Doggie Dork Collar
Doggie Dog got in a bit of a scrap with another dog in the dog walker’s truck last night. It didn’t seem any big deal at first – in fact, Mr. Fisher forgot to mention it to us until Mama Dog saw that Doggie Dog’s eye seemed to be injured and she asked him about it. There had been no sign of injury at first, but it started to get gross and oozy in the evening. We wiped the ooze away and put a little Neosporin on what seemed to be the injured area. The next day I was home with Baby Dog and noticed that Doggie Dog seemed particularly mopey and listless. Towards the end of the day I took a look at his eye and was alarmed. It was not only oozy but terribly red. Mama Dog wouldn’t be home until after five, but I called the vet’s and they said they could see him at six, so I made the appointment.
In a weird way, it was kind of a relief to take the dog to the vet to be treated for an injury. Paying for someone else’s pet to go to the vet or taking him to get checked out for rabies from whatever he killed in the yard is a lot more distressing to me. At least, if his injury is fairly minor, which this turned out to be. The vet’s verdict was a nick to the eyelid; there was no sign of any corneal scratching, so we all breathed a sight of relief…particularly Doggie Dog, who is always happy to see the end of a vet visit.
We were given eye drops, which Mama Dog has to administer. Injury to the eye is like Kryptonite to me. I can’t even watch eye drops be administered, let alone ever take them myself. Doggie Dog doesn’t seem to enjoy it much either. The vet had to muzzle him to get the first dose of drops in, but Mama Dog seems to be managing okay with it. He’s our dog, after all.
We also got the doggie dork collar, the canine equivalent of buck teeth and horn rims held together with masking tape. It seemed an awful indignity for our proud beast, but it seemed the only way to stop him from pawing at the wound and slowing the healing process. That is, it would be a way to stop him from pawing at the wound and slowing the healing process if we had a house large enough to accommodate both the furniture and the dog with the satellite dish around his neck. While we were trying to watch Olivier’s Hamlet last night, our poor old dog kept bumping his collar first on the coffee table then on the couch. He’d turn around in circles then stand staring at us, panting in bewilderment and blotting out the screen with his bloody great collar. I eventually got him to lie down and we were able to continue on through the end of the big soliloquy before Mama Dog ran out of steam. When Doggie Dog came in to sleep by the bed, it became clear that the collar wasn’t going to work. We have a small bedroom and a large bed, and the passage between bed and wall is ordinarily a close fit for a big dog. With the extra six inches of circumference around his head, things got tragicomic fast. He tried to squeeze in on Mama Dog’s side, collar scraping against the wall. Then he backed up and tried to find a place at the foot, but when he tried to turn around three times (as is apparently necessary before lying down), the collar thwacked first against the dresser then against the footboard, then bounced off the floor. Being a reasonable dog, he did the reasonable thing; he tried squeezing in the narrow passage that had thwarted him before, thinking perhaps that it had widened itself in the time he was bouncing off the dresser. “That collar has to come off,” I said. As I got up to turn on the light, there was another thwack and a scrape and I saw that indeed the collar had come off. Doggie Dog had managed to knock it off his head. For once it was good that we don’t tend to assemble things properly.
In a weird way, it was kind of a relief to take the dog to the vet to be treated for an injury. Paying for someone else’s pet to go to the vet or taking him to get checked out for rabies from whatever he killed in the yard is a lot more distressing to me. At least, if his injury is fairly minor, which this turned out to be. The vet’s verdict was a nick to the eyelid; there was no sign of any corneal scratching, so we all breathed a sight of relief…particularly Doggie Dog, who is always happy to see the end of a vet visit.
We were given eye drops, which Mama Dog has to administer. Injury to the eye is like Kryptonite to me. I can’t even watch eye drops be administered, let alone ever take them myself. Doggie Dog doesn’t seem to enjoy it much either. The vet had to muzzle him to get the first dose of drops in, but Mama Dog seems to be managing okay with it. He’s our dog, after all.
We also got the doggie dork collar, the canine equivalent of buck teeth and horn rims held together with masking tape. It seemed an awful indignity for our proud beast, but it seemed the only way to stop him from pawing at the wound and slowing the healing process. That is, it would be a way to stop him from pawing at the wound and slowing the healing process if we had a house large enough to accommodate both the furniture and the dog with the satellite dish around his neck. While we were trying to watch Olivier’s Hamlet last night, our poor old dog kept bumping his collar first on the coffee table then on the couch. He’d turn around in circles then stand staring at us, panting in bewilderment and blotting out the screen with his bloody great collar. I eventually got him to lie down and we were able to continue on through the end of the big soliloquy before Mama Dog ran out of steam. When Doggie Dog came in to sleep by the bed, it became clear that the collar wasn’t going to work. We have a small bedroom and a large bed, and the passage between bed and wall is ordinarily a close fit for a big dog. With the extra six inches of circumference around his head, things got tragicomic fast. He tried to squeeze in on Mama Dog’s side, collar scraping against the wall. Then he backed up and tried to find a place at the foot, but when he tried to turn around three times (as is apparently necessary before lying down), the collar thwacked first against the dresser then against the footboard, then bounced off the floor. Being a reasonable dog, he did the reasonable thing; he tried squeezing in the narrow passage that had thwarted him before, thinking perhaps that it had widened itself in the time he was bouncing off the dresser. “That collar has to come off,” I said. As I got up to turn on the light, there was another thwack and a scrape and I saw that indeed the collar had come off. Doggie Dog had managed to knock it off his head. For once it was good that we don’t tend to assemble things properly.
posted by PapaDogDuvalier | 10:40 PM
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