Another week started, another dollar to make. Only 13 shopping days left kids, so make your list, and check it twice, 'cause your wife/girlfriend is gonna whoop your butt if you don't get her something nice. Don't say I didn't warn you Big R. There, that was my public service announcement for you.
Today, as I walk into work, I see another 10 pound dog that's waiting for me with vomiting and diarrhea. This diarrhea isn't as horrifically bloody as the previous dog I wrote about (see here if you don't remember or hadn't read it). The main difference is that this owner is either extremely neurotic or drunk. Either one, take you pick. She dropped the dog off at 8:20 A.M. today, and called the clinic less than 15 minutes later wondering what was wrong with the dog. I'm good, but I'm not that good, considering I hadn't even had the chance to examine the dog yet (since I didn't get there until 8:30). Then she manages to call the clinic about 4-5 more times in the next 3 hours asking if the dog is better yet. Each time I tell her, "It's gonna take some time, I will let you know if there are any changes." At one point she called at about 11:00, asking how the dog is doing, and then called again 15 minutes later, asking how the dog is doing. I told her, "He's doing the same as he was when you called me 15 minutes ago. This is going to take a little bit longer for him to get better."
Imagine if you had the flu, you wouldn't exactly be better in 15 minutes would you? I'm still trying to figure out what is wrong with her, because it's not just her insatiable love for her dog.
Oh well, I gotta get back to saving the puppies of the greater Houston area, so keep on keepin' on.
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