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Memorials
December 10, 1940 to August 12, 2010
John and I first met Johanna at the old animal hospital when it was across the street from the original Whytes grocery store. Shammy, her dog, became one of our first patients in 1982. Johanna’s daughters were in an organization (I think the 4-H) and Johanna asked if the group could come up to the animal hospital and see me give Shammy a physical exam. There wasn’t a better patient in the world so I thought that would be great. The girls and their Mom’s all came into our tiny little hospital and I gave them a tour and then put Shammy up on the exam table. She was a perfect little dog for the demonstration and was very patient while the kids checked her over, too. Then, Johanna asked if I could trim her nails. She forgot to tell me that was the one thing poor Shammy didn’t tolerate well! So much for showing off how perfect Shammy was at the animal hospital.
Johanna and Sally Adams started working at the animal hospital in October 1990 when we moved to the new location. Both of them had been clients for the past eight years since we first opened our doors and Sally had been our plant lady. I knew Johanna would learn about all the products and services very quickly after seeing her in action at Blue Ridge Mountain Sport, and she did.
Johanna had adopted a stray cat from the laundry mat who became her beloved cat, Cali, who lived to be an incredibly elderly cat. I thought Johanna was a dog person until Cali came into her life, but she really blossomed into the ultimate cat lady.
Local veterinarians used to go to the SPCA to administer Rabies vaccines on a rotation. If the animal hospital wasn’t too busy when I went, I’d bring back an adoptable patient and spay or neuter them. One January the SPCA crew gave me a beautiful, long haired, pregnant cat to spay. She was a very nice cat and even stayed calm and happy while I ran a few errands on the way back from Charlottesville. I was supposed to bring her back to the SPCA in a few days. However, Johanna fell in love with her and named her January. January went straight from the animal hospital to be Cali and Shammy’s new friend at Johanna’s house.
When Sally moved to Arizona, Johanna became our new plant lady. All the plants inside the animal hospital were Johanna’s to care for. We used to have huge hanging baskets on the porch she tended as well. Those looked so good they were stolen one by one many years ago. That’s when we went to big, heavy pots outside that were harder to steal. Johanna planted and cared for them expertly so we would have a little color outside.
Years ago, when Cali’s thyroid level became too high, Johanna was our first client to take their cat to Springfield to have the then brand new radioactive iodine therapy done. Cali responded beautifully to the treatment and many clients since then were comforted to hear Johanna tell them how well she had done. It gave many of them peace of mind before they took their family pet so far away for such an expensive but wonderful treatment.
Johanna became a great photographer and took many staff photos for us that we used on welcome cards and the webpage for the animal hospital. They tell a history of all our wonderful employees. She was very patient at setting up the photo and then sneaking into the group. Of course, we always include pets - what a task we asked her to do…arrange all the people and pets and then run to get into the shot before the photo is taken and the pets and people move! She always managed to get a great shot that we all loved.
Of course, she was also the animal hospital wedding photographer - both Stephanie and Kelley had Johanna document their special day. And what great photos she took for them.
We are lucky enough to have several of her original photographs displayed at the animal hospital. She had quite a talent. Check out them out the next time you are at the animal hospital!
She was definitely a wonderful employee. She was always happy to see every client and greeted them all warmly every visit. She was happy to share her pet car advice with all of them and loved meeting the new patients. All our employees enjoyed her immensely. She never complained about the work, was always the last one to leave, and tried to make everyone’s job easier to do. She even mastered a new and difficult computer program earlier this year. She was determined to figure it out – and she did.
However, Johanna was more than a pet lover, animal hospital employee and client, plant lady, and photographer! John and I (and the rest of the staff) loved her dearly. She always had a smile and kind word for everyone. She will definitely be missed by all of us.
