An Interview With Candice Georgiadis
The best piece of advice I received along my journey came early on from my husband, Steve. He taught me to look at each problem individually, after which a solution can be easier to find.
As a part of our series about women who are shaking things up in their industry, I had the pleasure of interviewing Dr. Amy Attas.
Dr. Amy Attas founded City Pets, “The House Call Vets,” in 1992 to provide the highest quality veterinary care in the comfort of home and in the process, disrupted the veterinarian business model. The innovator is a graduate of Barnard College with a V.M.D. and an M.A. in Animal Behavior from the University of Pennsylvania and serves on the School’s Board of Advisors.
The pioneering vet is an active fundraiser for the Global Health Program of The Wildlife Conservation Society, as well as many other animal-related charities, including Best Friends Animal Society, which leads national efforts to make animal shelters no-kill nationwide. Dr. Attas has been awarded both the Award of Merit and the Award for Outstanding Service to Veterinary Medicine by the Veterinary Medical Association of the City of New York, on whose Executive Board she served for over a decade, including as the Board’s Public Liaison to governmental agencies addressing animal health policy and practice.
Thank you so much for doing this with us! Before we dig in, our readers would like to get to know you a bit more. Can you tell us a bit about your “backstory”? What led you to this particular career path?
I was born wanting to be a veterinarian; in fact, I think I was born as a veterinarian. When the other girls were playing with Barbie dolls, I was injecting my stuffed animals with hypodermic syringes given to me by our family pediatrician.
Eventually, my family adopted an adult pug dog, named Duchess, who was a willing patient until my youthful veterinary career was put on hold at age 6: one day, I wrapped an ace bandage around her neck and — after my parents undid the wrap — they kindly suggested that I put a hold on practicing veterinary medicine until I received a bit more education.
As a young teen, I read All Creatures Great and Small, the first of a series of autobiographical novels written under the pen name of James Herriot, about a young veterinarian practicing in the Yorkshire Dales in the 1940s. This was what I had been waiting for. Herriot’s vivid descriptions of the medical conditions of his patients and the intricate details of their care were the spark I needed to start my career. And the quirkiness of his Yorkshire clientele made it all sound like an adventure.
So, after telephoning every veterinarian in the Queens, New York Yellow Pages, I finally procured an opportunity to ‘work’ at an animal hospital: I was OK’d to observe veterinary practice at the Forest Hills Cat Hospital for just one afternoon. I jumped at the opportunity, and after two buses and a subway, I got to the hospital.
I was excited and a bit nervous. The vet had just taken blood from a cat, and he handed me the tubes of blood and asked me to invert them back and forth slowly as required. Within seconds of rocking the tubes and watching the blood go back and forth and back and forth, the room also started going back and forth, and I fainted dead away.
But I didn’t let my embarrassment deter me, and without being asked, I just showed up the next day and continued to show up for weeks and months after that. I went from being an innocent but keen observer to an extra set of hands that were a real asset to the practice as I learned skills from my daily observations. The vet who had kindly allowed me in as a little girl just to observe over fifty years ago is still a close friend.
While attending Barnard College, I continued working at the Forest Hills Cat Hospital, pursuing a pre-vet (just like pre-med) curriculum. As a biology major, I studied animal behavior and was part of a team that published several research projects, on one of which I was the lead author, something unheard of for a college kid.
In my senior year, at only 19, I submitted my application to veterinary school. I had good grades and respectable standardized test scores and had amassed a wealth of experiences with large animals (cows) and small animals (dogs and cats), as well as in the laboratory. I was more than ready.
I interviewed at several schools and finally received the news after months of anxious waiting: all rejected me. I had applied to three schools and wouldn’t attend any of them the following year.
I was particularly surprised by Cornell, where they said no despite having positive feedback from the admissions committee. Cornell’s Dean contacted me afterward and offered strong encouragement to reapply; he explained that competition was so fierce, and the committee believed that given my young age (now a ripe old 20), I had an even stronger chance as a re-applicant.
Tuskegee Institute had put me on its waitlist, and a few weeks later, over the course of several hours during which I was not home (remember, no cell phones), their Dean left me 7 or 8 messages on my brand new answering machine bought for the very purpose of applying to vet school! His first message just asked that I return his call; the second was to tell me that I had been accepted off the waitlist, and the next series of messages were pleading with me to call him before 5:00 pm to let him know if I was going to accept and attend in the Fall. His final message — at 5:20 pm — was an apology, letting me know that because I hadn’t returned his call, my position had been accepted by someone who was home to take the call. All that money wasted on the answering machine.
