Rick's Blog

#bunyipsbooksbeyond

Use the menu below to explore "All Posts," or delve into selected topics like "Children's Picture Books", and more.

George Orwell  gave us a useful little word for a very modern problem: Doublethink . The ability to hold two conflicting ideas in your head at the same time, and to believe both. In Orwell’s 1984  it sounded extreme: “2 + 2 = 5” and “2 + 2 = 4” living side by side in the same brain. Today, we don’t have a 1984 Ministry of Truth , but we do have something more polite and better dressed: University leaders who are expected to be wholly dedicated to the public good, while also s

In both settings, the veterinary resident is in the middle of a quiet crisis. But the shape   of that crisis, and the forces driving it, look different in a university teaching hospital than in a private specialist practice. Think of them as two parallel worlds with the same young clinician at the center, pulled by different kinds of gravity. Who is the Resident? In a university teaching hospital.   The resident is, officially, a learner  and a teacher .   Patients and client

When your dog is vomiting at 2 a.m. or your cat suddenly stops eating, you aren’t thinking about private equity, holding companies, or corporate structures. You’re thinking about trust . You want a veterinarian who listens, explains, and puts your pet ahead of profit. But behind the friendly faces at the front desk, the ownership of veterinary hospitals has changed dramatically. In many countries, a growing share of clinics are now owned or funded by large corporations and pr

In the past few months, three papers using dogs as models for brain tumor research have landed on my desk, and they’ve been hard to stop thinking about. The first , by John Rossmeisl and colleagues, explores how high-frequency irreversible electroporation (H-FIRE) reshapes tumor-derived extracellular vesicles and nudges the brain’s immune landscape. https://www.scilit.com/publications/4f97ed7da675ba231c52663a0d387ed9 The second , led by Sheila Carrera-Justiz, reports a system

The ginkgo leaf holds two distinct lobes on a single stem. You can think of one lobe as the independent practice  and the other as the corporate practice . They look separate, even pull in slightly different directions, but they’re joined at the same base: the veterinary profession’s oath to relieve suffering, protect animal welfare, and serve the bond between people and their animals. Hold the leaf up to the light and you see those veins radiating out like a river delta. Tha

In climate science, we talk about tipping points , externalities , and a just transition . These are not just abstract terms for melting ice sheets and coal plants. They are also a remarkably accurate vocabulary for what is happening to veterinary medicine in 2025. Veterinary care, like the climate, is being reshaped by powerful economic forces that gather momentum quietly and then suddenly feel unstoppable. The question in both arenas is no longer whether change is occurring

There aren’t many marketing professors who become household names, fewer still who manage to turn balance sheets and antitrust policy into compelling storytelling. Scott Galloway , NYU Stern professor, serial entrepreneur, podcaster, columnist, and now commentator on masculinity, has somehow done exactly that. At a moment when tech feels untouchable, politics feels tribal, and a lot of young people feel lost, Galloway has positioned himself as a kind of blunt, data-driven unc

In Marvel Comics, the Juggernaut  (aka. Cain Marko ) has a brutally simple power set. Once he starts moving, he cannot be stopped. Gifted with mystical strength by the entity Cyttorak , he becomes a living avalanche. Walls crumble, streets tear open, heroes scatter. And yet, for all his brute force, he has a weakness. Remove his helmet and telepaths can pierce his mind, slow him, even bring him down. The Crimson Gem of Cyttorak: Where the Power Comes From Juggernaut was not b

In Part 1 , I asked a simple question: Where, in 2025, does our profession openly and respectfully challenge one another’s ideas? We talked about the demise of letters to the editor, the rise of VIN and WhatsApp groups, and the strange new world where LinkedIn has become a kind of global hallway conversation for veterinary medicine. But there’s another question sitting behind all of this, and it’s more uncomfortable: Who benefits when veterinarians say less in public? Because

Once upon a time, if you wanted to challenge an idea in veterinary medicine, you wrote a letter. You read an article in a journal, you disagreed with the conclusions, or the statistics, or the ethics, and you put pen to paper. A few weeks or months later, your letter appeared in print alongside a reply from the author. The whole profession could see the debate, in black and white, preserved for the record. It wasn’t perfect, but it was authentic  and ours . It was slow, thoug

