I have a love-hate relationship with my fax machine.
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.
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Leia's family is freaked out.
My significant other is a cat person. I love cats, but I am more of a dog guy.
Cats don't fully appreciate observational humor.
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