It's a whirlwind.
The whipworms are gone. Well, the adult whipworms are gone.
It happens. Despite millions of dollars in research, and detailed testing beforehand, sometimes it happens. Sometimes a side effect occurs when we use a drug in a patient.
Lemmy comes in for his first "senior" visit, with no problems to report.
Lemmy recovers from his bout with apparent "kennel cough" with no complications.
A one-eyed dog with a cough walks into a bar.
It's noon on a Saturday, and I am anticipating heading home in an hour or so. I have plans to school my oldest child on the basketball court.
Our history of Lemmy leaps forward this week, encompassing three mostly uneventful years.
Lemmy has an irregular appointment today.
I say "Lemmy." He says "No! Memmy!"
It's been a year since I saw Lemmy last. And now it's time for his routine yearly checkup.
He looks disheveled. Not Lemmy, he looks fine.
The next time I see Lemmy, he saunters into the waiting room as a full-on adult dog.
My continuing relationship with Lemmy over the next seven months consists of regular phone calls with his owners.
This week's column isn't about examining Lemmy or treating him directly.
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Lemmy is coming in today.
My day starts out in a sadly typical manner.
Lemmy is cooler than me. Not as far as thermoregulation goes. Normal canine body temperature is almost 3 degrees higher than is human temperature.
I have a love-hate relationship with my fax machine.
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