My long‑term goal is to build a rural mixed animal practice that grows in stages, first as an ambulatory service and eventually as a full clinic where I can perform more complex procedures and offer haul‑in care. To get there, I’m intentionally structuring my early career around building skills, financial stability, and community trust. After graduation and passing the NAVLE, my first step is to complete a large animal internship. This will give me intensive, supervised experience in herd health, emergencies, theriogenology, and field surgery. The “resource” in this phase is mentorship: seasoned clinicians, high caseload, and exposure to the realities of large animal practice. I’m treating this as my clinical boot camp before I’m fully on my own. After the internship, my plan is to work in a small animal practice for a few years. This might seem like a detour, but it’s a strategic one. Small animal positions typically offer higher starting salaries, more predictable hours, and sometimes signing bonuses or production pay. My goal in this phase is twofold: - Financial: aggressively pay down high‑interest loans and build savings for my future ambulatory practice. I’m aiming to save at least $60,000–$100,000 over several years, specifically earmarked for startup costs. - Skill‑building: refine my surgical skills, anesthesia management, client communication, and practice flow, skills that translate directly into running my own business later. Once I have a financial cushion and a clearer picture of my long‑term location, I plan to launch my ambulatory mixed animal practice. Starting mobile keeps overhead relatively low while allowing me to serve ranches, smallholders, and rural pet owners. A rough initial budget for the ambulatory phase might look like: - Truck and vet box: $60,000–$90,000 (depending on used vs. new) - Core equipment (portable ultrasound, chute‑side gear, dental tools, basic surgical kit, centrifuge, cooler/fridge): $30,000–$50,000 - Initial inventory (drugs, vaccines, supplies): $15,000–$25,000 - Licensing, insurance, accounting, software, marketing: $5,000–$10,000 So realistically, I’m planning for $110,000–$175,000 to get a solid ambulatory practice off the ground. I’ll combine personal savings with a small business loan and possibly USDA rural development or state agricultural support programs. My main resources here are: my existing relationships in agriculture, my background on a ranch, and the trust I’ve built in the community. As the ambulatory practice grows and I better understand client needs, I plan to slowly transition toward a hybrid model: still offering farm calls, but adding a physical clinic. The building will allow me to perform more complex surgeries, provide hospitalization, and offer haul‑in facilities for large animals. For the clinic phase, I’m planning: - Land purchase in a central, accessible rural area with trailer access and room to expand. - Modest initial building: small animal exam rooms, a surgery suite, a treatment area, a basic lab/pharmacy, and a haul‑in bay. Construction and outfitting could realistically range from $500,000–$1.2 million, depending on size and materials. I’ll approach this step only once the ambulatory practice is consistently profitable and I have clear financials to support a loan. I’ll also explore partnerships, co‑ownership, or bringing in an associate to share workload and risk. I’ve also thought through the angles if things don’t go perfectly. If loan repayment is more burdensome than expected, I can extend my time in small animal practice or seek positions with loan repayment incentives. If ambulatory demand is slower to build, I can work part‑time relief shifts in nearby clinics while growing my client base. If a full building isn’t immediately feasible, I can start with a smaller structure or a leased space and expand later.

If I could start a business with my brother, it would be something that blends both of our strengths. He had a natural gift for working with animals, and I always wanted to become a veterinarian. Even when we were kids, he had a way of calming animals that didn’t make sense to anyone except the animals themselves. He would spend hours working with a horse that no one else could work with, and he did so with patience, determination, and a truly admirable instinct. He had this gentle energy about him that animals always responded to. I’ve always admired that about him. My connection to animals came through study, discipline, and eventually veterinary medicine. His came through instinct. Together, we would have made an amazing team with the intuitive stockman and the medically trained veterinarian, working side by side. The business we would build together would be a working ranch designed for young people who want to enter agriculture, ranching, or trade work but don’t have the resources or support to get started. It would be hands‑on, practical, and rooted in the values we grew up with: hard work, humility, and helping the next person in line. He would teach horsemanship, stockmanship, and the kind of quiet confidence animals respond to. I would teach animal health, preventive care, and the science behind good management. But more than anything, the ranch would be a place where people feel seen. Both of us grew up knowing what it felt like to start with very little. We knew what it meant to work twice as hard just to get a foot in the door. Our business would exist for the kids who remind us of ourselves, the ones with grit, heart, and no roadmap. In many ways, I’m already carrying pieces of this dream forward. Through A Cowboy’s Halo, the nonprofit my family founded after his passing, I help run a scholarship program for young people entering agriculture and trade work. In veterinary school, I’m building the skills I would have brought to our shared business, livestock medicine, herd health, and community‑centered care. If my brother were still here, I know we’d be building this dream together. Since he’s not, I carry both halves of it: his instinct, my training, and our shared belief that helping others is the most meaningful work a person can do.

