Vets Best Quotes

Over the years I knew her she always looked at me like that - as though I was a quite pleasant but amusing object - and it always did the same thing to me. It's difficult to put into words but perhaps I can best describe it by saying that if I had been a little dog I'd have gone leaping and gambolling around the room wagging my tail furiously.

Pack speaking about his new love, Sky: “Well, let’s see. She has the animal husbandry skills of a vet, the organizational skills of a Six Sigma guru, and the mechanical skills of a…trained mechanic. She doesn’t require handyman help. And she’s nice to look at. Other than that, she leaves a lot to be desired. And maybe I omitted the best part, which is that she’s a fine human being with strong values.

I'm after a woman who likes sex but doesn't put the lust part above the intelligence part. She could have a hundred partners for all I care, just as long as they've been vetted for psychopathic tendencies. I have four rules. Number one: don't invite a person into your body if you wouldn't invite her into your kitchen. Number two: the act needs to take place in a clean environment. Number three: precautions need to be taken to protect from disease and pregnancy. And Number four: don't ration the passion, i.e. put you best fuck forward.

own. I am sure that is what the family remembered best about me because of the way the mother’s letter began. “Dear Vet with the bandaged finger …

The thing about surviving something truly tragic is that it changes your expectations forever. You make do with very little. You’re grateful for crumbs. You make the best of small mercies. You endure large trials. You understand that life owes you nothing. You expect nothing, and when something wonderful happens, you don’t trust it. You know it can’t possibly last.

This country has not seen and probably will never know the true level of sacrifice of our veterans. As a civilian I owe an unpayable debt to all our military. Going forward let’s not send our servicemen and women off to war or conflict zones unless it is overwhelmingly justifiable and on moral high ground. The men of WWII were the greatest generation, perhaps Korea the forgotten, Vietnam the trampled, Cold War unsung and Iraqi Freedom and Afghanistan vets underestimated. Every generation has proved itself to be worthy to stand up to the precedent of the greatest generation. Going back to the Revolution American soldiers have been the best in the world. Let’s all take a remembrance for all veterans who served or are serving, peace time or wartime and gone or still with us. 11/11/16 May God Bless America and All Veterans.

You won this job because you were the best for the job. You are smart, quick to learn, and can quickly acquire any skill you might be lacking.

Never forget—someone else didn’t get the job that day because you were the best candidate with the most unique combination of skills and talent.

This is Joe Bentley speaking,” said the figure on the surgery doorstep. It was an odd manner of address, made stranger by the fact that Joe was holding his clenched fist up by his jaw and staring vacantly past me. “’ello, ’ello,” Joe continued as though into space, and suddenly everything became clear. That was an imaginary telephone he was holding and he was doing his best to communicate with the vet; and not doing so badly considering the innumerable pints of beer that were washing around inside him. On

...'undertow'. It describes (...) how underneath our own everyday lives - the shopping and squabbles and weeding and trips to the vet - there's a sense of being dragged slowly off, not against our will but regardless of it. And fighting the undertow, as children are quick to learn, is not usually the best way of getting back to the beach. Floating along with it, on the other hand, can be fatal. It's really the struggle, the argument with oneself, that interests...

One of the best-kept secrets in all of health care — understood by few doctors — is that the peer reviewers, medical journal editors, and guideline writers, who are assumed to be performing due diligence to ensure the accuracy and completeness of the data reported from company-sponsored studies, do not have access to the real data from these trials. The published reports that doctors accept as fully vetted scientific evidence can be more accurately described as unverified data summaries prepared largely by or for the sponsoring drug companies.

