The battle of Ping-Li
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It was the end of a busy afternoon and I leaned into the reception desk to check on what remained of the day.
"I'm beat. How close to being done are we?" I asked.
"You poor man," replied Sandy, my wife. She seldom gave me any sympathy. "Your last appointment is in the exam room. It is just a nail trim on a cat. You should be able to handle it OK."
I stepped into the exam room to find Al and Vivian Napoletano. They were new clients, but I had met Al when I was on a farm call out on Upper Berlin Road some weeks before. He was a short guy, stocky, and with white hair and mustache. Vivian was t...
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