2. Greg Mertz, DVM, is the Chief Executive Officer of New England Wildlife Center and an exotic
pet veterinarian. He calls himself the “Odd Pet Vet.”
“Vet refers to the vet, pet refers to the animal, and odd refers to the client,” Mertz said, the hint
of a smirk visible beneath his silver mustache. By owning unusual pets, Mertz believes, his clients are
“really looking to connect with the biology of the earth.”
For the past 24 years, Mertz has treated animals from water dragons to degus to carpet
pythons, and proceeds from his veterinary services go to supporting the rehabilitation efforts of the
New England Wildlife Center, which houses his office and sits in a woodsy area of Weymouth,
Massachusetts.
3. “Come discover the
beauty of life on earth
through caring, curiosity
and celebration,” reads a
sign on the wall inside the
center’s main entrance.
People, pets, and wildlife
from all over Massachusetts
make their way to the
center, the only
comprehensive wildlife
rescue and rehabilitation
center in the Boston area.
Concerned individuals and
organizations such as the
Animal Rescue League of
Boston bring injured and
orphaned animals of all
kinds, from rabbits to turtles
to foxes, to the center.
There, they are treated and
released back into the wild.
4. During Mertz’s Odd Pet Vet
hours, pet lizards, scorpions, and
albino rats file in for treatment and
check-ups. Mertz sports a serious,
no-nonsense attitude, getting right
to business when clients enter his
small office. His somber air is
tempered by moments of dry
humor, and by an amusing
assortment of animal pictures,
statues, and children’s drawings
that cover his office walls. An eight-
foot-long snakeskin hangs above
his door, and a statue depicting a
frog dancing with three chickens
sits near the door to the left. A pale,
grim-looking toad perches in a black
frame on the wall to the right. The
corner behind Mertz’s veterinary
table, by contrast, is cluttered with
drawers and shelves full of
medicines, syringes, and medical
papers.
5. In just two hours one Saturday morning, Mertz saw a bearded dragon, a parrot, a python, a
micropig, and two albino rats. A woman named Cheryl brought in the parrot, an eleven-month-old dusky-
headed Conure named Grayson, for a wing-clipping. Armed with a towel, Mertz quickly slipped his hand
in the parrot’s cage to grab the bird. Angry squawks soon filled the room as the bird squirmed and bit the
towel. “He’s a feisty one,” remarked Mertz calmly.
“He is,” Cheryl said fondly. “And he thinks he’s so handsome, too.”
6. As Mertz snipped the bird’s green and blue wings with a pair of scissors, Cheryl lovingly
described Grayson’s attitude and preferences. She and Grayson shower together every morning,
she said; “We’re really bonded.” Once the clipping was over, the bird raced straight to Cheryl’s
shoulder. Before leaving, she requested to keep the detached feathers for her feather collection,
digging through the trash to retrieve them.
7. volunteers from throughout
the center to come check
out the cause of
commotion. “I’ve just
always wanted a pig,” said
Wakeman on her choice to
own a micropig. “They’re
incredibly smart and love to
cuddle…there’s a bit of
humor in it too,” she said.
“You wouldn’t believe all
the pig jokes we make
now!” she said, as she
packed Phoebe away in
her pink carrying case.
Next entered a miniature black pig named Phoebe. Her owner Martica Wakeman brought in the six-
week-old mini-micro pig for her first check-up. Procured from a website called Texastinypigs.com, Phoebe
was the smallest pig Mertz had ever seen, weighing in at just one and three-quarters of a pound. Though
calm and quiet while being held by Wakeman, the diminutive pig released piercing squeals whenever Mertz
tried to hold her, causing staff and
8. Wakeman had called eight different vets before finally finding one who would treat pigs: the Odd Pet
Vet. Once the small pig departed, Greg Mertz then removed an object from the eye of a tiny, two-month-old
bearded dragon named Roux, and administered medicine to kill potential parasites. Next, he tube-fed a
young ball python that had not been eating well. Despite Mertz’s cool, professional demeanor, there
doesn’t seem to be a dull day for the Odd Pet Vet.
9. While Mertz treats critters with human homes, the rest of the center tends to wild critters
from forests, lakes, and city streets. Some of the animals cared for at the center have reputations
as common nuisances, such as the opossums that dig through garbage in the night or the
abundance of bunnies that demolish freshly planted gardens. These are creatures that people
sometimes yearn to kill, much less rescue and release. But Mertz, his staff, the sixty volunteers
and fifty interns feel differently.
