Alas, Poor Em
She had her annual tire-kicking and vaccination visit at the vet today. This timed out fortunately, because she tore open her side on a tree branch at the park the other day--not a big gash, but one I wanted looked at. So I took her in (in Becca's new second-hand-ready-to-drive-to-college car) and she had the exam and the shot, and then stayed over for a few hours for a dose of Doggie-Downers and some suturing. She came home, still a little stoned. I put her in a tee-shirt (the alternative to the Cone of Shame, which she did not want) and she's been hanging about looking anxious and befuddled.
For the next ten days, she is on leash-exercise, which is going to make her crabby and is going to make the rest of us cranky too. Who would be a dog?
For the next ten days, she is on leash-exercise, which is going to make her crabby and is going to make the rest of us cranky too. Who would be a dog?