Little Filthy had surgery on Thursday. He had a lump/wart thingy removed from his front paw and, since he was going to be out anyway, a teeth cleaning. He was dropped off at 7 a.m. without his breakfast. When I picked him up at 5 p.m., they gave me back a groggy, drunk dog who was hungry and tried to gnaw into a bag of dog food on display while I paid the bill.
Here’s a picture of his shaved leg with some stitches – sorry for the quality. I took it on my phone in dim lighting and probably that was for the best. It looks like a big black ant with long antennae on a wound.
Today, I had to step out for a while so I put on his cone. His cone of shame. See, he wore it when we walked out of the vet’s office (not too skillfully, I’ll add – he snagged the cone on ever corner or door or piece of furniture, etc.) but as he has not been alone since then, he hasn’t worn the cone and has just been under careful watch. However, because he was going to be alone, I put on his cone and left him standing on the entry-way rug, staring at the door and giving me look of “WHAT. THE. F*CK.”
I came home about an hour later and found him… in the exact same position, staring at the front door – having not moved in an hour. His face said, “No, Seriously. WHAT. THE. F*CK. I look like Queen Elizabeth.”
So I took the cone off and put a loose band-aid on his leg. He’s much happier now.
Just a random attorney writing about daily life with Little Filthy, my rotten dog.