It was taking too long to get Malina to Australia, so I needed to get her more permanent housing in the States. Fortunately, I had fantastic friends at Wildlife Images near Grants Pass, Oregon. This wildlife rehabilitation facility was the best in the country, run by a family totally dedicated to helping wildlife. They agreed to take Malina and house her in a beautiful enclosure, complete with shady trees and grass under her feet. Steve came with me to Oregon, and we filmed her move to the new luxury accommodations. Sadly, Malina never made it to Australia. About a year after her move to Wildlife Images, she got sick. She was taken to a vet and sedated for a complete examination. It turned out her kidneys were shutting down. It could have been a genetic problem, or just old age. Either way, she never woke up.

Joe Marino, president of Rite-Solutions, and Jim Lavoie, CEO of the company, created this system as a reaction to problems they’d experienced elsewhere. “In my old company,” Lavoie told Berns, “if you had a great idea, we would tell you, ‘OK, we’ll make an appointment for you to address the murder board’”—a group of people charged with vetting new ideas. Marino described what happened next: Some technical guy comes in with a good idea. Of course questions are asked of that person that they don’t know. Like, “How big’s the market? What’s your marketing approach? What’s your business plan for this? What’s the product going to cost?” It’s embarrassing. Most people can’t answer those kinds of questions. The people who made it through these boards were not the people with the best ideas. They were the best presenters.

Her mother called.” “Her mother?” he asked, half asleep. “Wondering where she was since she didn’t come home last night.” “She must have forgotten to call. We talked until dawn.” “Her mother was very worried.” “She’s an adult, Miss Potts. She’s twenty-six.” “Tell that to Judy Carmichael.” Miss Potts pursed her lips. “What about her reputation?” “This isn’t the 1800s.” “Lucky for you, or Frank Carmichael might be out here with a shotgun in the next little while. And she’d be the next Mrs. Lee.” He refused to rise to that specific bait, regardless of how the very idea made his heart beat faster. “Humph,” said Miss Potts. “Wake her up and come up to the house. I’ll make eggs and biscuits before she goes.” She turned to go, and Asher called after her softly, careful not to wake up Sleeping Beauty. “Miss Potts.” She turned, her expression still disapproving. “I care about her. A lot.” “Caring about someone means looking out for their best interest. Always. Without exception.” She put a finger to her chin, tapping thoughtfully. “I’ll have to make something special for Sunday. As a peace offering.” Asher grinned. “Mama’s peach cobbler?” “The very thing,” said Miss Potts nodding approvingly, before turning to head back into the woods.

Excerpt from Storm’s Eye by Dean Gray With a final drag and drop, Jordan Rayne sent his latest creation winging its way toward the publisher. He looked up, squinted at that little clock in the right hand corner of his monitor, and removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. His cover art was finished and shipped, just in time for lunch. He sighed and stood, rolling his shoulders and bending side to side, his back cracking in protest as the muscles loosened after having been hunched over the screen for so long. Sam raised his head, tilting it enquiringly at him, and Jordan laughed. “Yeah, I know what you want, some lunch and a nice long walk along the beach, hmm?” Jordan smiled fondly at the furry ball of energy he’d saved from certain death. With his mom’s recent death it was just Sam and him in the house. Sometimes he wondered what kept him here, now that the last thread tethering him to the island was severed. Sam limped over and nuzzled at his hand. When Jordan had first found him out on the main road, hurt and bleeding, he hadn’t been sure the pooch would make it. Taylor, his best friend and the local vet, had done what she could. At the time, Jordan simply didn’t have the deep pockets for the fancy surgery needed to mend Sam’s leg perfectly, he could barely afford the drugs to keep his mom in treatment. So they’d patched him up as well as they could, Taylor extending herself further than he could ever repay, and hoped for the best. The dog had made a startling recovery, urged on by plenty of rest and good food and lots of love, and had flourished, the slight limp now barely noticeable. Jordan’s conscience still twinged as he watched Sam limp over to his dish, but he had barely been keeping things together at the time. He had done the best he could. He’d done his best to find Sam’s real owners as well, papering downtown Bar Harbor with a hand-drawn sketch of the dog, but to no avail. The only thing it had prompted was one kind soul wanting to buy the illustration. But no one had ever come forward to claim the “goldendoodle,” which Taylor had told him was a golden retriever/standard poodle cross. Who had a dog breed like that anyway? Summer people! Jordan shook his head, grinning at the dog’s foolish antics, weaving in and around his legs like he was still a little pup instead of the fifty-pound fuzzball he actually was now. So without meaning to at all, Sam had drifted into Jordan’s life and stayed, a loyal, faithful companion.