Kathi and John Gruss
♥ Beatrice ♥ May 1997 - April 2010 Our lovely girl, Beatrice, died April 8, 2010, just one day short of the first anniversary of the death of her mother, Olivia. The weather was warm and beautiful, with just a hint of the thunderstorm expected that evening. Beatrice, or Trixie as we often called her, was a beagle mix. She and her mother came to live with us 13 years ago when Beatrice was a puppy. From the start, Beatrice was almost perfect. She was loving, and sweet, but there were just some things she wanted to do regardless how any of the rest of us felt about it. For instance, she was a snatch and run artist with food, and she was quite creative in acquiring it. Once she had gotten her prey, she would run into my bedroom, where she would bury the remains. She didn't care if the evidence of her crime was left behind, she had gotten what she wanted, and she was happy. It was my job to clean up afterwards. At this moment, a plastic sandwich bag, from her last crime spree, is peeking out from under my dresser. Beatrice had some other interesting characteristics. For instance, she never figured out that we were any different than she. She just assumed that we were too stupid to walk on all fours. Sometimes she'd walk on two legs - especially when she was a baby - imitating us. I used to wonder if she was confused, or if she was trying to discover the appeal. We always knew that we were lucky to become a part her life, and we were grateful for every minute. She was full of innocent devilry, but she was also nakedly needy. She was always ready be overlooked - accepting of being slighted if she thought this might happen. It was probably because of this neediness that she wanted everybody to love her. She'd work on anybody who wasn't instantly smitten with her until they became her friend. This past year has been very hard on her. After her mother died (April 9, 2009), Beatrice was traumatized whenever she was put into her crate. This shocked us because she always liked her crate. Things came to a head in this department a few months later when my father died. We put her in her crate one day, and came home to find that she'd chewed the metal hinges off. After that, we just let her roam the house while we were gone. Mostly she'd spend her free time laying in Papa's closet, grieving for him. This past Monday, Dr. Kathy removed the small tumor that I'd discovered under Beatrice's left arm. During the operation, Kathy found a really troublesome tumor that almost closed off her throat. Dr. Kathy removed as much of it as she could, but it had spread to her tongue and throat, so Kathy could not get a good margin. The lab report came back today and confirmed our worse fears: death was not in the too distant future. Within an hour of talking to Kathy, and finding out what signs to watch for, we realized that the first one had begun: she wasn't eating. On the drive to Earlysville, a second, and even more sinister symptom appeared. She was panting and panting trying to get air. Her skin was blue by the time we got her on the exam table. Letting Beatrice go was the only humane decision. We prayed over her, and then gave her to Dr. Kathy, trusting that she would take care of our girl this one last time, just the way she had taken care of her all of her life. Beatrice was nearly perfect, and that is just the way we liked her. Anne and Carrie Zook
♥ Olivia ♥
May 1995 – April 2009 
April 9, 2009, was warm and sunny, with a few fluffy clouds floating high in the sky above. The drive to Earlysville that day would have been vastly pleasant, except that it was journey that would mark the end of our beautiful and precious baby.
Olivia, a Beagle, had been sick for a long time. She had never really been well, so was a frequent guest at Earlysville Animal Hospital. Some of her health issues were undoubtedly a result of her less than good start in life. We suspect that she must have escaped from one of those terrible puppy farms while she was pregnant because when she was found, someplace near Scottsville, she had four babies – and as Doctor John told us - this hadn’t been her first litter. She probably had been used to produce hunting dogs. She was about two years old.
When Olivia and her babies were captured, they were taken to the ASPCA. By the time our father and sister arrived, looking for a birthday gift for Carrie, three of the puppies had already been adopted. Our father picked up the fourth and last puppy (Beatrice), and then looked down at a very unhappy and whimpering Olivia. To our everlasting gratitude, he took her, too.
