All Dogs Go to Kevin: Everything Three Dogs Taught Me (That I Didn't Learn in Veterinary School)
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ALL DOGS GO TO KEVIN is a humorous and touching memoir that will appeal to anyone who has ever loved an animal or lost hours in James Herriot's classic veterinary stories.
Davis School of Veterinary MEDICINE! YEAHHHH!” I frowned at the phone. “Dad.” “Yes?” “I swear to God, Dad, if this is some sort of awful April Fool’s Day joke I will never talk to you again.” “It’s not a joke, Doctor. I promise.” And the second he said that, it sealed the deal. Brian tried his best to be enthusiastic on my behalf. “You know,” he said, “if this isn’t really what you want, you don’t have to go. You can stay here. With me.” I looked at him, kindness and loving personified.
Revolución. They drove around for two hours, dodging drunk nineteen-year-old kids and assault-rifle-toting federales until they spotted Karen in an alley, hunched up with her kid in the front of her SUV. Kevin didn’t ask how she managed to get down there, or why she was there. He just fixed it. With this recent rescue fresh in our minds, no one had a good guess as to what he might have up his sleeve today. “You’re going to Antarctica,” one suggested. “You met Axl Rose in the bathroom at
professional rug cleaner to erase the last stench of dog poop from the office. When Kris had sufficiently recovered her bearings to the point she felt ready to return home, she was crestfallen to say good-bye to Emmett. They were inseparable. His face hadn’t graced the foot of my bed in a month. As she stood at the door, Emmett watched with tail wagging, assuming they were about to head out on another walk. But as he took in the sight of her suitcase, his tail slowed down; dropping, as she
Like the Wizard of Oz, there were a few tricks I could pull out from behind the curtains that had a high return on investment, leaving a happy client with a miraculously improved dog and a relatively small bill. I liked those visits, the ones that fortify the family unit. They were low-stress and satisfying for everyone involved. “Room 4!” called Susan, pulling me away from rounds to rush into a room of sniffling children huddled around a tiny Chihuahua. The mother looked up with panicked eyes.
shut down the continuous ramble of my ever-worried brain, he’d plop down on a pillow (usually Brian’s, leaving him red-eyed and sneezing on his visits) and regard me calmly with his lamp-like eyes until I finally drifted off to sleep. I never regretted my decision to get Apollo; he was much less demanding on my limited time and energy than my classmates’ pets were on theirs, since most of them had been suckered into adopting some sort of decrepit creature from the teaching hospital: Greyhounds