For more than four decades, Dr. Gary Cox has been the veterinarian Sallisaw could count on, day or night, weekday or holiday, rain or shine. From household pets to livestock and wildlife, his practice was never limited by species, schedules or convenience.
“I always told people, ‘If you can drag it in, I’ll look at it,’” Cox said.
After graduating from Sallisaw High School in 1973, Cox left for college, eventually earning his veterinary degree from Oklahoma State University. In May 1981, he returned home and opened his practice. Not because it was easy, but because it was where he belonged.
“Basically, I just came home,” he said.
That decision shaped not only his life but the lives of countless animals and families across Sequoyah County. Over 45 years, Cox treated dogs, cats, cattle, horses, wildlife and just about anything else that crossed his path. His work extended far beyond a traditional small-animal clinic, often taking him into pastures, barns and back roads.
“When you come to a small town like this, you’ve got to do it all,” he said. “You might be delivering puppies in the middle of the night, then the next call you’re chasing a cow across a pasture trying to pull a calf.”
Cox knew early on that veterinary medicine was his calling.
“My sophomore year of high school,” he said. “I knew then.” A love for animals paired naturally with his interest to work in the medical field, setting him on a path that would define his life’s work.
But veterinary school, he explains, only prepares you so much.
“It’s like learning to play tennis,” Cox said. “You can explain it all day long but until you pick up the racket and start playing, you don’t really know it. You learn by doing.”
Unlike human doctors, veterinarians are sent directly into practice after graduation. No residency, no extended internship. Cox was 25 years old when he entered the profession, working alone and learning in real time.
“You know enough to realize you don’t know everything,” he said. “And medicine changes. You’re always learning.”
Over the years, those lessons included wildlife work that few veterinarians ever experience. Cox treated bald eagles, raised bears for the State of Oklahoma, and even served as a consultant on bear projects.
“When you do wildlife work, you really see a lot,” he said.
But perhaps the most meaningful moments came not from rare cases but from resilience; animals that survived when the odds said they wouldn’t.
“It’s always memorable when something comes in and you don’t think it stands a chance,” Cox said. “And it makes it. That shows you how resilient animals and people can be.”
Serving Sallisaw was never about profit. Cox describes much of his work as a service to the community, whether that meant helping cattle producers navigate new medicine regulations or treating injured pets for families who couldn’t afford care.
“That’s not the animal’s fault,” he said. “If I could help the dog or the cat or whatever they brought in, I would gladly do it.”
That dedication hasn’t gone unnoticed. During a recent visit, a client reminded Cox of a case he barely remembered; saving a Labrador retriever that had a tennis ball lodged in its throat. “He told me, ‘You saved his life,’” Cox recalled. “That’s the good stuff.”
As veterinary medicine has evolved, Cox admits the profession looks very different today. Corporate clinics dominate urban areas, offering predictable hours, shared responsibilities and limited scope of practice. Rural, fullservice veterinarians like Cox are becoming rare.
“I’m a dinosaur,” he said plainly.
That reality made it difficult for him to find someone willing to take over his clinic. “New graduates don’t want to do it all,” Cox explained. “And I get it. Life would be easier if all you worked on was one thing.”
But for Cox, the hardest challenge hasn’t been the work, it’s stepping away from it.
“I’m 70 years old, been doing this for 45 years,” he said. “I don’t know how you get up one day and say, ‘I’m done.’” Being a solo veterinarian meant being on call 24 hours a day, often missing birthdays, holidays and family milestones. Now, with retirement settling in, Cox is learning to slow down, something that doesn’t come easily.
“It’s a big adjustment,” he said. “And it’s hard to get used to.”
Today, Cox spends his time at home in the country with his wife, Angela, whom he’s been married to for 25 years. Between six children, 13 grandchildren, and great-grandchildren with more on the way, his family fills the space once occupied by constant calls. “There’s kind of a zoo out there,” he joked, referring to the wildlife he still helps rehabilitate. “And I spoil the grandkids now.”
For a man who spent his life answering every call, Dr. Gary Cox’s legacy isn’t measured by hours worked or patients treated, but by the quiet trust of a community that knew, for decades, if something needed help, he would show up.
And in Sallisaw, that’s something that won’t be forgotten anytime soon.