I called ahead and promised to be at the clinic by 9:00 am, but it's garbage day and you can't rush a dog on garbage day. There's just so much to sniff. By the time we arrived we were in line behind something that appeared to be a growling wad of Kleenex and a pit bull who had swallowed a "foreign body." When I got to the counter I noticed that the receptionist had already prepared an estimate for $618. "Kill me now," I thought. "Save Scott the trouble."
Eventually the vet was able to squeeze us in, and I am now at home awaiting the results of Ferris' blood test. He's off the steroids until this new problem is resolved, which may mean a resumption of his hideous itching. It's always something.