Overall, my life is pretty fabulous. I have loving parents, parks to play in and beaches where I often go to chase seagulls. (I’ve yet to catch one, but it is only a matter of time.)
But lately I’ve felt the need to vent. About six months ago, I went to my doctor and had a wart removed from my head. OUCH! My vet thought it would be a good idea to put a cone around my neck for a few days, so I wouldn’t scratch myself. I was NOT pleased with this development, not because I had stitches and it was mildly painful, but because it wasn’t good for my image. I pride myself on looking runway ready at all times–tail up, ready to prance down the sidewalk and impress all of my boy dog suitors (in their dreams). But this was just not my moment. Luckily, my Mom let me stay in the house for a few days so I wouldn’t have to be seen in public.
After the wart incident, it took me a while to get my confidence back, but it came and I was soon in the park again, breaking hearts left and right. That is until the worst happened. This was no good, no good at all.
I broke my tail. Yep. It was about three weeks ago. My Mom was in Las Vegas visiting my Grandma. My Dad was at work and, instead of being at my Uncle Ted’s house (a man I truly love, as do my parents), I was at a good-for-nothing doggie daycare called Fog City Dogs. Look it up. Write a bad Yelp review on my behalf and I will love you forever.
It was just after lunch and I was following my fellow dog friends in from outside when suddenly, without warning, something grabbed my tail and my back and clamped down! It was terribly painful. I screamed in pain and didn’t stop for about 30 seconds. One of the Fog City employees came over to me and looked at my body, but then left me alone. Apparently they didn’t see anything. I was miserable.
My Dad picked me up and immediately knew something was wrong. Later that night when my Mom got home, I heard her gasp. She saw the chunk of hair that had been ripped from my back and she noticed that something was wrong with my tail. We went to the vet the next day. My suspicions were correct: my tail was broken. I had been caught in a gate.
Unfortunately, there really isn’t any treatment for a broken tail. You can’t put a cast on it. And if you could, I wouldn’t want one. So for the next two weeks, I let my tail drag near the ground. I moped around while my Mom and Dad did everything they could to make me feel better, including lots of treats and the administering of pain medications.
I’m happy to report that I am feeling a lot better. Yesterday, my Mom took me on a four-mile run, the first one since the incident. I felt good. The hair on my back is growing back. My tail is awkwardly bent a little, but it isn’t horrible. I’m thinking that it will just heal that way. It is still tender, but not bad. I can sit down now. I wasn’t able to for a few weeks because my butt hurt. The best part? My parents promised me that I will never have to go to Fog City Dogs again. Yay!
OK, my pity party is over. I’ll leave you with some recent photos of my fabulous life.