The same dog, drawn twice, both times true
One dog drawn twice in the same flat style — visibly lame on one side of a line, standing level on the other — with only two labels telling you which is which.

The same dog, drawn twice, in the same flat line style. On the left, walking with one back leg held
high, body tilted — visibly lame. On the right, the identical dog standing square and level. A single
vertical line between the two marks a doorway. Under each: AT HOME, AT THE VET.
Both drawings are correct. That's the whole design.
Why draw the same dog twice instead of one drawing with a caption?
Because the point isn't the limp — it's that two accurate observations of the same animal, minutes apart, can look like they contradict each other.
One drawing showing a limp reads as a fact. A second drawing of the same dog standing level, right next to it, in the same style, turns it into a comparison a viewer has to hold in their head at once. That's the actual experience this piece is drawing: not a symptom, but the specific frustration of a symptom that vanishes exactly when you need someone else to see it.
Why does the line between them mark a doorway rather than just a gap?
Because a doorway is precisely where the change tends to happen — one floor and one set of smells on one side, an entirely different room on the other.
The line isn't decorative. It's doing the same job the doorway itself does: separating two contexts that produce two different bodies from one animal. Everything about the drawing on the left belongs to home. Everything on the right belongs to somewhere else. The dog crossing between them is the only thing that hasn't changed — a doorway shows up again as the site of a different, purely physical mismatch once a cone enters the picture, which says something about how much work an ordinary threshold ends up doing in a week like this one.
Is one of the two drawings the "real" one?
No — that's the mistake this piece is built to head off. Neither drawing is staged and neither is wrong.
Adrenaline changes how an animal moves, and a strange floor with a stranger's hands on it produces plenty of adrenaline. A dog that's guarding a sore leg at home can walk it off entirely under enough alertness, for exactly as long as the alertness lasts, and then go straight back to guarding it the moment it's home again. Nothing about the levelled-out walk on the right is faked, and nothing about the tilted walk on the left is exaggerated.
Does this mean nobody is at fault when it happens?
Correct — nobody is. Not the person who reported a limp that wasn't there to see, and not whoever examined a dog that genuinely wasn't showing one.
It's one of the most ordinary mismatches in reporting a symptom nobody can reproduce on demand. The household isn't imagining it and the animal isn't performing wellness; two different environments are just producing two different, equally real results from the same body.
Why do the two labels matter more than the drawings?
Because without them, this reads as a puzzle instead of a record.
AT HOME and AT THE VET are the only text on the whole print, and they're what turn two similar
line drawings into a specific, legible situation rather than an abstract before-and-after. Strip the
labels and you'd need to guess what's changed between the two dogs; keep them and the print states
its own subject in four words — the same economy behind a short, plain vocabulary that has to be
readable at a glance by whoever's holding the lead that day.
That instinct to stop describing and start recording is also what pushes a household to film a room
instead of trying to explain it from memory.
Does drawing a limp like this need anyone's permission?
No — a generic dog silhouette walking unevenly is an observation about gait, not a portrait of anyone's specific animal or anyone's clinic.
Nothing about the drawing identifies a real practice, a real vet or a real address; the doorway is a line, not a location. What belongs to the household is the situation itself — their dog, their two rooms — and that's exactly what a made-to-order version records.
Does it print well?
Yes — flat, uniform-weight line drawings hold up cleanly at almost any size, which matters here because the two figures need to read as obviously matched.
Keep both dogs the same line weight and the same proportions so the only difference between them is posture, not style — any variation there would look like two different drawings rather than one dog twice. Charcoal or another dark ground keeps a light single-colour outline crisp, and the two labels should stay small and plain; they're doing enough work without being enlarged.
How do I get one made?
Describe the two versions at JustOG — what changed between them, and where. Pick a direction, drag the crop frame, see it composited on the real garment, and it's made to order and shipped.
Designs other people have published are in the shop.
Level on the consulting-room floor, favouring it again by the time the car door shuts.