Why was there a calf in our bathtub, and a pig in my car? Who was the leggy blonde we rescued from a pseudo psychiatrist who abused, then abandoned him after which he became the 4-legged love of my life? What happens when a wife and mother spins all the domestic plates: marriage, children, career, depression, therapy, a return to school late in life, aging, grandchildren, and retirement while her husband focuses on a career requiring life and death decisions every day?

As the wife of a veterinarian, I have so much to tell from my perspective. I’ve written a memoir full of personal essays, snapshots in time. My stories are an inside peek at the veterinarian’s world and that of his wife. And who doesn’t love stories with animals? Along with the animals are reflections of our personal lives. They engender laughter, tears, joy, despair, insight, anger, and wonderment. We have experienced fully human, impactful lives, full of triumphs and losses, professional and personal, his, mine, *and* ours.

How did we manage together? We couldn’t be more different: he is a rugged outdoorsman and workaholic; I am a city girl with refined tastes and a singing career. He cares nothing about clothes. I have a walk-in closet full. He is quiet. I performed for a living. I toured Europe with the Atlanta Symphony, while he took our boys mud-boggin’ at the county raceway. He has no sense of aesthetics. I have a degree in art. If it weren’t for me, he says, we’d be living in a block hut with dirt floors. I say over my dead body. How did we make it through fifty years together? How did we support each other? What happened when we lost our way for a while? How did we save our marriage? Why are we happy? What did each of us sacrifice and compromise in favor of our careers, marriage, and children?

And really, why *was* there a calf in our bathtub, and a pig in my car?