 When you are injured, the vet is the human best equipped to patch you up. When you lack any specific injury, the vet will gladly provide one, by poking you with needles, sticking thermometers into wholly inappropriate places, and shoving a brightly lit funnel into your ear in order to read your innermost thoughts.

For moteentusiaster er det veldig viktig å kjøpe moteriktige accessories fra den beste nettbutikken. På denne måten kan de sikre seg produkter som kommer i begrensede antall. Det finnes uttallige mange nettsider som tilbyr accessories av dårlig kvalitet til en rimelig penge men som ikke er verdt pengene. Det trengs bare litt tålmodighet og litt søking før du finner den riktige nettsiden som tilbyr kvalitetprodukter til rimelige priser som Antikke ringer For salgpasser til stilen din. For jenter og kvinner er dette et dilemma, de er stadig på utkikk etter å finne de beste tilbudene overalt enten det er i kjøpesenteret i byen eller på nett. Når det kommer til moteriktige accessories så er kvinner og jenter alltid på utkikk etter de beste og eksklusive produktene, og vi alle vet at det kan ta sin tid. Det er derfor nettshopping er det beste alternativet. Du kan bruke den tiden du trenger uten å måtte tenke på tidspresset som du må når du er på butikken. Du vil finne et bredere utvalg av produkter på nett og velge de beste til lave priser. Til og med gutter og menn er opptatt av å se bra ut idag, derfor er netthandel det perfekte alternativet for dem også. De kan finne alt av moteriktig tilbehør på nett som f.eks. solbriller osv...

February 16 One Horse, Three Friends He does great things too marvelous to understand. He performs countless miracles. —Job 5:9 It was time to say good-bye. The vet frowned, “I’ll be back at ten to put him down.” Colic is the number one killer of horses, and Cash’s condition was much worse. His twisted gut left no room for hope. Without hope, I went down on my knees crying out to God. My year had been much like Job’s. “He’s my best friend—the only one who loves me, and now you’re taking him too. Please God, no!” I called my friends with the news. Within an hour, Debbie and Patti came to pray and, I thought, say their good-byes. Instead, Debbie pulled out her anointing oil and prayed like I’d never heard. “Where’s your faith?” was her only comment as we applied heating pads, oil, and rubbed his stomach for hours. Finally Debbie stood. “He’s going to live.” Within minutes, Cash lifted his head and pounded the barn door. I let him out and he ran full speed. The vet returned to scratch her head. “This is not possible.” With the love of friends and a horse, God chose to perform a miracle that night in the same place He did two thousand years ago: a stable. When God shows His love through a miracle, our lives are never the same. — Renee Shuping Cassidy —

Because of their tiny stomachs, puppies must be fed three or four small meals a day. When most dogs are six months old, you can reduce the number of feedings to two, and from there, get your vet’s advice on adjusting your growing dog’s diet. Most

I hated the thought of you with someone else last weekend,” she whispered. “I wasn’t with anyone else. I was thinking of you.” “We barely know each other.” “Good thing I’m not asking you to marry me.” “If I come sit by you, what’re you going to do?” He swallowed. Unbelievably, she was here. On a date with him. Best not to overthink it, because it was already too dreamlike to be true. All that mattered was that he had a chance with her. He was all in at this point— there was no room for half measures, no turning back. He held her eyes and spoke firmly. “I’m going to kiss you, Savannah.

