I was e-mailing a friend and a client about possible additional complications he could heap upon the hapless protagonist in his novel, and I was telling him about the time a vet charged me $150 to diagnose my dog as having a ligament tear that would require $5000 surgery followed by a three-month confinement in a crate. I ignored the diagnosis, and the dog got better on her own — something the vet had said was impossible. But that’s not the point I’m making here. The astounding thing is: seconds after I sent that e-mail, I looked to the right side of the screen in my Gmail inbox, and it was filled with ads for dog walkers, pet sitters, a veterinary instruments.
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