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Bullshit

Bullshit By Bill Stork, DVM A wild-eyed young laborer finishing his ham-and-Swiss-on-Rye lamented, “Me and my wife just bought a place out in the country. We’ve got a house and twenty acres, two cows, a chicken coop, and a well that’s gone dry.” Brett was making over ten dollars an hour laying rebar the size of a meat cutter’s forearm at the Clinton Nuclear Power Plant. Still, it was going to take several months of Sundays, at double time, to make $2500 to drill a new one. Next to him, Dad snapped back to conscious after his trademark seven-minute-nap. Thirty years of screamin’ diesel engines had left his hearing selective at best. He caught up to the banter, hovering just outside the circle

Giselle and Louis

Giselle and Louis By Bill Stork, DVM Like every business in the service industry, we try and schedule as accurately as possible and move with purpose. Some days, the wheels fall off. A cow with a prolapsed uterus, or a pitbull versus trailer hitch will set you back like lightning at a Little League game. It was ten o’clock on a Saturday morning. The parking lot was like a Taylor Swift concert and the lobby was something out of Springer. Giselle pushed through the crowded clinic with the look of a Victoria’s Secret model slapped with rotten cow placenta, cleared her throat, and announced to no one eligible or inclined to listen, “Someone needs to see my dog… now.” Claire quick-glanced and ext

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