She was not alone. “There’s a definite panic on the hip scene in Cambridge,” wrote student radical Raymond Mungo that year, “people going to uncommonly arduous lengths (debt, sacrifice, the prospect of cold toes and brown rice forever) to get away while there’s still time.” And it wasn’t just Cambridge. All over the nation at the dawn of the 1970s, young people were suddenly feeling an urge to get away, to leave the city behind for a new way of life in the country. Some, like Mungo, filled an elderly New England farmhouse with a tangle of comrades. Others sought out mountain-side hermitages in New Mexico or remote single-family Edens in Tennessee. Hilltop Maoists traversed their fields with horse-drawn plows. Graduate students who had never before held a hammer overhauled tobacco barns and flipped through the Whole Earth Catalog by the light of kerosene lamps. Vietnam vets hand-mixed adobe bricks. Born-and-bred Brooklynites felled cedar in Oregon. Former debutants milked goats in Humboldt County and weeded strawberry beds with their babies strapped to their backs. Famous musicians forked organic compost into upstate gardens. College professors committed themselves to winter commutes that required swapping high heels for cross-country skis. Computer programmers turned the last page of Scott and Helen Nearing’s Living the Good Life and packed their families into the car the next day. Most had no farming or carpentry experience, but no matter. To go back to the land, it seemed, all that was necessary was an ardent belief that life in Middle America was corrupt and hollow, that consumer goods were burdensome and unnecessary, that protest was better lived than shouted, and that the best response to a broken culture was to simply reinvent it from scratch.

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Without the input of a party's leaders, primary voters could be seduced by inexperienced celebrities and demagogues, Polsby warned in the eighties, and not because the voters are incompetent but because they get sucked into the sport of politics. If voters are making decisions based on who's best at making speeches, who has the best zingers, who makes the most outrageous promises he or she can't keep, we might not be making good decisions. That's why Polsby and other experts thought we should not choose candidates through a nomination system that looks like a reality show, with state-by-state battles in which losing candidates drop out one at a time; with TV networks keeping voters engaged by hosting a dozen debates; with postdebate spin rooms giving the spoils to who are the most aggressive and offer the most stinging rebukes. The primary system we have is perfectly designed to delight the political junkie, by creating valuable media events, and poorly designed for vetting future presidents.

I learned that when you can turn a presentation into a conversation, you have won the battle of converting a client; and second, I learned that the real Carla was my best competitive weapon and my key personal advantage.

Oh no,” said Savannah, slumping down in her chair. “Oh no. What did he do?” “My best bet?” Miss Potts gestured to the spot on her own lip where Savannah’s was still scabby and bruised, then reached across the table to take Savannah’s hand. “He fell in love. Someone tangled with his girl. He settled accounts

She turned to go, and Asher called after her softly, careful not to wake up Sleeping Beauty. “Miss Potts.” She turned, her expression still disapproving. “I care about her. A lot.” “Caring about someone means looking out for their best interest. Always. Without exception.