Deeply disappointed that I was not enrolling in veterinary school in the Fall, I chose instead to attend the graduate program at the University of Pennsylvania and pursue a Ph.D. in animal behavior. However, I still had hopes for vet school. It turned out that because of quirky state funding of veterinary colleges, which are few and far between in the United States, applicants have the best chance of attending the school in their home state. I was a lifelong New Yorker, so Cornell was my best chance. Still, I felt that my sensibilities were better suited to The University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia, where the teaching hospital serviced a large dog and cat population, which was frankly my interest.
So I became an official Pennsylvania resident while studying for my Masters en route to a Doctorate there. Nonetheless, I submitted my applications to Penn Vet, Cornell, and again to Tuskegee (I knew I’d get in) two years later, coinciding with completing my master’s degree. This time, I was accepted to all three institutions and chose Penn Vet.
In veterinary medicine, upon graduation, you go right out and practice. Internships are highly competitive, and I was successfully matched at the prestigious Animal Medical Center (AMC) in New York City, my hometown. The work schedule there could approach 90 hours a week; we worked all day and often had night shifts on top of that. This grueling schedule left little time for my style of personalized client communication (much less a social life). At graduation from AMC, each intern received a “tongue in cheek” award, and mine was “Ma Bell” for the veterinarian who spent the most time talking with clients.
Most vets will tell you that they became veterinarians because of their love of animals. For me, it is my love of animals, but also my love of medicine itself and my genuine love of working with the families who love my patients.
Can you tell our readers what it is about the work you’re doing that’s disruptive?
I’ve disrupted the norm in veterinary medicine twice. In both instances, I’ve been greatly rewarded and believe my experience was an inspiration to others following after me.
After graduating from the Animal Medical Center, I was hired to be the junior associate vet of two associates at a small animal hospital on Park Avenue. Many of the clients (the people) were wealthy and could afford the best quality of care for their pets (the patients).
I was there for only a few months when my senior veterinary colleague was summarily fired (by message on his answering machine, left during the Super Bowl). He was an excellent veterinarian with a strong following in the practice. I had not seen this coming but subsequently learned that other excellent vets had been fired from this practice with no prior warnings over the years.
Many clients were initially reluctant to see me, the new “young vet,” and preferred to have either of the older vets care for their pets, but now they no longer had that choice. And within a few months of clients experiencing my style of compassionate care, I became extremely busy. So busy that many wealthy and even celebrity clients now requested appointments with me instead of the practice owner. I felt secure at this practice since my boss, and I had finally entered negotiations to make me a partner, and discussions soon turned to offering to sell me the practice outright. I was thrilled.
On the very day of my fourth anniversary of starting at the hospital, the owner invited me to a celebratory dinner and made reservations at my favorite restaurant. He told me that we would discuss my bonus and raise at the dinner, noting I’d be very pleased with them. As I finished work that day and was getting ready to go to dinner with him, he called me into his office and told me I was fired. I was to take all my personal belongings, hand over my key, and not return. I was stunned.
I was now a member of the “club” of respected veterinarians who had become too successful in another person’s practice and so apparently became a threat to the practice owner. One of my mentors at the AMC told me to get over it because this happens in the Manhattan vet world all the time.
What was I going to do? I hadn’t been looking at other places to work (although I had been solicited) because I was about to buy this practice. I stayed up all night thinking of ways to turn this unexpected unemployment into something positive, or, at the least, a way to make a living.
I remembered the wise words spoken to me by a long-time client who had become a dear friend. He was the retired head of a major New York investment bank, a gentleman in his early 90s, a Jewish man who had fled Germany in the 1930s with nothing when the writing was on the wall. He said that I should remember that every black cloud has a silver lining; you just have to spend the time to find it.
Early the next morning, two clients with very sick pets called me at home. They had appointments scheduled with me that day at the hospital but were told that I was suddenly no longer there and that the hospital didn’t know anything about my whereabouts or even why I was gone. Worried about me, they both found my home number and called me, and when I told them that I had been summarily fired, both said they didn’t care and instead insisted that I find a way to see their pets that very day. One had chemo scheduled for her dog, and I had better be there on time!
