They poked and prodded and sliced, and . . . uh oh. Nothing came out. Nothing smelly or icky or runny or anything good like that.
Finally the vets came out and said “So, it could be this, or it could be that, but it doesn’t look like cancer. But we need to ‘go in’ and see.”
Before I knew it, Mom was giving me big hugs and then the nice lady vet walked me down the hall away from Mom and Dad. And that was that. So here I sit in a cold steel kennel, waiting . . . . (I’m sending this to my Mom psychically, you know?).
Tomorrow, Dr. Feelgood is gonna zonk me out and when I wake up, we’ll know what to call that creature in my leg.
Down the rabbit hole I go.