Max had left a week’s supply of foul-smelling dog food and two pages of instructions about doggie daycare. Neve had expected advice about dog-walking, worming tablets and the vet’s emergency phone number, but it turned out that Max had a very dim view of her dog-sitting abilities: • Do NOT let him in your bedroom. • It also goes without saying that he is NOT to sleep on your bed. • Do NOT let him in the bathroom. He’ll try to drink out of the toilet bowl. • Do NOT feed him at the table. He eats dog food not human food. • And do NOT give him chocolate. I’m serious. Human chocolate can make dogs very ill. Have left a bag of liver treats instead. • He doesn’t like old men, especially if they have walking sticks or zimmer frames. • He doesn’t like balloons, carrier bags or kites. • Also avoid small children. • A small child trying to fly a kite, while holding a balloon and a carrier bag in their other hand would just about finish him off. By the time Neve went to bed that night, Keith had stayed in the bathroom while she had a shower (and tried to get in the cubicle to drink the water), because he’d barked and scrabbled at the door so hard, she’d feared for her paintwork. He’d also had a piece of steamed haddock from her plate because she hadn’t been able to eat dinner without his nose in her crotch and his paw prodding her leg until she fed him. Neve had secretly suspected that Keith wouldn’t have so many emotional issuesif Max refused to indulge him, but it turned out that she was the softest of soft touches, unable to wield any sort of discipline or say, ‘No, Keith, you have to sleep in the lounge,’ in an authoritative voice. She’d lasted five minutes until the sound of Keith whimpering and howling and generally giving the impression that he was being tortured had forced her into the living room to pick up his bed, and his toys and his water bowl. But if he had to sleep in her room, then he could do it in his own bed, Neve reasoned as she sat up, eyes fixed on Keith. Every time she took her gaze off him and tried to read, he’d dive out of his bed and start advancing towards her. ‘Back to your basket, you wicked boy,’ she’d say and he’d slink away, eyes downcast, only to be given away by the joyous wag of his stumpy tale, as if it was the best gameever. It was inevitable – as soon as Neve turned out the light, there was a scrabble of claws on the wooden floor, then a dead weight landed on her feet. ‘Bad dog,’ she snapped, but they could both tell her heart wasn’t in it. Besides, if Keith stayed at the bottom of the bed, he could double up as a hot-water bottle. Keith had other ideas. He wriggled up the bed on his belly as if he was being stealthy and settled down next to Neve, batting his paws against her back until she was shoved right over and he could put his head on her pillow and pant hot doggy breath against her face. ‘Celia was right,’ Neve grumbled. ‘You are a devil dog.

[W]here the rationalist sees contact with theoretical considerations as a source of contamination, we should instead view such influence as potentially beneficial. Theory-mediated judgment is not automatically “contaminated”; under the right circumstances, and under the guidance of appropriate theory, it is instead a source of correction and illumination. We should not search for a realm of reason somehow insulated from and uninformed by our best available theories. Instead we should welcome the prospect of a conception of rational inference which is itself fully vetted by all available evidence.

I found myself feeling lonely and desperately sad. I asked my vet at the time if this feeling of grief was normal, after all – he was ‘just a dog’ - and she said to me, “It’s all the love you still have that you want to give him. It has nowhere to go.

When you’re a spy, you hide in plain sight. You act like a consultant. Or a bureaucrat. Or a technician. You act like something you’re not. In plain sight. You have the right glasses. You have the right haircut. You have the right underwear, in case you get searched. You look right. You act right. To anyone wondering who you are, everything feels right. At a border crossing, you answer questions. As boringly as possible. So they move on. So they think there’s no reason to stop you. Because you’re hiding in plain sight.   But no matter how good you are at hiding in plain sight, there are two moments that can trip you up. Moment #1: When you go from your real life to another identity. Moment #2: When you go back. In those moments, the best acting job won’t save you. In those moments the right haircut, glasses and underwear won’t save you. In those moments, your answers are worthless. If a security service sees you in those moments, it’s over. There’s only one possibility: You’re a spy. Which is why security services watch for those two moments. If they see you living your real life, they’ll watch for you to take on a different identity. If they suspect your identity isn’t real, they’ll watch for the moment when you go back to your real life.  Which is why spies watch for surveillance. Always. Everywhere. Obsessively. You’re always watching for people watching you. Whether you’re in a business meeting. Or on vacation. Or picking up the dog from the vet.

Metrics are a common adjunct to the deployment pipeline in incremental change environments. If teams use this effort as a proof-of-concept, developers should gather appropriate metrics for both before and after scenarios. Gathering concrete data is the best way to for developers to vet the approach; remember the adage that demonstration defeats discussion.

I asked myself: "What do you wanna do? Everyone here knows you. You will always find someone who would support an Ex-Olympiachampion. But then you risk growing old and a cartoon of yourselve, the shadow of a sports vet who lives from memories and remains. So, the best for you is to go where nobody cares who you are.

