Look, I’m dying…
Poor Louis has hurt his foot. I’m not quite sure how it happened, but he yelped when we were out walking so must have stood on something sharp. I noticed blood but he wouldn’t let me look without crying (him, not me) so I thought it was safer to pop to the vet (neurotic, I know, but hey). I’d never met the chap before but he didn’t endear himself to me initially when I asked him to help me lift Louis out of the car (he’s the size of a small house for goodness’ sake) and he said he would after he’d muzzled him. I politely but firmly assured him that Louis doesn’t need a muzzle and is the biggest scaredy, trembly, terrified-of-everything baby I’ve ever known, and after that they kind of bonded.
Needless to say, Louis found the whole experience terrifying and sat in the waiting room shaking so violently he actually made me a bit worried – he even developed a really dodgy twitchy eye that reminded me of John Cleese doing Basil Fawlty. The vet was so nice though – he ruffled Louis’ ears and even found the nice scratchy bit on his neck that makes his back leg go funny and said ‘greyhounds make very good pets, y’know’, which made me smile (I know!!). Anyhoo, once the big wobbly jelly was diagnosed (a small puncture wound), cleaned, bandaged (somewhat ostentatiously in my humble opinion) and given a course of antibiotic tablets (‘I won’t inject him, greyhounds scream like girls’), he felt courageous enough to be cuddled by the nice receptionist, and was given a celebratory pig’s ear for being so brave (pah!).
I think he’s secretly quite enjoying it as his limp seemed to be much more pronounced while walking back to the car (lots of people stopped to enquire after his injury and he got several free ear scratches – a result), and when the boys came home from school he greeted them at the door holding his bandaged paw up as if to say ‘look…look how poorly I am…I might die’. I can’t wait to see him when Hubby comes home…I’m expecting death throes and fake convulsions at the very least.
I had to show you this picture – the boys flapped and worried over him and he just lapped it all up; look at the stupid expression, all he needs is a nurse to mop his brow. Actually, it kind of reminds me of that ‘Kiss me, Hardy’ portrait of Nelson. He was a total hypochondriac too. Oh, and if my Dad’s reading, can I just point out that they’re going for a haircut on Friday, okay??
The worst bit of all this is that we’ve got to keep the bandage clean and dry for five (count ‘em) days. We’ve experimented with freezer bags and we’re currently favouring cling film. Don’t they do dog wellies? Maybe I’ve discovered a gap in the market…
Louis behaving like a Big Girls Blouse AND wearing a Leopardskin collar…
Coincidence? Naaaaahhhhhh!!!!