I phoned the former colleague fired from this practice a few years prior. He now had a successful Upper East Side hospital, and he immediately offered whatever help I needed. I borrowed the necessary supplies and medicine from his practice, asked a veterinary technician to join me, and we made two house calls that first day, including the one to do chemotherapy. A similar thing happened the next day — when I made four visits to pets in their Manhattan apartments. The clients were very pleased.
I quickly realized that this form of veterinary medicine, so personalized for the client and so much less stressful for the patient, was a unique and wonderful way to practice. It reminded me of what I had loved in Herriot’s All Creatures books, that the patients were only one part of the relationship that a veterinarian can have. Getting close to the animals’ families added a new and wonderful dimension, and I loved it. Without a thought-out business plan, I started my house call practice right then and there.
I advertised in all the local newspapers, including The New York Times and New York Magazine, that “Dr. Amy Attas, formerly of … was now doing veterinary house calls,” and so introduced the concept of a full-time house call practice. Until then, some hospitals would occasionally send the junior vet to a valued client’s home to see their pet as a one-off event, but that was rare and viewed as a money-losing accommodation to the client. Likewise, my friends and advisors didn’t think my novel way of practice would last and suggested I “find a real job.” Most of the vets I spoke with told me they, too, had dabbled in house calls for a little while in between jobs but couldn’t handle the difficulties of going from apartment to apartment, getting around the City, parking, carrying equipment, scheduling and on and on.
But I could.
I decided right from the beginning that I was not going to just dabble in house calls. It would be a professional, full-service practice where I could provide virtually everything a vet could do in a hospital examination room right in the patient’s home. My patients would still need to go to the hospital for anything requiring anesthesia, x-rays, surgery, as well as genuine emergencies, of course. Still, I was amazed at how much medicine could be properly and, in some cases, even better provided in the pet’s home. Diagnostics are in fact often more accurate when they are taken in the pet’s home as the animal is more relaxed. The reverse of “white coat syndrome.”
Most of my clients lived in the affluent area of the Upper East Side, so my house call practice was seen as a threat to the animal hospitals in that neighborhood. Each of the practice owners on the UES asked me to join their practices, but they offered ridiculously low salaries with completely unacceptable schedules.
In any case, I was no longer interested in working in an animal hospital nor for anyone else. I knew I could change the way that veterinary medicine was being practiced by offering the highest-quality and compassionate veterinary care in the comfort and privacy of a person’s home. No one else had ever done this the way that I envisioned it.
Except, of course, James Herriot.
It wasn’t easy, and on many days it was physically challenging. Each day I’d return home and list the obstacles I had encountered, trying to devise a solution for each. And all of them had solutions. Shortly, I had a whole staff of administrative help, one and then two full-time veterinary technicians, an associate doctor, and even a driver. I named the practice City Pets Vets, and its logo is a Manhattan skyline bracketed by a cat and dog, all using NYC taxicab colors of yellow and black.
City Pets’ success was, in fact, an inspiration to others who wanted to start their own practice but didn’t have the capital to start a brick-and-mortar hospital. They, too, liked the concept of house calls, thinking it was cheap and easy. Some even came around with me for a week to see what it was like. Most who did said that they couldn’t handle the non-stop work, going from building to building; eating breakfast and lunch in the back seat of the car on very long days; taking every phone call from a client and giving them all the time they needed to answer their questions and explain everything they wanted to know.
Some decided that this style of practice was right for them, and they benefited from my years of experience and guidance. To this day, New York City’s house call vets remain a group of close-knit, non-competitive colleagues for which I serve as the senior mentor.
And now the second illustration of disruption.
Despite starting out well, I was rightfully concerned that the manner of my dismissal and the things that were said to clients afterward could damage my reputation. I contacted the Chief Medical Advisor of the Animal Medical Center for guidance. Through the years, he has given me wise and thoughtful advice on so many subjects. This time was different. He was the one who told me to get over it. He said, “Oh Amy, what are you complaining about? All junior associates get fired by veterinary practice owners when they get too successful. The old owners are afraid that the good vets will leave and take all the clients with them, so they fire them instead. Just get over it and move on!”
I was shocked. Maybe the veterinary community knew this, but the public did not. And I certainly didn’t know, as I was led down a deceptive path first to being a partner, then to being the buyer, and ultimately, fired without warning. Right then, I decided to sue my ex-boss and protect my professional reputation.
