In which Bert re-enacts the Texas Chainsaw Massacre
Sunday, then. The village smalls: a gang that forms ever larger (it’s kind of like one of those balls of Bert-fluff on my kitchen floor: as it rolls along the skirting board it attracts more all the time) decide to chip in two quid each and hire the astro-turf down by the pub undertakers pundertakers for an hour to play footie.
On returning, we find an alarming sight: blood. Lots and lots of blood. Bert rushes to greet me and he’s covered in it. It drips down both front legs, is splodged across his back, smeared all over his face and runs the whole length of his tail, splattering the walls liberally as he wags. We panic. Checking him over, there’s no obvious signs of injury so I despatch the still-sweaty kids to check the house.
More horror awaits us upstairs. In my bedroom, #2 reports that there is blood all over the carpet and the bed. Worse, the lounge looks like Sweeney Todd’s barbers – blood is splattered across Bert’s bed, the hearth, the floor and – gulp – my lovely sofa. #2, turning all detective, appears with evidence. It seems that in our absence, and feeling a bit bored, Bert has decided to investigate Hubby’s overnight bag – still only half unpacked from the night before. He’s found the wash-bag, tipped it out, eaten the toothbrush (you know he’s got a bit of a thing for toothbrushes), discarded the toothpaste after an exploratory squeeze, and extracted two disposable razors, which he obviously either sniffed or licked. Next he has taken the trainers and arranged them on the bed, all the while bleeding profusely.
With these clues, we go back to our prime suspect, who is sulking in the kitchen so he can’t bleed on anything else, and concentrate on inspecting his mouth. Ah, and there it is – he’s sliced the bottom of his nose with the razor and that’s dripping onto everything else. I make a quick exploratory of the mouth – there’s a couple of nicks, but frankly, unless he’s bleeding to death, I’d rather avoid being in there for too long. I can just picture the scene earlier as he licks his paw and finds it covered in blood, so he licks again and there’s more blood! Turning around, he sniffs his tail to see if it’s bleeding and – yes! It is! How strange – wherever I sniff seems to be bleeding…. This obviously continued until practically his whole body – and the entire house - were liberally sprinkled.
Drastic measures are called for. We wallop a bit of cotton wool on the offending cut, then whack a great big bit of plaster across his nose to keep it from dripping on anything else. Sweeney Todd is not impressed. I phone Jen and ask for her refund department. Apparently it’s closed on Sundays.
(Hopefully you found the razors and he didn’t eat the blades?)
1)They sell Frosty Paws there too? My sister’s dog is absolutely obsessed with it.
2) He really ate the toothbrush? Isn’t that high risk for intestinal perofration?
I always like the Bert photos, but the EYES in these ones are marvellous.
I hope he recovers speedily; meanwhile, have fun cleaning.
I nicked my chin shaving, and yes it bled, but dip I drip it all over the place ?? No, I didn’t .. so, I must be smarter than Bert !
I hope he’s OK. I’m sure he will be, though I agree about the toothbrush being not that good for the innards …
That bit of plaster! ROFL! How long did he keep that on for?
Greyhounds have a tendancy to bleed profusely as I discovered when Taffy cut his tail a couple of years back – for months I was discovering blood splatters in places I didn’t know they could reach.
And when William pulled his dew claw – it looked like a fight had taken place on my patio and everyone had ended up with bloody noses
I feel your pain EM. Remember that scaldy looking yoke I got from the pound? Damn thing was CAKED with muck and full of sores. Clever Jenny decided that a wash was in order and discovered to her horror thaat the muck was the only thing keeping the wee fecker from haemorraging from every sore and cut!
No kidding, we had to repaint the (non washable) walls in two bedrooms, stairs, landing and kitchen at a cost of €700! Ker-ching!!!
Tara: Nope, never heard of them. And yes, he did chew it, but he just chewed the head off and spat it out. Didn’t do much for his breath either
Susan: Ah, he felt really sorry for himself. Especially with me screeching ‘oh no!’ as I discovered each bloody item!! x
Moon: Yes okay, you are mildly more intelligent than a greyhound. Happy?! x
Mary: He got tinned dog food for tea (ew!) so he was very happy.
Jay: About…ooh, two seconds?!
June: I did feel sorry for him but jeepers, my bloody house (literally!) x
Sleepy: Don’t be fooled, he’s a one-dog wrecking spree!
TM: Yeh, why is that? Something about their heart-rate or something? He was like a fire-hose! x
Jen: I nearly put that in the story but couldn’t remember exactly what happened! I remember C’s delight at the bill though
http://www.mygreyhound.me.uk/2008/05/one-greyhound-minus-her-tail
Kate: Aw bless her, what a brave girly x
Thrifty: Tummy rub bestowed, thanks x
lots of love,tell mum her house has burnt down !
x
Moon: Absolutely, he’s a clever chap really x
Alg: Mum says sod off. And don’t kill her cat. Love you too x
Kisses to Bert.
awwwwww poor bert, love the plaster on the nose lol
berts not as woosey as blue lol when he lost a dew claw he refused to get up and just lay there bleeding convinced he was dying. Mind you he kinda does something like that when we lift him out of the bath too, he refuses to stand up, goes all girly and plays dead on the floor for ten minutes, only coming round when a bit of pancetta is waved in front of his beak. greyhounds, dontcha just love em lol