Oak Ridge suffered another community loss today, with the passing of veterinarian Arthur H. (“Mickey”) McArthur.

He’s doctored all my animals since I was a child — caring for Brownie, a found Shepherd/Collie mix, from when I was about seven until she died when I was in college.

Several years ago, I came upon a squirrel on Nebraska Avenue that had been hit by a car and was dragging itself using only its front paws toward the curb; I picked it up in a towel I had in the car, and took it to Mickey, who fed and watered it until it recovered, then turned it loose again. He could tell that its spine wasn’t broken, and just allowed nature to take its course while providing shelter and sustenance.

When my old chocolate lab, Dexter, was hit by a car and suffered a dislocated hip, the vet-on-call gave the grim prognosis that amputation was necessary (or we would have to put him down). I waited for Mickey to get a second opinion — his opinion in particular — and he manually relocated the hip and put the leg in a sling (which lasted about two days). Dexter remained an able-bodied, four-legged dog for the rest of his life.

He knew that I am both a cat person and a dog person; he knew that I take in strays, feed wild squirrels, and generally consider my animals part of the family.

He was a trusted friend, and I will miss him.