I met with a well-respected, genuine labor lawyer who told me I didn’t have a good case. New York State was and remains an “at-will” state, as its law permits employers to fire an employee for any reason except the protected no-no’s (e.g., race, religion), and those didn’t apply to my situation. My boss had told staff and clients that “I didn’t have the kind of personality that he wanted to go forward with into the 90s,” which made it sound like I was a real problem. But because the case wasn’t a good one, the lawyer said he’d take the case — but only if it were not on contingency, meaning I would have to pay for all his time and expenses, win or lose.
To his surprise, I agreed, and we sued the practice owner and went to a jury trial. During the trial, we told a compelling story of the long history of senior vets firing their employees, this particular practice’s history of doing so, my ex-boss’ attempts to defame me by the things he said and wrote to the staff and clients and then all the false documents that he presented to me when we were engaged in discussion of partnership and later the sale of the practice. In less than a week, the jury had decided the case in my favor with both compensatory and punitive damages awarded.
Since then, dozens of vets have contacted me to say that they wished they had the courage to do what I did when they were fired. My case is now documented in veterinary textbooks and even taught in veterinary schools. I don’t know the long-term effect in other places, but I can tell you that the practice of willy-nilly firing a competent young vet after just a few years without cause or prior warning has virtually stopped in New York City.
Can you share a story about the funniest mistake you made when you were first starting? Can you tell us what lesson you learned from that?
One of my first clients as a house call vet was a woman who had several cats and was always very anxious about their care. She was drawn to my practice because she liked the easy communication and that everything I did with her cats was done directly in front of her so she could watch. I quickly learned that pet owners don’t like it when the hospital vet says, ‘I am taking your pet to the back for tests, ‘ and then disappears with their dog or cat.
This client also liked my house calls because she was a talker, and I gave her all the time she needed. But whatever I told her, she turned into the worst-case medical scenario; she was always sure that her pets had cancer.
On this particular day, she phoned to say that one of her cats was holding his eye closed. It was an extremely busy day, but I never say no to a pet with a medical problem, so I added her to my schedule. Fortunately, I had just examined all her pets two weeks before for their annual physicals and vaccinations, so I assumed I could do what I needed to do for the eye and quickly move on with my day.
Usually, I sit down with my clients while my technician sets up and ask questions about my patient’s general health. I didn’t this time because I was sure that my exam two weeks prior was sufficient, so I went to work examining the eye.
Just like the ophthalmologist does when you go in for an exam, I instilled a drop of fluorescein stain to the cat’s eyes to determine whether there is a corneal injury, an injury that causes pain and is a common cause of squinting like this cat was doing. Fluorescein turns everything in the eye bright yellow, and if there is a corneal ulcer, the injured portion instead turns fluorescein green.
My patient indeed had a large corneal ulcer, and he would be fine with a few days of eye medication. After I packed up and was ready to leave, my client told me she had neglected to mention that the other day she found the cat chewing on the fringes of the carpet, and he had been making some gagging sounds since. Uh Oh! I had only done a cursory exam, focusing on his eye. Could he have ingested the carpet fringes and had some gastrointestinal obstruction? I hadn’t heard any gagging sounds, but despite having packed up, we took everything out and set back up again, and this time I did a full examination of my patient’s entire body in case I missed something.
I started with a complete oral exam to look for any carpet fibers stuck in his mouth, and I was shocked by what I saw. The cat was totally jaundiced! His tongue and mucous membranes were the bright yellow color we see in patients with serious liver disease. I had just seen him two weeks before, and his bloods were normal at the time. Such rapid onset of jaundice could not possibly have a good outcome for this patient.
I sat down with my client and told her that I had found something else wrong with her beloved cat. I would need to recheck his blood work and schedule an immediate abdominal ultrasound to determine the cause of his jaundice. She saw I was grim and looked at him and saw exactly what I had seen. In between sobs, she told me to do whatever I had to do. She knew this meant terminal cancer and she was finally right.
As I prepared to take his blood, I realized my mistake. My patient was not jaundiced. His tears carried the bright yellow dye I used in his eyes into the nasolacrimal duct, and as a result, the tissues in his mouth were just as bright yellow as were his eyes.