10. “I’m a non-speciesist,” said Mertz. In his book, all critters, no matter how common,
annoying, or strange they may be, deserve equal treatment and care. “Although I have to
say that I prefer treating reptiles to mammals and birds,” he said. “Birds wiggle, hamsters
bite. But I treat ‘em all.”
11. Zak Mertz, Greg Mertz’s son, has worked at the center in some capacity,
whether cleaning cages or writing grant proposals, for as long as he can remember.
When asked why the center saves animals that many despise, Zak Mertz said, “Every
animal plays a role in the overall health of the ecosystem and deserves a fighting
chance.”
12. The center has an extensive internship program, hosting about fifty aspiring wildlife
veterinarians from universities all over the world each year. Interns and volunteers spend their
days preparing diets, feeding animals, cleaning cages, administering medicines, or helping with
veterinary procedures.
13. Around 2,000 wild animals of
about 400 different species receive
treatment from the center every
year. The most common causes of
injury that bring critters to the
center are car strikes and attacks
by cats or dogs. In the springtime,
though, the building fills with young
orphans—primarily baby squirrels,
rabbits, and raccoons whose
parents were likely injured or
killed—and rooms are packed with
tiny mouths to feed. Baby animals
require frequent feedings, and thus
the volunteers and interns are
constantly preparing diets and
making the feeding rounds—and by
the time they’re done feeding every
mouth, it’s time to start all over
again. Squirrels and rabbits are fed
solution through syringes, but
raccoons must be carefully tube-
fed.
14. The love the interns and
volunteers have for their animal
charges is palpable. Michelle, a
smiling, white-haired volunteer of
three years, most enjoys feeding
the baby squirrels “because they’re
strong, even as babies,” she said;
they can grasp the syringe and
practically feed themselves. Josh
Burke, a high school senior who
has volunteered at the center for
years, delights in showing visitors
around the center. He especially
enjoys showing off the educational
animals that remain on-site—
particularly the reptiles and the
goats. “I consider them mine,” he
said, affectionately patting the head
of Gallop the goat. “They like me
best.”
15. When they aren’t feeding
babies, the volunteers and interns
head to the medical wards to nurse
injured adults. After attending to the
small squirrels and rabbits, Emily
Ryan, a current undergraduate and
intern who plans to apply for
veterinary school, readied
medications with another intern for
a ward full of wounded animals.
They treated an aggressive,
malnourished opossum with
conjunctivitis, a large, spunky mute
swan with lead poisoning, and a
fluffed-up, quiet cardinal with a lung
problem.
16. Although the majority of his and his staff’s days are spent feeding and treating animals, Greg
Mertz does not view veterinary service or wildlife rehabilitation as the primary role of the center. “The
role that we play in the community is education,” he said. “I think veterinary businesses have a huge
opportunity to educate the public about their own bodies, the bodies of their pets, the biology of the
habitats around them, and about the communities they live in.”
17. Mertz believes that “everybody in the community should be able to identify ten kinds of birds,
ten kinds of animals, ten kinds of trees, ten kinds of wildflowers, ten kinds of rocks…if we’re going to
live and work in this environment that’s called Earth, then we need to know about it,” Mertz said. “It’s
an obligation we have as citizens of Earth.”
18. The third floor of the New England Wildlife Center is a testament to Mertz’s
commitment to education. With tables and drawers full of animal bones, skins, prints, posters
and taxidermy, the large room acts as a biology classroom and interactive nature museum
where visitors and student groups can learn about nature and wildlife.
19. The bottom floor hosts most of the center’s permanent residents: turtles, reptiles, and a few
tarantulas, which visitors can see and learn about up-close. Steve Martin, the special events
coordinator and lead educator, showed the tarantulas to visitors passing by. He held a tarantula in
his hand proudly and calmly. “Tarantulas are one of the most misunderstood creatures,” he said in
response to their frightened faces.
20. Every Saturday night, the squawks and squeaks of the animals are overlaid with the sounds of
guitars and human song. Locals head to the center to play and listen to music and poetry at the weekly
open mic, fulfilling the “celebration” part of the center’s entrance slogan. Martin hosts the event, called
Catbird Café, all proceeds from which go toward the center’s wildlife care. “We are here to benefit the
wildlife,” he says each week.
21. In a wooded area of Massachusetts, away from the hustle and bustle of downtown
Boston, the building full of animals and people is also full of love—for the odd, the normal,
the wild, and the tame. All of these things are, after all, part of the “beauty of life on earth.”