That’s why deployments are both the worst and the best times of your life. Weird as hell, I know. But talk to a vet, and they’ll tell you it’s true.

If I come sit by you, what’re you going to do?” He swallowed. Unbelievably, she was here. On a date with him. Best not to overthink it, because it was already too dreamlike to be true. All that mattered was that he had a chance with her. He was all in at this point—there was no room for half measures, no turning back. He held her eyes and spoke firmly. “I’m going to kiss you, Savannah.

Dagen begynner. Tiden går, men nå vet jeg at døgnet ikke settes i gang av en motvillig arbeider, det sveives ikke i gang med håndmakt eller åndemakt, det meste er automatisert nå; tiden er en i beste fall rufsete karaokemaskin, femtito album som gjentas inn i uendeligheten, med syv spor på hvert av dem og et elektrisk støt som stikker deg i ryggen i otta, tvinger deg til å gripe mikrofonen og synge av full hals for et gjespende publikum som har begynt å flakke med blikket i retning utgangen.

Wait a minute, look at them. Smiling and laughing. Just having a wonderful time, enjoying themselves to the fullest. Why shouldn't they? They deserve it. It's Christmas. Their Christmas. The best day I ever had was the day Karla found me and brought me here, to my home. Ryan, Kaley, Matt and yes, even Derek, are my family too. I'm treated so well I've lost perspective. Well, what do you expect, I am a dog after all. They always find the time to take me for walks, play with me in the yard, bring me to the vet, get me in out of the heat and cold, cuddle up with me before bedtime and even celebrate my birthday. Today is for them and not for me. The least I can do is to let them enjoy it without me getting in the way. But if this continues tomorrow there'll be hell to pay! Who am I kidding, it'll never happen.

George, who are you seeing these days?” “Well, let’s see. I’ve been dating around, you might call it. There’s a visiting professor at the college I see when she’s in town. She travels quite a lot. And a neighbor lady and I like to have dinner in the city. She writes an ‘about town’ column for the paper and we enjoy some of the best restaurants, all on her tab, but that’s not the best part about her. There’s a waitress in Tacoma I like, a music teacher out on Bainbridge Island and a professor of veterinary medicine. She’s the most trouble and I think I like her best.” Noah’s eyes were round. He swallowed. “You’re seeing five women?” “Well, on and off. Each one of them is completely irresistible in her own way.” “Don’t any of them want more of you than an occasional date? Like a serious relationship?” George sighed and looked upward. “I’m not opposed to the idea of marrying again, Noah. But, as of this moment, the only woman I’m seeing I would consider is the vet, Sharon. But she’s forty-four. I think that might be a tad risky, don’t you?” Then he grinned. “Although we do jog together on Sunday mornings. She’s keeping up very well.” Noah burst out laughing. This was what he loved about George and always had—he was so unafraid to live life. He held nothing back. “They used to call men like you rogues,” Noah said. “Not men like me,” he protested. “I care very much for these ladies. They are, each one, wonderful women. I treat them with genuine affection and respect.” Noah

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Vet: "I'm afraid I'm going to have to put your dog down." Owner: "Why, just because he's cross-eyed?" Vet: "No, because he's heavy!

Already vetted. Would you listen to yourself, Aly? You’re not shopping for plumbers for fuck sake.” A sly grin crept over her face. “Well, you could say I’m looking for a man to take care of my ‘pipes’ soooooo…” Stunned. That’s what he was, and not in a good way. More like tasered-in-the-nuts kind of stunned. That third glass of wine had blown holes in her inhibitions, and now she was speaking in innuendo. If he thought she was even remotely referring to him, he’d be as hard as a plumber’s wrench. But she wasn’t. She was talking about some stranger who wouldn’t give two shits about her and would get to know what it felt like to sink into her heat and hear her moan in pleasure.

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