder, nurturing hope, I would love you to join me. This is where I will document what it looks like each month to steward the growth of a Flower Farm.

I’ll be providing scent-filled blooms grown in harmony with nature for all of life’s wild and precious moments and I’ll let you know where you can find them if you’d like to consider purchasing some. I’ll share seasonal ways you can bring beauty into your own homes and gardens and perhaps create a cutting patch of your own? All the while continuing to care for my clients furry family members.

Like any good story I’m sure there will be tension and jeopardy and hope and joy and everything in between. I can’t wait! Thanks for reading this far, you mean the world to me,

Kat

X

Next month how to make a Primrose wreath and be rich in Snowdrop