At the end of this week, we're headed to KY for a wedding and to take Remmy to the vet. He needs dental work and shots, and, well, we'll be there, and I trust my vet out there, and it'll be a LOT cheaper.
So of course tonight, Remmy went and got himself bitten or stung on his left front paw by something, and was lying out in the yard looking forlorn and not wanting to put enough pressure on the paw to walk into the house.
So one emergency vet visit later, I've found a decent vet in the area to stay with, and Remmy's been to the vet twice as many times this month as he was supposed to be.
A poem on the wall of the exam room I was in made me want to be a vet tech. For about five minutes. Until I remembered that I cry if I have to make a phone call, get migraines from fluorescent lights and cleaners and bleach and other strange chemically things, and shake if forced to meet and deal with new people.
Elijah enjoyed the vet waiting room. Until he got bored and started screaming.
I need some sleep.