I laughed and told her my error — but she didn’t see any humor in it. Nor did she agree. She was now absolutely convinced that the cat was jaundiced, no matter what I said, and she insisted on the blood work and an ultrasound. Nothing I could say would convince her that it was merely the eye stain and that her cat didn’t have cancer. I had to follow her wishes. We took his blood (which was normal), and I spent the next 45 minutes calming her down and finally convincing her to forego the ultrasound.
I learned from this that there are no shortcuts; each patient — and each client — must be treated with my full attention. I simply can never deviate from my successful protocol of performing a complete and comprehensive ‘interview’ with each client and doing a complete and comprehensive physical exam on each patient without assuming anything.
We all need a little help along the journey. Who have been some of your mentors and how they made an impact?
James Herriot, the autobiographical character and pen name of the veterinarian Alf Wight I highlighted earlier, has honestly been my spiritual mentor from the start. Although I did have the privilege of meeting him (and thanking him) once, over the past 50 years, I’ve reached out to him for advice through his written words. From him, I’ve learned that treating the clients is as important as treating the patients, leading me to personal relationships with them that are both medically and personally satisfying.
I’ve also learned that being empathetic and sometimes even emotional doesn’t diminish one’s professionalism and creates an honest bond with my clients. It is OK to cry, for example, when my clients do and their sorrow reaches me deeply in that personal place. I often share my own experiences and losses with them and know that this helps when they need to make a difficult decision.
And I’ve learned from Herriot that it is OK not to know everything and to reach out to others who have more experience or expertise than I do when that’s the case. Although my early boss hated when I referred a patient to a specialist (probably because he saw most things through the lens of income), people understood and appreciated that they were being steered towards the best care for their pets.
I had another, perhaps surprising, mentor from the very first days of my practice. Joan Rivers, the comedienne, who I met while at the animal hospital I first worked at. She allowed me to treat her dog (the famous Spike) for a Saturday night emergency when I was the only one on call, and she frankly had no other option. Spike made a quick recovery, and from that point on, Joan didn’t hesitate to call me when she needed help with her dogs.
I know it was Joan who was innocently responsible for getting me fired, leading me to start City Pets. A day or two before I was summarily dismissed in the midst of the practice purchase negotiations, she was in the waiting room, and my boss offered that he was free at the moment and could see Spike. Joan said no, politely, noting that she was waiting for me to look at Spike. The practice owner explained that I was still finishing up surgery, which could take quite some time. Joan rebuffed him again and said she would read a magazine until I was done. The boss was furious, and my fate was sealed.
When I was fired, I called her and told her the details. She replied: “We girls have got to stick together.” She became my best client and a good friend until her untimely death. Joan often shared with me stories of the hard times she’d had in her long career, offered as life lessons. She also told me of all her “self re-inventions,” which she likened to my new situation. Joan personally sang my praises to everyone she knew and was a great business getter for me (ask Cher).
A quick story. One day, years later, when I wished her a happy birthday and asked what she was doing to celebrate, she told me that she wasn’t celebrating but instead had a gig that evening. When I replied that I was sorry she had to work and couldn’t go out and celebrate, she corrected me. “Au contraire.” She explained that people like us, “people who are pursuing a calling, “celebrate when we are fulfilling that calling, and so when working, it is we who are the lucky ones.
Boy she was right, and I refresh that advice and memory of her virtually every day of my life. As mentioned, Joan remained a close friend and loyal client until her passing and even after, as she left instructions and money in her will that I continue to care for her pets for the rest of their lives, which I do to this day.
In today’s parlance, being disruptive is usually a positive adjective. But is disrupting always good? When do we say the converse, that a system or structure has ‘withstood the test of time’? Can you articulate to our readers when disrupting an industry is positive, and when disrupting an industry is ‘not so positive’? Can you share some examples of what you mean?
I agree; there are times when disruption may not be good, and I see that happening now in the veterinary medical industry. In the past dozen years, many large and small private hospitals have been sold to and are now run by large corporate entities, often applying standardized metrics and impersonal approaches to the practice of veterinary medicine to increase revenue.
As a result, these practices have lost their personal nature, and, often, vets working at such places are forced to “make their numbers,” which can lead to, for example, unnecessary or, most kindly put, ‘over testing’ to generate revenue at the expense of the pet owner. For years veterinarians have been regarded as one of the most respected and intimate medical professions, and I am concerned that this new, impersonal corporate trend may negatively affect our profession.