Our house was in bad need of a dog, but it wasn’t love at first sight. The first twenty-four hours were a trial for us all. Olivia was terrified, and we were still reeling from the death another much-loved pet, and were not equipped to deal with two high-energy escape artists. Every time the door opened a crack, out they went. Anne slipped and broke her arm during their first escape, so it was left to Carrie to corral the escapees, and to try to figure out how to keep the dogs in the house. This was not a great start, but love has a way of growing when you least expect it. The next day, during brunch, both dogs lay in a patch of sun, sound asleep, not understanding that the delicious smells meant food. It wasn’t much, but it was enough so that the ice that had formed around our hearts at the death of Willie cracked enough to let in a couple of small hounds.
From the start, Olivia was full of fear and insecurities – some of which never left her. The studio at our house has built-in bookcases. The lowest shelf is five or six inches off the floor. The day she came into the house, she ran under one of the bookcases, and stayed there. A couple of weeks later, she adopted a very tall basket as her home. She stood about ten inches tall, and the basket is about 18 inches tall, but for the next ten years or so – until she could no longer get in and out of the basket unaided, that is where she spent much of her time. She’d jump in there, and then, in a little while, you’d see a sandy head pop up, followed by a face with a sharp little nose and boot button eyes. She’d let Beatrice in the basket, but she was in charge. Most people found it hard to believe that Olivia was a domestic tyrant – probably because she was small, submissive, and adorable, but she ruled Beatrice with an iron fist. More than that, she terrorized poor Beatrice. Olivia didn’t care if one of us tried to get in the middle to keep the peace, if she thought Beatrice went over the line, she put her in her place in no uncertain terms. She also hogged all the toys by sitting on them.
Olivia is gone now, and Beatrice is feeling at loose ends. Olivia’s empty beds are a constant reminder to us that she is not coming home. But we leave them where they sit to give Beatrice comfort. She likes to scratch the beds and sniff Olivia’s scent.
The twelve Olivia years sped quickly past. When Dr. Kathy called to say that this last illness was insurmountable, it was with anguish that we made the decision to stop treatment, but we knew we had to let her go. And now, two weeks later, we are still grief stricken and sad, and wish that we hadn’t taken the time we had with her for granted. We wish we had been less impatient when she took twenty minutes to finish her outside trip. But more than anything else, we wish we could open the front door, and see those black eyes peeking up over the top of that basket.
Anne and Carrie Zook
 You brought me to tears.
I lessened your fears.
You were my protector.
I was your world.
Lover of tennis balls.
Days at the beach.
Running with the wind through the woods, like an Arctic Wolf.
A wise soul who knew how to love unconditionally.
You taught me many lessons about what is really important in life ~ kindness, patience, love…
I’m so glad I found you.
I’m so glad I was a part of your short journey through life.
Now you are looking down at me, watching me pass through the rest of my journey.
You taught me to never give up.
You never gave up on me.
Will you wait for me?
Until next time…
Rest In Peace Old Friend
In loving memory of “Bingo” Newman-King
8/15/91 – 5/15/08
I truly want to thank everyone for always helping and caring for my beloved Bingo. Your hard work, compassion and dedication to giving the best possible care to all God’s creatures will always be appreciated. It is never easy to let go of a loved one and I am comforted in knowing I had a compassionate and caring team help me to say “its time”. I’d like to share with you a story, of how a dog made me whole.
I was just a little girl the day my Mom surprised me with the greatest gift of all. It was 2 months before my 10th birthday when she told me she had a surprise for me. We hopped in the car, that cool October day, and drove out into the country. She told me she was getting me my very own puppy. I couldn’t believe my ears. When we pulled up to the house, I jumped out and she said with a smile on her face “go pick one.” So I sat down, in a sea of black and white faces, and tried to think of which one to choose. And through the pack emerged the most beautiful puppy I’d ever seen. She sat right down in my lap and looked at me as if to say, “Now let’s go home.”
From the moment she “picked me”, she was to most faithful and loving companion; always by my side. She was forever my source of laughter, joy and love. Whether she was herding her favorite ball around the yard, swinging from the horse’s tails (yes swinging), squeaking her favorite toy, or laying with her head upon my lap, she was always my greatest joy in life. And I am so blessed to have shared over 16 ears of wonderful memories with her.
