By Robert Beck

The morning waiting room at the Westside Veterinary Center welcomed a continuous flow of people and their pets. The dog beside me, reminded of past allergy shots and nail clippings, voiced her anxiety with a steady howl ranging from an apprehensive whine to a full-out bay. I calmed her down with some rubs and scratches, and ended up smelling like an old basset hound. For the rest of my visit, I was of great interest to the other animals.

The second floor of the Center has a small, “quiet room” for visitation and another that holds a nifty African Grey Parrot (they treat exotics and birds); then, the space opens into a large modern facility with a lot going on. One wall has crates full of cats in varied levels of humor. Two or more staff members and doctors attend to more standard treatments at the main examination table. There is an area that looks like a mini dentist’s office, with the swing-arm X-ray machine and one of those drills that gives you shivers.

A side room with crates for dogs is separated from the main area by windows. It’s quieter that way. Still, people are having conversations, medical equipment is signaling to the staff, and animals are making their feelings known. I could see (and hear) Ms. Basset in a crate, awaiting her turn.

One medium-sized dog under examination was pretty slippery but no match for the experienced staff. They held close ranks around the table. The dog popped up twice in a furtive search for exits, but they had him constrained in no time and on the road to better health.

At the far end is the surgical suite, with a prep room where animals are sedated for the procedures that happen in the adjoining OR. That’s what I came to paint. The room was bare when I began—mostly pale, flat surfaces and stainless steel. Four separate procedures were performed in the three-and-a-half hours I worked. An anesthesia cart appeared for the first. The table and tray were draped and undraped for each. When I looked up, cabinet doors would be open, then closed. Lights were relocated. The doctor and technician moved around methodically and immediately, then not. My painting is both an aggregate and a selection of what I saw. It was, at every time and at no time, exactly like that.

I knew the Bernese Mountain Dog was scheduled for last. That procedure, a gastropexy, took longer, allowing a more stable subject during the painting’s finishing phase when I had to get all the elements to relate to each other. It was also my best opportunity to describe the surgical site. I call the painting “Operation on a Bernese” because the other patients were mixed breeds, and “Operation on a Mutt” doesn’t have quite the ear feel. However, “Operation on a Basset Hound” would have been a fabulous title. She doesn’t know how easily she got off.

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See more of Robert Beck’s work and visit his UWS studio by going to www.robertbeck.net. Let him know if you have a connection to an archetypical UWS place or event that would make a good West Side Canvas subject.  Thank you!

Note: Before Robert Beck wrote West Side Canvas, his essays and paintings were featured in Weekend Column. Read Robert Beck’s earlier columns here and here.

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