Sustainability in veterinary medicine is not just a professional responsibility; it is a personal one. I grew up between the Paiute Native Reservation in Schurz, Nevada, and a cattle ranch in Washoe Valley. That land raised me. It fed my family, shaped my values, and taught me that survival depends on balance. In communities like mine, where the nearest veterinarian is over three hours away, sustainability is not a buzzword. It is a way of life. I chose veterinary medicine because I believe in protecting the bond between animals, people, and the land they share. I have seen how fragile that bond can be. As a teenager, I tried to save a neighbor’s calf who had been shocked with a cattle prod. I cared for him for six months, but he didn’t survive. That loss broke my heart, but it also lit a fire in me. I realized that healing animals means understanding the systems they live in, how they’re raised, how the land is managed, and how people make decisions under pressure. Veterinarians are uniquely positioned to influence those systems. We are trusted advisors in communities that rely on livestock for food, income, and identity. We can guide producers toward practices that protect soil health, reduce antimicrobial resistance, and improve animal welfare. We can advocate for rotational grazing, integrated parasite management, and preventive care that reduces the need for chemical interventions. These are not just best practices; they are lifelines for the land and the people who depend on it. At Cornell and in my work at Southwest Veterinary Hospital, I’ve seen how even small management changes can ripple outward. I’ve also seen how hard it is to make those changes without support. That’s why I want to return to Nevada and open a mixed-animal practice serving ranchers, tribal communities, and underserved families. I want to be the vet who shows up when no one else will, the one who listens, educates, and helps people make sustainable choices that work for their land, their animals, and their lives. But sustainability is not just about ecosystems. It is about people. In 2023, I lost my brother. In the wake of his passing, my family and I founded “A Cowboy’s Halo,” a nonprofit that offers scholarships to young people entering agriculture. I also lost a beloved veterinary mentor to suicide. These losses pushed me to confront another crisis in our field: the mental health of those who care for others. Burnout and isolation are real threats to sustainability. A profession cannot serve its communities if it cannot care for its own. That is why I am building a mental health initiative for veterinary professionals. I want to create a culture where asking for help is seen as a strength, not a weakness. Sustainability includes emotional resilience, peer support, and systems that prevent people from falling through the cracks. In the future, I see myself as a rural veterinarian, educator, and advocate. I will offer care that is grounded in science and shaped by lived experience. I will teach producers how to steward their land without sacrificing their livelihoods. I will mentor students who want to serve where they are most needed. And I will keep fighting for a profession that sustains not just animals and ecosystems, but the people who hold it all together. Sustainability is not a side project. It is the heart of everything I do. And with this education, I intend to protect that heart, for my community, for my patients, and for the land that made me who I am.

Veterinary medicine isn’t just a career path for me. It is a calling rooted in survival, resilience, and love. I chose this field because it bridges everything I care about: rural community care, animal health, and mental wellness. My childhood was split between the Paiute Native Reservation in Schurz, Nevada, and a cattle ranch in Washoe Valley. That duality shaped me. On one side, I learned self-reliance through hardship, surviving abuse from my mother. On the other hand, I found purpose in the rhythm of ranch life with early mornings, calloused hands, and the quiet dignity of caring for animals. The moment I knew I wanted to be a veterinarian came when I tried to save a neighbor’s calf who had been shocked with a cattle prod. I was just a teenager, but I poured everything into his care: feeding, monitoring, hoping. He died six months later. I was devastated. But instead of turning away, I leaned in. That loss taught me that healing doesn’t always mean saving. It means showing up, doing the work, and honoring the bond between humans and animals. In high school, I joined the National FFA Organization, where I honed my communication and time management skills. Those tools now serve me well in my roles at Southwest Veterinary Hospital and Cornell’s Teaching Animal Hospital. Whether I am assisting in surgery or comforting a worried client, I feel the weight and privilege of this work. Facilitating the human-animal bond is not just fulfilling. It is sacred. Initially, I thought I would pursue veterinary neurology. I spent years in research, from imaging zebra finch brains under a confocal microscope to studying equine infectious neurological disease at Cornell. But during externships, I realized something was missing. I