Everything I've built.

I talk through the exam, it drafts the SOAP note and the discharge, and pushes them back into the record. Runs on my own hardware.

Go-home instructions for surgery and dentals. Clients get a link and a QR code before pickup instead of a folded sheet they lose in the parking lot.

Watches the clinic text inbox, drafts a reply in our voice, and waits for a human to approve it. It has never once sent a message on its own, by design.

A browser extension that writes a 12-system physical exam straight into our practice software in one click, instead of me retyping it.

A sticky note that pops on a teammate's screen and stays there until they clear it. Built because a question sat unread in Slack and the tech assumed the answer was no.

Where staff photos of patients live, so a pet's picture can be pulled into their discharge by name.

Dose math for the drugs I actually reach for. Unglamorous, used constantly, and public if you want to try it.

Staff scheduling for a small practice: week builder, time-off, swaps, and AI-drafted weeks checked against the clinic's real rules.

The board on the treatment room tablet that says who is here and what they still need.

A request tracker so jobs stop living in five different heads.

Turns my clinical shorthand into the plain-language explanation that sits next to an estimate, in my receptionist's voice rather than mine.

The multi-clinic version of the discharge tool, on its own isolated database, for showing other practices.

A digital version of the board that used to get wiped by accident.

A desktop tool for the lookups I do a dozen times a day.

Watches the clinic machines and tells me when one of them wanders off.

My clinic's site. I rebuild it more often than I should admit, including a pet poison triage tool with real dose math for 20 toxins.

A free resource for owners of cats with kidney disease. 29 written guides, no ads, no course at the end of it.

This site. Built, deployed and wired to its own database in a morning.

Where the other half of my brain goes.

A site I built for another clinic, because they needed one and I could.

What veterinary care actually costs, written down honestly.

The screens in the lobby, driven from a database instead of a USB stick.

A printable keyboard cheat sheet for my Linux desktop. Took twenty minutes and I use it weekly.

My own database and auth stack, on my own box, instead of renting someone else's.

One shared memory every AI client I use can read and write, because intelligence and memory turned out to be two different problems.

A persistent agent that stays running instead of forgetting me between conversations.

A gateway that lets an agent publish a real website to a real subdomain without ever holding my cloud credentials.

Models running on hardware in my building, for the work I don't want leaving it.

One page that tells me what is up, what is down, and what I forgot I built.

Watches the clinic network and complains before a client notices.

Because finding out from a client that something is down is the worst way to find out.

One machine kept locking up at 8am. This watches for it instead of me guessing.

Local document and file search across everything I have written.

A voice assistant with its own dedicated Linux machine. Its predecessor died quietly on the surgery PC, which is the normal way version one ends. Short demo video coming.

Recorded my actual workday for several days so the helper agent could be specced from what I really do, not what I think I do.

717 real questions my staff asked me over a year, mined out of Slack with my actual answers attached. The training material for every clinic agent I build.

A seizure and medication tracker for owners of epileptic pets. Local-first, no account, no backend. Feature-complete in a day.

Invoice-first practice-software mockups built on my clinic's real catalogue, pulled read-only. What I'd want if I got to draw it.

Live captions for my dad, who loses the thread in a loud cabin. I spent as long on whether the name would make him feel labelled as I did on the code.

Call flows for emergencies, refills and new clients. The hard part was never the AI, it was deciding what it should hand to a human.

Can an agent actually book an appointment correctly, or does it just look like it did?

Pulling real clinic data through my practice software's API instead of pasting text into a chat window.

Client handouts in one place instead of four folders. Parked.

An earlier answer to the clinic inbox problem. Ember replaced it.

Vaccine fridge temperature logging. Parked, still a good idea.

Surgical training material. Parked.

A self-hosted deploy platform I stood up and then stopped using. A plain git hook did the job better.

The first attempt. Replaced by something that worked.

Another novel. Parked on purpose, because it needs a new core and I know it.

A book for other practice owners. Three chapters in.

A 7-page coloring book and an 18-page activity book, generated from a shared drawing library I wrote.

Twenty staff tee designs in one sitting. I lost the print files when a machine died and recovered the mockups out of the page they were published on.

Short animated explainers for clients, fronted by my dog.

A 26-minute screen share of this whole stack, plus five short cuts. This is the one I most want to show you.

Three AI-generated videos about why young people are angry at the wrong thing, plus an A/B cut of the first. Every script got torn apart by a hostile reviewer before a single render credit was spent, and that pass changed all four.

A two-page PDF for relief doctors covering my clinic, regenerated before each stint so the formulary matches what's actually on the shelf.

What relief work actually pays, worked out properly.

Drawings of my other dog. No business case whatsoever.