In veterinary medicine, as in many professions, we often celebrate the stars . The surgeon with flawless hands. The diagnostician who spots the zebra in a herd of horses. The researcher whose name appears first on a publication. But in doing so, we sometimes forget that modern veterinary care is not a solo performance. It is a symphony. One that falters if even a single instrument is ignored. The Problem with Stardom in Veterinary Culture Most clinics and teaching hospitals

Artificial intelligence has entered the world of scientific publishing with astonishing speed. What began as a convenience for grammar correction and language polishing has evolved into something far more potent: an analytical assistant , a reference engine , and, increasingly, a silent reviewer . The appearance of AI-generated text in manuscripts, and even AI-assisted peer reviews, has raised fundamental questions. What happens when artificial intelligence becomes not just a

For much of the late 20th century, veterinary neurology and neurosurgery were disciplines dominated by the United States, driven by large academic centers, NIH-funded comparative studies, and the early establishment of the Neurology Specialty of the American College of Veterinary Internal Medicine (ACVIM) . Yet, over the past two decades, a quiet but unmistakable seismic shift has occurred. Europe has not only caught up but now appears to lead the world in research productiv

The White House stands with its East Wing demolished beside a veterinary hospital partially destroyed. This is a shared metaphor for the erosion of dignity in both governance and medicine, and the hope of restoration through integrity.   I have been following the destruction of the White House East Wing with sadness and reflection. Then it occurred to me. Could this be a metaphor for what is happening in veterinary medicine? The Meaning of the People’s House There’s a certain

A visual interpretation of Lean Philosophy in Veterinary Medicine . The veterinarian, animals, and checklist represent purposeful, compassionate care; the central gear and circular arrows signify continuous improvement and efficient flow; the waste bin reminds us that true progress  in practice comes from eliminating inefficiencies, not empathy.   In today’s fast-paced veterinary world, many organizations are chasing more: more output , more speed , more profit . Yet true eff

Genchi Genbutsu  is a natural evolution from a principle of craftsmanship to a lament for what’s being lost in the corporatization of veterinary medicine. In Japanese, Genchi Genbutsu means the real place, the real thing. It’s the practice of going to the source. Seeing for yourself. Listening. And understanding before you decide. At Toyota, it was a cornerstone of quality and integrity. Managers walked the factory floor daily. Engineers didn’t rely on reports. They stood bes

Veterinary medicine stands at a crossroads. One path leads deeper into consolidation. Clinics absorbed into multinational portfolios, decisions filtered through finance departments, care measured in quarterly returns. The other path is quieter, more deliberate, and far less visible in headlines. It’s the slow reawakening of independence. A return to medicine as a vocation, not merely an investment. What’s possible when veterinarians, nurses, and clients reclaim ownership? Not

When your dog is sick or your cat stops eating, you don’t think about ownership structures or private equity. You think about trust . You want a veterinarian who listens. Who remembers your pet’s name. Who cares about more than the bill. But behind the friendly faces and bright clinic lights, the landscape of veterinary medicine has changed. Many clinics that appear local are now part of large corporate networks. Some are backed by international private equity firms. That doe

When a clinic changes hands, the sign out front rarely changes. The same faces greet you at the counter, the same nurses cradle your anxious cat, and the same vet crouches on the floor beside your dog. But beneath that continuity, something intangible begins to shift. Ownership, once local, personal, and proud, becomes abstract. Decisions begin to flow not from the treatment room, but from the top down. And for those who work inside, that change is not just administrative. It

Walk into a veterinary clinic today and you’ll see the familiar signs of care. Stethoscopes, wagging tails, and anxious owners. But behind the comforting rituals of everyday medicine, something far less visible is at work. A complex web of financial transactions that has turned veterinary care into one of private equity’s newest and most profitable playgrounds. The story is not just about who owns the clinic. It’s about why they own it and for how long. The Financialization o