Comic books shaped my childhood. I lived vicariously through them, saving the day over and over.
Eleven days ago, I euthanized Lemmy.
I'm not a Monday fan. But today is worse than a normal Monday. Today, I say goodbye to Lemmy.
Lemmy's appointment is at 10 o'clock.
Lemmy is late for his appointment.
It's an unfair generalization to say teenagers don't listen. Some do, some don't.
Who do you think you are?
My brain works in funny ways. Yours is probably similar.
Lemmy returns for his recheck following a bout with Leptospirosis.
Lemmy has been hospitalized for two days when I learn the reason for his illness. I had suspected, but with confirmatory blood work, I now know.
Seventeen is old for most dogs. And although Lemmy is not like most dogs, 17 is old for him, too.
Three weeks after Lemmy was examined and diagnosed with a nasty urinary tract infection, he returns for a recheck. This is intended to confirm the infection has been eliminated.
I once had a nightmare where a lump under a welcome mat was lurching toward me as I hid under the covers. It sounds weird now, but at the time, I was inconsolable.
Lemmy's owners call me just before noon. They relay a story that's unlikely at best, but the take-home message is Lemmy's depressive symptoms are gone, and the household is full of life.
About two months ago, Lemmy's family suffered the loss of their home to a fire. No one was injured, and Lemmy has remained in good health.
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My tooth hurts.
There's a scene in "Rebel Without A Cause" in which the line "You read too many comic books" is uttered.
Thanksgiving is coming.
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