Anyone with a pet knows that at some point, a trip to the emergency veterinarian is inevitable. It’s an intensely stressful experience, one that I’ve found more anxiety-inducing than even taking my child to the emergency room. This might sound counterintuitive, but here’s why: animals can’t communicate their pain or distress in the way humans can.

When a dog is ill, you’re left to interpret their behavior, often fearing the worst without any clear indication of the problem. Adding to the stress is the financial uncertainty, as many pet owners lack insurance, leaving them to wonder about the impending costs while hoping for the best possible outcome.

In contrast, when a child visits the ER, the range of possibilities feels more controlled—like a bad flu or a broken bone—conditions that, while concerning, are at least somewhat predictable. Yet with pets, the unknowns can be overwhelming.

Take, for instance, an episode a few years back with my dog. He suddenly stopped eating, lay listlessly in his bed for two days, and occasionally shivered. I tried to reassure myself it was just a passing illness, but the situation grew more alarming when he ignored the doorbell—a sound that normally sent him into a frenzy.

Realizing the severity, I contacted our regular veterinarian, only to be told that the next available appointment was a week away. With growing concern, we headed straight to the 24/7 emergency animal hospital, bracing ourselves for what lay ahead.

I called our regular vet and was told the earliest appointment was a week away. So off we went to the 24/7 emergency animal hospital.

They ran tests and eventually delivered the diagnosis: pancreatitis. Serious, but treatable. Fluids, rest, medication. He was going to be fine. During the hours I spent in that waiting room, I had quietly prepared myself for the worst. When the doctor explained the plan, the wave of relief was so intense that I wanted to hug every doctor, nurse, and administrative person in the building.

I also made a solemn vow. On Christmas Eve, a few weeks later, I was going to send these miracle workers pizza at midnight. Maybe not just that year. Maybe every year forever.

A few days passed. Then reality set in. Would they already have eaten? How many pizzas would be enough? What kind? Which pizza place? Would they even be allowed to accept food deliveries in a building full of sick animals? I overthought it, like a professional. And in the end, I did nothing.

I suspect this is a very common outcome. Wall Street billionaire Sandy Weill did not forget.

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From Back Office Runner to Billionaire Wall Street Tycoon Philanthropist

Sanford “Sandy” Weill began his career in 1955 in a “back-office” role as a runner for Bear Stearns, earning just $35 a week. By 1960, he co-founded a small brokerage firm that he aggressively expanded through over 15 acquisitions, eventually forming Shearson Loeb Rhoades. In 1981, he sold the firm to American Express for approximately $915 million in stock, becoming its president.

After a power struggle led to his departure from American Express in 1985, Weill staged a remarkable “second act.” He took over a struggling consumer finance company, Commercial Credit, and used it as a vehicle to acquire larger entities, including Primerica, Smith Barney, and Travelers Group. His career culminated in 1998 with the historic $76 billion merger between Travelers and Citicorp, creating Citigroup, the world’s largest financial services firm at the time.

Through these massive deals, stock options, and the growth of Citigroup’s market value, Weill amassed a multi-billion-dollar personal fortune. His fortune has decreased dramatically over the years, but not due to market movements, but due to Sandy and his wife Joan’s generosity.

In 1998, Weill endowed the medical school at his alma mater, Cornell University, which was renamed Weill Cornell Medical College. Two more buildings on Cornell’s campus feature his name. In 2016, the Weills pledged $185 million to UCSF to establish the Weill Institute for Neurosciences.

Back in 2018, Sandy and Joan’s bichon frisé, Angel, was diagnosed with lymphoma. Unlike many cancers, lymphoma in dogs tends to respond well to chemotherapy. The goal is typically remission, not a cure. With standard chemo protocols, about 80–90% of dogs achieve remission, often within weeks. Most dogs eventually relapse. Average remission lasts 6–12 months, and overall survival with treatment is often 12–18 months, sometimes longer. A smaller number of dogs do much better, especially with early diagnosis and aggressive care.

Unfortunately, Angel did eventually succumb to her disease. But Sandy and Joan were profoundly impressed by the care she received and by the broader mission of the institution that treated her. That gratitude did not fade with time.

This week, the Weills announced they are donating $120 million to the University of California at Davis School of Veterinary Medicine, one of the largest gifts ever made to an animal medicine institution.

Of that total, $80 million will fund the construction of a new small animal teaching hospital, a central piece of a $750 million expansion of UC Davis’ Veterinary Medical Complex. The remaining funds will support research in comparative medicine, the study of diseases that affect both animals and humans, with a focus on cancer, neurological disorders, and cardiovascular conditions.

In recognition of the gift, the school will be renamed the UC Davis Weill School of Veterinary Medicine.

The donation also aims to address a growing national shortage of veterinarians by expanding facilities needed to train more students and recruit additional faculty. It is not just a thank-you gift for one dog’s care. It is a structural investment meant to permanently expand the capacity of one of the world’s leading veterinary research institutions.

For Sandy Weill, now in his 90s, this gift fits a long-established pattern. Over several decades, he and Joan have donated an estimated $1.5 billion to educational, medical, and cultural institutions. Their philanthropy has reshaped Cornell’s medical campus, funded major neuroscience research at UCSF, and pushed their total giving to the University of California system past $500 million.

Some people leave the emergency vet promising pizza (and end up not following through). Sandy Weill left determined to build a hospital.