Before I express my relief at having my lampshade removed, I want to tell you about the dangers of wearing one.
We were coming back from our afternoon walk on friday when we were attacked by a lunatic cat who had obviously decided that life wasn’t worth living and would end it all in spectacular fashion!
As we passed the entrance to a driveway, this stupid cat came flying out and dived into the middle of us; screeching, biting and clawing for all it was worth. Alf, who has proven himself quite a tasty little fighter when up against dogs, seemed unable to move and looked up at mom for direction. Jess clucked at the cat like a fat hen but was also unable to react. Meanwhile this feral furball had scratched her leg enough to make it bleed and nicked Alfie’s nose.
I went absolutely ballistic and fought back like I was struggling against Old Nick himself, but everytime I went to clamp down on this fleabag cat my cone was bouncing off it. The cat came back another couple of times but each attack was repelled by my cone hitting it as I tried to bite. If I hadn’t been wearing the stupid thing then they would have found nothing but a little collar with a bell on it – bye bye Twinkle or whatever stupid cat name it had been given.
The two collies who are double my size let themselves down in this one and ended up bleeding; I came out of it without a scratch. A lesson for all my dog pals: when the chips are down, go in 100% no matter what the odds, you are less likely to get hurt if you are not playing the role of the victim.
So anyway, now I am coneless I feel much better about myself. Nobody is laughing at me any more. Saturday morning we went to the vets in Tamworth, mom much prefers them to the local ones and I agree, I always get fuss and a treat down there and it’s not that far away. Snip snip and the stitches were gone along with the cone. Free at last, free at last.
Afterwards we went to the karting track just outside Tamworth. Yes it was dad’s annual karting day which regular readers of Bones’ Diary will remember I barked about last year. When we arrived dad took me out of the back of the car and we went in to meet the lads. A bit more fuss later and mom took me home.
Many hours later she went to pick him up. He arrived home in his annual karting stupor, his jacket worn in an “off the shoulder” look; one eye open and bottom lip jutting out in defiance. In an effort to stop him swearing she made him some food so at least his mouth would be full, keeping him quiet for a little while. Mom then went to bed leaving him to curse and wave his fist at Match of the Day on television, despite our favourite team winning, and tell us how much he loved us and how we were the best dogs in the world.
Ah well, it’s only once a year.