Today, for example, during an exam, veterinarians often sit across the room staring at a computer screen displaying data generated by technicians performing diagnostic tests on the pet. That’s not for me. I absolutely must put my hands on the animal. That’s not only good medicine, it is also good practice.
Additionally, I know from my long career that there are many advantages to having a personal relationship with the owner and the pet. The knowledge, intimacy and continuity of care are great benefits for the patient and the family. This is lost when the patient sees a different veterinarian each visit; or the doctor fails to interview or listen to the client because of timed appointments or even to touch the animal, all often the case in the corporate practice style. That’s not my idea of good veterinary medicine.
There are, however, some advantages to the corporate change in veterinary medicine. Many of these new hospitals employ large numbers of specialty veterinarians who have undergone additional residency training in a specific field and are certified experts in their area. These specialists serve the veterinary community with their expertise, and often their hospitals have access to expensive equipment beyond a general practitioner’s ability. That, of course, is a good thing for the vet community. I have strong relationships with many such specialists at different hospitals throughout the New York area and take advantage of those specialists on behalf of my patients. In this regard, my clients and patients benefit from the infusion of capital that corporate ownership can bring.
Can you share 3 of the best pieces of advice you’ve gotten along your journey? Please give a story or example for each.
The best piece of advice I received along my journey came early on from my husband, Steve. He taught me to look at each problem individually, after which a solution can be easier to find.
Early on, each day upon my return home from a long and usually difficult day of house calls, I shared with him all the obstacles I encountered trying to be an urban vet going around Manhattan to my clients. Remember, this was years before the days of Uber and Lyft, not to mention cell phones or even the internet.
One day, when I came home late into the evening, I told him that I had a genuine premonition that I would die in the back seat of a taxi or else get killed on the street trailing to hail one. “Yikes. But that’s easy to fix,” and he suggested that I simply hire a driver. What?! Simply hire a driver? I was no millionaire, and the practice was barely scraping by. “Trust me,” he said, “this will make you money, not cost you. And it will keep you safe.”
So even though I thought it was an insane idea at first, as soon as I hired a driver (actually, I’ve had many — which itself is a story) I was able to see more patients, get around the city far faster and more easily, avoid inclement weather and finish my house calls often while it was still light out. And once cell phones became small and smart and the internet arrived, the back seat became not only my breakfast and lunch spot but also my traveling office. By the end of month one, the driver had already paid for himself.
When viewed all together, the startup problems in my new practice seemed insurmountable, but with Steve’s advice of a solution for each problem one at a time, all were surmounted. City Pets’ smooth operation over the last few decades is my case in point.
The second piece of advice that has stayed with me from the first day of my new practice was the wise words of the elderly client I mentioned. I knew he was a refugee from Nazi Germany and had worked his way up literally from being the mail room boy to becoming the CEO of a major New York investment bank. On the night I was fired, he told me he lived by the maxim that there is a silver lining in every black cloud, and your job was to find it. He told me that years before I knew him, he had been widowed of his beloved wife when she took her own life. He thought he would never or even could ever be happy again, but years later, he met and married a woman who was his soul mate. (Cute story: they were the first to be married by the captain of a Concorde while in flight and so were gifted free Concorde flights for life by the airline; unfortunately, the flight was bumpy, and his wife would never fly that airplane again.)
I came to appreciate his personal story even more in a short time. Getting fired was devastating to me — personally and professionally — and starting a practice from nothing was extremely difficult. But the reality was it was the best thing that could have happened to me. And this situation paled in comparison to what he had overcome.
Joan Rivers was also a source of great inspiration for me, as I’ve noted. Even as a child I was a great admirer of hers. I was delighted to learn that she graduated from Barnard College as did I. After years of treating her dogs she and I became dear friends. I was always amazed at her grueling work schedule (the schedule was posted on her refrigerator door, so I saw it often) and knew that any mere mortal would have difficulty with the demands she put on her time. Joan shared with me that she was thankful for every single job she got and would always give her best in every performance. She knew she was privileged to have her career. On that birthday night, she told me: “Amy, if you’re as old as I am and you’re still in demand to go out on stage, who cares what night it is — just be grateful!”
I often remind myself that I am privileged to have this career. All my life, I wanted nothing more than to be a good and respected veterinarian, and today, practicing in the personalized, compassionate way that I do, I am. And so, I will continue to do this and enjoy it for as long as possible.
