Just when we thought we were free from the terror of a Great Dane encased in a hard plastic cone…
Just when the other dogs quit cowering in fear at Olive’s entrance into the room…
Just as the cuts on our arms and legs began to scab over…
Just when we finally threw that sad excuse of a cone into the trash,
the adventure begins again.
For the THIRD time!
We arrived home on Wednesday evening, following two fun-filled days at Kalahari. We were greeted by enthusiastic, happy dogs who were glad to see us.
All was good.
All was well.
*cue scary music*
We open the door to find this!
Olive was let outside for a few minutes and in that time, in the midst of her leaps of joy and pirouettes of happiness, she somehow injured herself. And I mean REALLY injured herself.
We opened the door to find our front porch looking like a scene from The Walking Dead.
Undeterred by the gushing wounds on two of her feet, she continued to bounce around with 100-pound-puppy energy, quickly coating the porch, us, and herself with blood.
It was at this point Molly pondered out loud, as she ran to the medicine cabinet for bandages, “I wonder what it would be like to just have a normal, boring day around here.”
But, alas, nothing is ever simple, uneventful, or boring at Patchwork Farm.
No, everyday is an adventure…whether we want it to be or not. 😉
Thus began adventure # 786,901 at Patchwork Farm: “The day the cone returned!”
It took all the older kids to hold Olive down so that Toby and I could inspect the damage. When the blood kept soaking through the pressure dressings we put on her ankles, we knew the situation exceeded our level of expertise and it was back to the vet for another overnighter for Olive.
She is earning her frequent flyer miles at Rainbow Vet, and we are personally funding our veterinarian’s next European vacation! Ugh.
We were able to pick up Olive the next day. After walking the entire yard we still have no idea what she ran through that tore her up so badly that she needed to get staples in her legs,
But the end result was minor surgery, boxing gloves for paws, and the return of “The Cone.”
She is now on “bed rest” once again-
“And it is SO MUCH FUN!!” I scream with a manic grin.
She also can’t get her bandages wet for 10 days, a challenging feat living in Western Pennsylvania, so she was sent home from the vet with little plastic galoshes that must be tied onto her feet every time she goes outside.
Moving with the grace of a newborn giraffe, she struggles to move through the yard hampered by boxing glove feet, covered in stiff plastic bags.
She has adapted by learning to walk on her tip toes, quite reminiscent of Wile E. Coyote sneaking up on the Road Runner.
It is quite comical to watch,
but the return of the “cone of shame” is not so comical.
We are all suffering from this latest Olive adventure…
Olive is feeling the pain of her most recent injury in her feet.
The kids are feeling the bruising pain of collisions with the “cone of shame” on their arms and legs.
And Toby is feeling the piercing financial pain of Great Dane ownership in his wallet.
Can someone pass me an aspirin?