I’ll forever miss the Frisbee games, the skinned tennis balls, the gutting of a new toy. I’ll miss the intense stare she gave as I cooked, the demanding tone she used when she wanted something done…NOW! and the little dance she’d do at dinner. I’ll miss the running, the playing, the laughter and the love. And all those many hugs and kisses. I’ll miss her acute ability to always know when I came near. Even being nearly deaf, she’d know the second I came home. But most of all I’ll miss her loyalty. Her undying affection and will to always be at my side.
She was the warmth in my heart, the twinkle in my eye, and a part of my soul, and a part of my soul. She was my faithful companion, my partner in crime and my very best friend. And I dare not say “goodbye”, for I know in my heart I’ll be seeing her again.
She will be forever missed and I will always cherish the many memories I had with her. So I say this to you, my beloved Bingo… Wait for me, watch for me, speak softly through the gentle breeze, and forever be at peace, for I’ll be seeing you again once more. And I will forever remember that cool October day, when a little girl and a little black and white puppy found the other half that made them whole.
“I love thee, I love thee with a love that shall not die. Til’ the sun grows cold and the stars grow old.”
-William Shakespeare-
 Simba Mack
Feb. 8th 1992 – March 31st 2008
I was 22 years old. It was a time for living in the moment, free to do what I wanted. And that I did. It was spring of ’92 on Cape Cod. I strolled into the pet store just to look. And there she was. A red ball of fur sitting quietly amongst the shavings, looking up at me. A Min Pin was bouncing off the glass walls all around her. I stood on my tiptoes and peeked over at her and motioned for this little fur dot to come closer. She attempted to but stopped, as she was afraid of getting trampled by her cage mate, who clearly had ADHD. The sales clerk asked if I wanted to hold her while she unlatched the large glass door. “Oh no thanks”, I said. “I have a boat to catch back to Nantucket.” Two seconds later this little puffball was in my arms, pulling on my hooded sweatshirt strings. Little did I know she’d be pulling on my heartstrings also.
I proudly walked out of that store with “Simba” cradled in my arms not knowing anything about Pomeranians, not knowing squat about the harsh realities of puppy mills, and not knowing what the next day would bring. But, I didn’t care. I had my little baby. I had my first puppy ever. Life was good.
Simba blossomed into a ray of sunshine. Her radiant personality brought a smile to my face every day. Training was a breeze. Obedience commands were quickly learned and with the help of a bag of Cheerios. Throughout the years we did everything together. We hiked and walked many miles through the White Mountains of New Hampshire, the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina, and the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, to the endless stretches of Nantucket beaches. During our long walks Simba cheerfully pranced beside me always with great joy and glee. She loved the outdoors and embraced each new adventure with all of her little pom energy. Blueberrying on the moors of Nantucket and spending endless sunny days at the beach were her favorite past times. Misty summer mornings were spent picking her own blueberries right off the beach, enjoying the sweet taste in her mouth. Summer afternoons were spent digging for pebbles and shells near the water’s edge. Wintertime she’d pounce on the snowballs I threw for her, bouncing back to me through the snowdrifts, snow caked in her little lion mane. Those were the Simba years. Years of sweetness.
After giving me so much of herself for so many wonderful years, the letting go had finally taken place. It was Simba’s time. Her days were ending. Our last night together I thanked her for sharing her life with me and for being such a good little girl. I told her how much she was loved by me and everyone who knew her and how she made such a huge impression on people’s hearts. I hoped that somehow she understood me.
As her little soul drifted off and approached the light, I could still feel her presence, her gentle spirit surrounding me. I sat with her one last time cradled in my arms with her torn and tattered Snoopy doll next to her. A flashback of memories came to my mind. I remembered all the joy and happiness this little girl brought into each new phase of my life for the last 16 years. During our very last moment together and through the tears and sadness I finally figured it all out: Life is magical, it is so precious and there are so many things to love. This was my love. It was mine and it filled me and it defined me and it compels me to carry on.