We are sure you aren’t done. How are you going to shake things up next?
City Pets has been very successful in Manhattan. I believe my model would work just as well in other urban settings with a high density of people and pets, such as Philadelphia, Boston, Chicago, and similar places. Although City Pets would need to be customized for each city, I have the “secret sauce” to make a successful house call practice in all those places. So, while I can’t reveal what may come next, rest assured it will be exciting.
In your opinion, what are the biggest challenges faced by ‘women disruptors’ that aren’t typically faced by their male counterparts?
That’s a real issue. When I sat in the lobby at Cornell University Veterinary College awaiting my interview some 40 years ago, I marveled at all the honorary plaques on the wall that named the first-place graduates in each graduating class. They were all women.
That might lead you to think that females dominated this profession, but the absolute opposite was true at that time. In the past, the entire veterinary class was made up of male students as this profession was considered too difficult and unacceptable for females. The few women who back then could get admitted to veterinary schools had to be brilliant, and they naturally graduated first in their class.
Through the years, the proportions have changed dramatically, and now the profession is predominantly female, though the women still earn less. A recent Cornell study revealed that in the top earning quartile, women vets earn about $100,000 less than their male colleagues.
Currently, in the U.S., 67% of veterinarians are women, and the mean age of male veterinarians is ten years older than that of females. As time goes on and the older male vets retire, we will see an even further increase in the percentage of women vets in the profession.
Although I think it is good that women are no longer discriminated against when entering the profession, I do believe that the major reason for the proportion change isn’t a good one. Although veterinary school remains one of the most competitive medical programs to get into, the veterinary profession’s monetary compensation pales compared to other medical professions.
The average salary of working veterinarians today is $98,827, whereas the average human doctor’s salary is $238,000, a huge difference. I think, frankly, fewer men are applying to vet schools than before because of this, and I suspect many men are drawn to the more lucrative medical professions while women remain in the lower-paid veterinary profession.
We all know that women who worked were often considered the second family income and therefore didn’t need to earn as much as the primary wage earner. Not only is veterinary medicine not a lucrative career, but the high costs of specialized education required for vets (college pre-med just like human doctors; then many of the same initial medical school courses that human medicine students take; and, then, medical training in multiple species, quite unlike human doctors who have it easy concentrating in only one specie!) all should result in acceptable compensation, but as you can see this is not the case.
And so, I suspect many men are drawn to the more lucrative medical professions while women remain in the lower-paid profession. So it is the job of the women in our profession to fight for financial equality with our professional colleagues not only within the veterinary profession but between veterinary and human medical professions as well.
Do you have a book/podcast/talk that’s had a deep impact on your thinking? Can you share a story with us?
As I have shared, the greatest influence in my professional life was the books written by James Herriot. I have returned to them repeatedly whenever I need a little help or inspiration. Fortunately, he wrote a whole series of titles, so I never get bored reading and re-reading a chapter. And when I need a boost, I watch an episode from the original BBC series with Christopher Timothy as the young Herriot. Just the opening music gets me going.
When I read one of his books, the descriptions of his unique and often quirky Yorkshire Dales clients, his patients (from cats and dogs to pigs and bulls) are so clear that I feel I am alongside him as he works. In fact, the television series actually had the actors performing some basic veterinary medicine.
The joy of his work reminds me of my own on a good day. In so many of his tales, he had to be creative while treating a patient in the client’s home (usually a farm). So speaking of being creative, I remember one of my house calls when I was asked to remove the dewclaw (the extra toe) on a litter of twelve Irish Setter one-day old puppies. This was an impossible task as they would wiggle and squirm while I had to do a minor but genuine surgical procedure.
What would James Herriot do? I thought while setting up. It came to me immediately. He would work with what he had. Recalling my baby nephew’s recent circumcision (you know what happens there), I asked my client if she had any sweet wine or sherry. She looked at me oddly but brought me a bottle and a lovely crystal glass. I realized she thought I was going to drink it! Instead, I poured a little into the glass and dipped a long Q-Tip into it and then put the sweet wine-saturated cotton swab into the first puppy’s mouth and watched as he gladly suckled on it.
Sure enough, within about a minute the puppy was out cold, and the procedure was finished faster than ever before. I completed all of them in a matter of just a half an hour with nary a mishap, and my client then brought out two more of those lovely glasses and we both toasted to the successful procedures. Smiling along with my client as well as the mother dog and all twelve of her awakening puppies while drinking some wine just seemed so James Herriot, who was often rewarded by a client for his hard work with a homemade brew of some kind.
