Not her fault

Poor Walter. Just when things start going well, they take a turn for the worse.

All was right with his world. He was back home and his cousin Daisy was sticking around for a week to play. He was able to sleep in his favorite chair, was getting plied with treats from his parents that missed him horribly for two weeks, and was just starting to get used to Mia crying at 2:00 each morning. We had even arranged for him to sleep in our bed again.

Yesterday however, on the way home from a glorious walk in the park he stepped on some broken glass right outside our house. To his credit, he didn't cry or whine, but just went upstairs, drank some water, then curled up on his chair for a nap. It wasn't for another 10 minutes that Corrie noticed the trail of blood leading up our stairs, to the kitchen and back out to the living room. (Imagine a darker version of a family circus cartoon)



We tried to clean up his foot but he was bleeding pretty profusely. A hasty drive to the vet, to learn he cut the pad of his foot pretty deep, and needed significant stitches. They tried to sedate him, but Walter being Walter, he would have none of it. So they had to put him completely under and intebate him. While putting a breathing tube down my dogs’ throat (a sentence I hoped never to have to write), they found an abscessed tooth that had to be yanked as well. So not only is he limping, but he can't eat crunchy food for a few days either.

He's back home now, heavily medicated. He's also forced to wear that painfully dorky cone on his head to keep him from chewing the stitches out, and is prohibited from long walks, rigorous playing, or jumping off our bed.

I only hope he doesn't associate this latest humiliation with our daughter.