I wrestled with the question only briefly, as I sat waiting for the vet. Should I ask him about that jar sitting on the counter? Yes, of course I should. I had been staring at its murky contents for the last fifteen minutes, while the vet was with my dog in another room. I had a right to know what was inside it!
The jar looked out of place next to two big glass canisters chock full of tongue depressors and cotton balls. The glass canisters were impeccably clean, inspiring confidence. But the curious jar looked like some dowdy stepsister next to those gleaming vessels. It was squat, and the lid was a giveaway that it was a pickle jar. A pickle jar full of dirty liquid, with something floating inside.
I had seen jars like it before. When I worked at New York Medical College, I would sometimes pass down a back hallway in the rear of the building, and along one wall was a dusty shelf upon which sat several jars full of brown and yellow water, containing pieces of tissue that resembled small curled-up pigs.
Now, face to face with another unidentified floating object, I was sure I was looking at some sort of nasty speciman. Though I felt weirdly afraid of getting "caught" I got up and walked over to the counter to peer more closely at the jar. The thing inside was the color of raw chicken, and it looked squashed against the glass. Its purpose was just as puzzling to me as the purpose of those creepy jars at New York Medical College. What the hell was it and why was the vet keeping it here?
That is the question I was going to ask. Oh yes indeedy. Was going to ask it. But then the vet brought Cheri in and started talking all doctory at me, and it slipped my mind. But believe you me, I am going to find out. Or get Roger to find out for me next time he goes.