Last week I was dealing with a huge, mucky lump on Rosie’s jaw. You don’t need details … just take it from me that it was just as gross and disgusting as you might imagine. There is still the slight possibility that the Vet [ who turned up despite the visit being cancelled*, completely catching son-in-law on the hop, The Girl & I being elsewhere. Of course, poor Chris knew almost none of the details of the course of Rosie’s problem ] may be correct about it being cancer. Obviously, I hope he’s wrong, and, yes, the nastiness appears to be getting better on a daily basis so fingers firmly crossed.
Despite a fetching hot pink dye job [ the antiseptic spray is highly coloured so that you can see if you hit the spot … how sensible is that ? ] Rosie seems totally unaffected by all the manhandling and indignities suffered in the last week or so.
This week it’s been Bear’s turn to be the object of my medical ‘expertise’.
Somehow or other, he injured a back paw: no blood, contusions, swelling, heat or discolouration, but obvious discomfort, a three legged limp, and a … very restrained … little whine and a half-hearted nip when it was probed or manipulated.
Because it was a back paw, he couldn’t put any weight on it to jump up on the couch – or my bed – so there was a very pointed sub vocalised little growl whenever he wanted a leg-up, which was repeated until I got the point. I wish my canine mind reading skills were a little more advanced. it would make life so much easier.
He’s back on all four paws today, but still milking the sympathy for all it’s worth:
The cats have, of course, just overwhelmed him with their level of caring:
* and of course, despite the ‘mix-up, said Vet presented large bill for immediate attention.