Hello people, Mouse here again.
Today, I am a VIP. In case you’re wondering, today the P does not stand for Pupper, but for Patient. That’s right. I am Injured. It all began when the Staff took me to the new dog park in town yesterday. Normally, it’s fairly quiet, and being grassy and shady, with big trees and benches, we spend a fair bit of time there. There’s a Big Dog enclosure, and a Small Yapper enclosure. I had the Big Dog area to myself, but the Small Yapper occupying the designated yapper space would not shut up. I decided to show it (through the fence) who was a) bigger and b) faster.
Yes, well. I won’t be doing that again in a hurry. If you’re squeamish, skip this bit and go straight to the next paragraph. I was going great guns until I caught a nail on my right hind leg and ripped it right off. Gornski. I spared the world the Greyhound Scream of Death, which would have been fully, fully justified, but it was horribly painful.
Well, you bet I pulled up in a big hurry. The Staff rushed over as I tried to put my weight on that foot without success. At first, you couldn’t see much, but then it started to bleed. And bleed. And bleed. They hurried me home. Mum washed it and sprayed it with purple spray, quite fetching really (Cetrigen antibacterial aerosol wound spray – Mum), and wrapped it tightly in non stick gauze dressing and cohesive bandage to try and stop the bleeding. I bled through that. And the next one. Greyhounds often don’t clot easily, apparently.
Anyway Mum wanted the vet to take a look, make sure there were no ragged bits left to catch on stuff, and ensure the wound was clean enough, and also to get antibiotics for me to prevent infection, as I’d walked through all kinds of stuff to get back to the car. So off we went to the vet in the morning, and came home with pills and ointment and a very annoying large white bandage-boot on my foot. I am under orders to leave it alone, and despite enormous provocation to give it a good gnawing, I am leaving it alone. Well, wouldn’t YOU if the alternative was The Cone of Shame…?
I am dealing with this by wearing an expression of deep pathos, imminent starvation and hopeful cuteness all at once. So far, today’s score is breakfast served in bed, two chicken necks, a beefy treat and three chicken hearts – Score! (What he doesn’t know is that the chicken hearts contained his pain medicine and the antibiotic, which is e-n o r m o u s! We’ll just keep that between us, shall we? – Mum).
I am keeping to my sofa and sleeping a lot now that my paw isn’t hurting any more, and I’ve even stopped doing that silly ‘I’ve got something on my feet’ spider-walk.
Clearly, I am on the mend. Just don’t tell the Staff, or the treat supply will dry up pronto.