wanted deeper relationships with clients, with communities, and with the land I came from. That is why I have shifted my focus to rural mixed animal practice. My dream is to open a clinic in Nevada, where the nearest veterinarian is currently over three hours away. I want to be the person who shows up when no one else can. Veterinary school has tested me in every way. I have balanced two jobs, served as an officer in three clubs, worked as a teaching assistant, and contributed to research. But the most grounding part of my life is my dog Smudge, a gift from my late brother who passed away in June 2023. His death cracked something open in me. In his honor, my family and I founded “A Cowboy’s Halo,” a nonprofit that offers scholarships to aspiring cowboys and cowgirls. I chair the scholarship committee, and every application reminds me why this work matters. This past year, I also lost a beloved veterinary mentor to suicide. His passing, along with my own experiences with mental health, pushed me to launch a mental health initiative for veterinary professionals. Our field has one of the highest suicide rates of any profession. I want to change that. I am building a space where we can speak openly, support each other, and remind ourselves that asking for help is a strength, not a weakness. Veterinary medicine is where my past and future meet. It is how I honor my brother, my community, and the animals that shaped me. With this education, I hope to build a practice that heals bodies and hearts. I want to be a resource in underserved areas, a mentor to the next generation, and an advocate for mental health in our profession. This is not just a degree. It is a promise. And I intend to keep it.

I chose veterinary medicine because it’s where my love for animals, my commitment to rural communities, and my desire to serve all intersect. Growing up between the Paiute Reservation in Schurz and a cattle ranch in Washoe Valley, Nevada, I saw firsthand how access to veterinary care—or the lack of it—impacts both animal welfare and producer livelihoods. I became self-sufficient early, working as a ranch hand and navigating personal adversity, and those experiences shaped my resilience and my drive to make a difference. My passion for veterinary medicine was solidified through hands-on experience. One pivotal moment was nursing a neighbor’s calf after he had been shocked with a cattle prod. I cared for him diligently for six months, but he ultimately passed away. That loss was heartbreaking, but it deepened my commitment to animal health. I wanted to be the person who could intervene earlier, offer better care, and support the people behind the animals. Since then, I’ve worked in veterinary hospitals, served as a teaching assistant, and held leadership roles in professional organizations—all intending to return to central Nevada to establish a rural mixed animal practice focused on beef cattle and equine medicine. My clinical interests are broad, but my values are clear: I believe in accessible, ethical, and compassionate care. That belief extends to my views on purebred dogs and breeding. I’ve worked with many purebred animals in clinical and teaching settings, and I deeply respect the dedication of responsible breeders who prioritize health, temperament, and genetic integrity. Purebred dogs often serve important roles in agriculture, therapy, and service work, and when bred thoughtfully, they can be exceptional companions and working partners. However, I’m also acutely aware of the ethical concerns surrounding breeding practices. Poorly regulated breeding can lead to significant health issues, from brachycephalic airway syndrome to orthopedic disorders and immune dysfunction. As a future veterinarian, I feel a responsibility to educate clients about breed-specific risks, advocate for genetic screening, and support breeding decisions that prioritize animal welfare over aesthetics or profit. I believe veterinarians should be active participants in guiding responsible breeding—not just treating the consequences of poor choices. In rural communities, where working dogs are often essential to daily operations, breeding decisions carry even more weight. A well-bred stock dog can make or break a ranch’s efficiency, and I’ve seen how thoughtful breeding contributes to both animal performance and producer success. I plan to incorporate breed education into my rancher teaching initiative, helping producers understand how genetics, structure, and health history influence long-term outcomes. Whether it’s a border collie managing cattle or a Great Pyrenees guarding livestock, these animals deserve careful consideration and lifelong support. Ultimately, my goal is to be a veterinarian who not only heals animals but also empowers the people who care for them. That includes supporting responsible breeders, guiding pet owners through ethical decisions, and advocating for the health and dignity of every animal—purebred or not. My late brother, a cowboy whose legacy inspires my work, believed in doing right by animals and people alike. I carry that belief with me into every exam room, every pasture, and every conversation about what it means to breed, raise, and care for animals with integrity.