You are a person of great influence. If you could inspire a movement that would bring the most amount of good to the most amount of people, what would that be? You never know what your idea can trigger.
I appreciate the compliment. My day job is to provide medical care for one animal at a time. Although this is very rewarding for me, I do believe that I must do more. I think veterinarians have a ‘special voice’ in society, and I exercise that voice through my actions, my philanthropy, and by educating those animal lovers I encounter about how they too can do more. By this, I mean affecting animal welfare policy itself.
I’ll give you an example. Many new clients contact me to vet a new puppy they have just adopted. Unfortunately, their definition of adoption often means they have just paid thousands of dollars to purchase a puppy mill dog at a pet store. The puppy mill industry is enormous in this country and a strong lobby in agricultural states promotes and protects it.
But these are puppy factories, and there is nothing benign about them. Dogs are kept in deplorable conditions, often bred over and over and over, and mistreated, including by withholding vaccinations and other health needs that might raise costs. The result is that the puppies produced by puppy mills and sold to pet stores around the country — and then to innocent purchasers- often have severe medical and behavioral problems. Even though you might look through a store window and feel emotional toward those adorable little dogs, every purchase of one of them encourages the industry to crank out more. It is an awful situation.
In the past, I have joined forces with the Humane Society of the United States and also with Best Friends, the largest animal sanctuary in the country, in anti-puppy mill campaigns (think “Certified Puppy-Safe” — certifying for sale healthy, non-puppy-mill dogs — as a local law requirement for the commercial sale of puppies).
What’s another solution? Real adoption. When Sir Paul McCartney and his wife Nancy asked me what kind of dog would be best for them, I quickly replied: a rescue! And I suggested that since he is one of the most visible people in the world and a strong animal advocate, let’s publicize your decision to adopt a rescue. He and Nancy agreed, and we did just that.
In addition to dogs and cats, I have a real passion for wildlife, their health concerns and their habitat. Without healthy natural and wildlife ecosystems, the human leg of the health triad can’t thrive. Think Ebola, SARS, and COVID-19, all of which jumped to humans from wildlife. I have teamed up with the Wildlife Conservation Society, and through that alliance, I have been able to educate my animal-loving clients on the importance of the One Health concept. Through their subsequent generosity, I am responsible for over a million dollars of donations to WCS for wildlife and habitat health.
I also serve on the Board of Advisors of The University of Pennsylvania School of Veterinary Medicine. Through this position, I have helped introduce the One Health concept to Penn Vet, worked to modernize its curriculum, and mentored many members of the next generation.
Can you please give us your favorite “Life Lesson Quote”? Can you share how that was relevant to you in your life?
My favorite life lesson quotes are two: “never give up” and “follow your passion”. I have both personal and professional examples of how these have served me.
As a teen, I didn’t give up after fainting in the vet’s office; instead, I showed up day after day for years after that. I didn’t give up after not getting into any of the veterinary schools to which I had applied; I reapplied with a better application and resolved to keep reapplying until I got in. I didn’t give up when I was fired and had no prospect of a new job; instead, I started my house call practice and created the most rewarding career for myself.
And I didn’t give up when the man, now my beloved husband of 27 years, didn’t ask me for a second date. We met at the Animal Medical Hospital when he brought a fatally-ill, beautiful Weimaraner puppy in for care. Although it was a wonderful first date, I didn’t blame him for not calling again after his puppy passed. So, many months later, with no HIPPA rules in the way, I pulled his number from the records and called him.
In all of these situations, I didn’t give up because I knew that I had to follow my passion, whether my profession or my future husband. My life would be unfulfilled unless I obtained those things that I really, really wanted. And so I don’t take no for an answer.
How can our readers follow you online?
Readers can follow me on Twitter (https://www.twitter.com/citypetsvets), Instagram for some great photos (https://www.instagram.com/citypetsvets), Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/CityPetsVets / City Pets, Manhattan’s House Call Vets) or even through City Pet’s website, www.citypetsvets.com.
This was very inspiring. Thank you so much for joining us!
Female Disruptors: Dr Amy Attas of City Pets On The Three Things You Need To Shake Up Your Industry was originally published in Authority Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.