  Mollie Wright10/23/83 – 3/1/08
By: Cathy Mack, LVT She was cute as a button when I saw her. It was my first day at E.A.H. I asked Jeanne Roach (who was wearing penny loafers and Land’s End khakis as she was cleaning the kennel) how long the Wright cats were boarding. When she explained to me she and her three children were “dropped off” since her owner went into a nursing home my heart skipped. “Hello little Mollie” I whispered. She looked up at me with squinty eyes, a smirk on her face and let out a very distinctive sounding “meooooow.”
A month went by as I settled into my new Virginia home. It was a cold January day and the end of a busy Saturday at E.A.H. While I was putting the Wright cats to bed little Mollie was “yelling” at her grown children; Monroe, Herbie and Amanda. I chuckled, as I couldn’t believe a 19 year old mama cat was still disciplining her kids. I thought to myself, “she’s so tiny, why not give her a break and take her to my place for the weekend?” I approached Dr. Kathi who was diligently writing up her records and asked her permission. Dr. Kathi said “oh yes, that would be nice, I’ll get together some of her meds
 and prescription diet.” Her medicine? Special food? It was just going to be for the weekend, a day and a half. As I was heading for the door with Mollie, Storm and Simba in tow Dr. Kathi comes around the corner with, shall I say, an “over night” bag containing fluids, needles, syringes, Zeniquin, Cosequin, k/d, her pink “donut” and of course her Pepcid. I said: “Dr. Kathi, why all this????” After a 20 minute explanation on all of Mollie’s care and learning that she was in renal failure, I though good lord, well….I decided to take Mollie home for “hospice care” instead. I figured, what the hell, she’s 19, in kidney failure, and probably has only a few months to live.A few months?! Not quite.. More like FIVE YEARS! Yes, 5 years of vet tech care for this little mouse of a cat. The first day home she immediately claimed Seymour’s bed as her own and at the same time assigned herself as queen bee of her new household. Or, better – Queen Cat. Emma immediately took Mollie under her wing and faithfully groomed the top of her head and licked her eye boogies daily. Soon my niece and nephew had nicknames for her, “Peanut and “Old Lady Grumpy Baggy Bum.” Every night for five years she slept under the covers pressed up against my tummy. She was my little snuggle safe. One day she came tearing out of the litter box in circles just like the Tasmanian Devil! She grabbed the first toy she saw and started bathing it around. I yelled out; “Mollie, what in the hell are you doing?! You should be in a wheelchair at your age!” I thought she was possessed. I described this strange Taz like behavior to Dr. Emily and she responded: “oh, that’s just her post poop euphoria.” Up until a couple months ago she still would have her P.P.E episodes.
I’ll miss my little Mollie. Sadly, her life came to an end today. Who knows, maybe she’s up there with Seymour stealing his food and bed and at the
 same time screaming at Herbie, Monroe and Amanda. She’s certainly putting everyone back in their place once again, I’m sure. I loved that damn cat. Maybe because she was so feisty and had such a strong will to live for such a sick, old, little girl.Up until the very end she still managed to utter out her little Mollie meow. But this time it was just a whisper. As she drew in her last breath I finally said to her “Mollie, you were a great cat.”
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Earlysville Animal Hospital
Johanna Vyborny 
Johanna worked at Blue Ridge Mountain Sport and was likely the most knowledgeable employee they ever had. Their manager, John Holden, confirmed that when we called for a reference. She knew all the clothes they sold inside and out. She told John and I that we needed Patagonia jackets so we each got one. Many years later, John’s jacket went into our washer in one piece and came out torn to shreds. Johanna told John to let Patagonia know, so he did. Not too long later a brand new jacket arrived for him. The only difference from the old jacket was a new more modern color. We were amazed. Without Johanna the ripped, old jacket would have just gone into the trash. 