Growing up between the Paiute Reservation in Schurz and a cattle ranch in Washoe Valley, I witnessed both the resilience and the challenges of rural life. These experiences shaped my identity and ignited a lifelong commitment to serving communities. As I prepare to graduate from veterinary school, I carry with me not only clinical training but a deep sense of purpose rooted in family, agriculture, and the belief that meaningful change begins with service. In the short term, I plan to return to central Nevada and establish a rural mixed animal practice. Veterinary support in this region is critically limited—some producers are hours from the nearest clinic. I aim to fill that gap by working as a mobile practitioner, offering accessible, high-quality care tailored to the needs of ranching families. My background as a ranch hand and my current clinical experience at Cornell’s Teaching Animal Hospital have prepared me to serve both individual animals and herd-level operations. I also plan to help run my family’s cattle ranch, contributing directly to food animal production and rural sustainability. Alongside clinical practice, I am creating a rancher education program designed to teach producers how to doctor livestock in the field when veterinary care isn’t accessible. I believe in meeting ranchers where they are—with practical, hands-on guidance that supports both animal health and livelihoods. This program will include workshops, printed resources, and on-site support, empowering ranchers with the tools they need to care for their animals confidently and responsibly. It’s a way to extend the reach of veterinary medicine while honoring the independence and expertise of producers. This program is deeply personal. It honors my late brother, a cowboy whose grit, compassion, and love for the land continue to inspire me. After his passing in June 2023, my family and I founded "A Cowboy’s Halo", a nonprofit that provides scholarships to aspiring cowboys and cowgirls. I serve as chair of the scholarship committee, and through this work, I’ve seen how financial support and mentorship can open doors for young people in agriculture. I want to continue expanding this effort, creating opportunities for future generations to thrive in rural professions. I’m also passionate about mental health advocacy, particularly within agricultural veterinary communities. The loss of a beloved mentor to suicide—himself a rural mixed animal practitioner—was a devastating reminder of the pressures faced by those who serve in isolated, high-stakes environments. In response, I’ve begun developing a mental health initiative aimed at creating safe spaces for veterinary professionals to share their struggles and access support. I believe that healing animals and supporting producers must go hand-in-hand with caring for the caregivers themselves. Long-term, I envision a practice that not only provides veterinary care but also serves as a hub for education, mentorship, and community resilience. I want to build programs that empower producers, support young professionals, and honor the legacy of those who came before me. Whether it’s through clinical service, nonprofit work, or mental health advocacy, my goal is to make rural Nevada a place where animals are well cared for, ranchers are supported, and future generations have the tools they need to succeed. I am passionate about making my community a better place because it’s where my story began—and where I want it to continue. My family, my patients, and my neighbors deserve access to care, compassion, and opportunity. By investing in rural veterinary medicine, producer education, and mental health, I hope to be a change maker who strengthens the fabric of the community I love—for myself, for my family, and for those who will follow.

Mental health awareness is a fundamental aspect of my life shaped by personal experiences and the desire to support others in the veterinary field. Growing up in the Paiute Native Reservation in Schurz, Nevada, and working on my father’s cattle operation in Washoe Valley, I faced numerous challenges, including childhood abuse. These hardships not only fostered my resilience and self-sufficiency but also ignited a profound passion for mental health advocacy. This journey took on new dimensions as I witnessed the emotional toll that caring for animals can take on veterinarians and their staff. The loss of a beloved mentor to suicide was a pivotal moment for me, highlighting the urgent need for mental health resources within the veterinary community. In response, I began working on a mental health initiative aimed at addressing the growing concerns around suicide rates in this profession. My goal is to create a supportive environment where veterinary professionals feel safe sharing their struggles and seeking help. While my dedication to animal health is steadfast, I recognize that the well-being of those who care for animals is equally critical. Throughout my academic journey, I balanced multiple responsibilities, including working two jobs and holding leadership positions in various clubs. The experience taught me vital time management and communication skills that I strive to share with my peers. I believe that promoting mental health awareness and fostering open conversations about emotions can create a healthier work environment for everyone involved. In addition to my advocacy work, I am committed to honoring the memory of my late brother through our non-profit, “A Cowboy’s Halo.” As the chair of the scholarship committee, I help provide financial assistance to aspiring cowboys and cowgirls, instilling a sense of community and support. This initiative reflects my belief in the importance of mental resilience and camaraderie in navigating the challenges that come with the veterinary profession. My aspiration to specialize in veterinary neurology is driven not just by a love for animal medicine but also by a desire to combine my interests in animal health and mental well-being. By integrating compassionate care for both animals and humans, I aim to foster an environment where mental health is prioritized and understood. Ultimately, I hope to leave a lasting impact on the veterinary field, ensuring that the memory of my loved ones continues to inspire positive change and support for those in need.