This is a story about a dog. Specifically, a dog that has determined that my wife and I are acceptable roommates.
Sometimes dogs do unwise things. Sometimes they are just unlucky. The dog that is the star here first experienced the latter and then the former.
How to put this delicately. He developed a problem on/in his butt, a little way internal to his body. His obvious solution was to lick the area as best he could. Which made the problem worse. Which made the need to lick greater. Which … and so on.
A trip to his doctor was mandatory. The dog associates the doctor’s office with people peering into his mouth and ears, pushing what he assumes are illegal drugs into his body, and violating his personal space.
He hates it.
There is no trouble getting him into the car. I don’t know why. Because almost every time he accepts a ride he egresses from the car at the doctor’s office.
Which he recognized at once.
He refused to enter, until loving persuasion and strong leashing convinced him otherwise.
Inside there was intensive panting and constant movement while we waited for the tech to fetch us.
The dog and I entered an examination room, described his problem, and awaited the doctor. Who cheerfully suggested he follow the tech to the hidden depths of the building, available only to staff and dog.
The dog, after initial resistance, trotted along nicely with the tech, leaving me alone to imagine the worst.
And then it came. Not the worst, but bad enough. The dog was to wear a cone for an unspecified amount of time.
Back home, walks elicited sympathetic comments from neighbors and others, many of whom have been in the same place at one time or another.
Several exclaimed about the “Cone of Sh…” I interrupted and said, “No, that’s not the name of this cone. It can be referred to only as either ‘Cone of Pride,’ or Cone of Strength.’”
The cone has impacted the dog’s life.
Since the cone more than doubles the size of the dog’s head, navigation problems have emerged. He walks familiar paths and bangs into adjoining furniture. Some paths become impassable. Slightly ajar doors that he could open at will now get banged shut as the cone makes contact independent of his nudging nose. He has not mastered the art of backing up so I can let him out of a room. So we reach a stalemate where the cone presses on the door and the door presses on the cone until finally we manage to obtain the dog’s freedom.
There are some plusses. It’s fun to watch him eat or drink. In order to get at the food, he has to stick his mouth directly down covering the dish in the cone’s interior. We have to wait until he emerges to see how much he has eaten. Unfortunately, he uses the same trick when I walk him outside. If there is some delicacy he has spotted that might be worth devouring, he covers it with the cone so I will never know to stop him.
There are times he is immensely cute, lying stomach down, front and back legs stretched to the maximum, head resting on the bottom part of the cone, and looking out with an expression of unlimited love.
And there was the time in bed (yes, he allows us to share) when he came up, lay on his side, and gently rested the cone, with his head inside, on my chest.
I pet him, and his tail wagged enthusiastically. In fact, the little trooper has shared the entire experience by showing his love with his tail.
So this brings us to the end of this dog’s sad tale by taking joy from the wagging of this dog’s loving tail.
Sometimes dogs do unwise things. Sometimes they are just unlucky. The dog that is the star here first experienced the latter and then the former.
How to put this delicately. He developed a problem on/in his butt, a little way internal to his body. His obvious solution was to lick the area as best he could. Which made the problem worse. Which made the need to lick greater. Which … and so on.
A trip to his doctor was mandatory. The dog associates the doctor’s office with people peering into his mouth and ears, pushing what he assumes are illegal drugs into his body, and violating his personal space.
He hates it.
There is no trouble getting him into the car. I don’t know why. Because almost every time he accepts a ride he egresses from the car at the doctor’s office.
Which he recognized at once.
He refused to enter, until loving persuasion and strong leashing convinced him otherwise.
Inside there was intensive panting and constant movement while we waited for the tech to fetch us.
The dog and I entered an examination room, described his problem, and awaited the doctor. Who cheerfully suggested he follow the tech to the hidden depths of the building, available only to staff and dog.
The dog, after initial resistance, trotted along nicely with the tech, leaving me alone to imagine the worst.
And then it came. Not the worst, but bad enough. The dog was to wear a cone for an unspecified amount of time.
Back home, walks elicited sympathetic comments from neighbors and others, many of whom have been in the same place at one time or another.
Several exclaimed about the “Cone of Sh…” I interrupted and said, “No, that’s not the name of this cone. It can be referred to only as either ‘Cone of Pride,’ or Cone of Strength.’”
The cone has impacted the dog’s life.
Since the cone more than doubles the size of the dog’s head, navigation problems have emerged. He walks familiar paths and bangs into adjoining furniture. Some paths become impassable. Slightly ajar doors that he could open at will now get banged shut as the cone makes contact independent of his nudging nose. He has not mastered the art of backing up so I can let him out of a room. So we reach a stalemate where the cone presses on the door and the door presses on the cone until finally we manage to obtain the dog’s freedom.
There are some plusses. It’s fun to watch him eat or drink. In order to get at the food, he has to stick his mouth directly down covering the dish in the cone’s interior. We have to wait until he emerges to see how much he has eaten. Unfortunately, he uses the same trick when I walk him outside. If there is some delicacy he has spotted that might be worth devouring, he covers it with the cone so I will never know to stop him.
There are times he is immensely cute, lying stomach down, front and back legs stretched to the maximum, head resting on the bottom part of the cone, and looking out with an expression of unlimited love.
And there was the time in bed (yes, he allows us to share) when he came up, lay on his side, and gently rested the cone, with his head inside, on my chest.
I pet him, and his tail wagged enthusiastically. In fact, the little trooper has shared the entire experience by showing his love with his tail.
So this brings us to the end of this dog’s sad tale by taking joy from the wagging of this dog’s loving tail.
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