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.
I want to repay my student loans. Therefore, I charge people for my veterinarian services.
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.
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.
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Leia is all grown up.
It's a bizarre story, but it's true. The next time I see Leia, she doesn't see me.
Leia has sutures at the site of her surgery. Internally, she does too, but hopefully I never see those again.
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