Doug’s dog enters cone of silence

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 31/08/2019 (2551 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

What with the provincial election heating up and the United States-China trade war threatening to derail the world’s economy, this seems like a good time to write another enlightening column about my dogs.

As regular readers already know, I like to write about my dogs from time to time because, owing to the fact that they are dogs, they rarely read newspaper columns and are unlikely to hire lawyers and launch expensive libel lawsuits.

Today’s column will focus on the newest member of our canine family, Juno, a scruffy little “schnoodle” — a feisty blend of schnauzer and poodle that looks like a throw pillow with legs, although my daughter insists she resembles “bad taxidermy.”

When we adopted Juno almost two years ago, we fell in love with her prominent underbite and snaggle-toothed grin that made it look as if she was auditioning for a role as Adorable Street Urchin in an all-dog production of Oliver Twist.

It turned out that most of her teeth were rotten and had to be removed by our beloved family vet, Dr. Jim Broughton, who owns Exclusively Cats Animal Hospital on Corydon Avenue, but has looked after our dogs for more than 30 years.

With only four teeth left in her head, Juno’s tongue now dangles in a carefree manner from the side of her crooked little mouth, giving her a permanently confused expression.

My wife was admiring that expression the other night when, suddenly, she gasped: “Ewww! What’s that THING on Juno’s lip?”

We initially thought that thing might be a creepy tick, but it turned out to be a mysterious growth, which, naturally, caused us to become alarmed and contact our vet, who asked me to email him photographs of the lump to study.

“You have an excellent future in Dog Lump Photography,” is what Dr. Broughton told me in his emailed reply. “I will need to remove the growth just to be safe.”

It is never fun to drag a beloved family member out of bed and leave her whimpering at a veterinary clinic, so I made my wife do it. A few hours later, while I was sitting at the home computer pounding out a column, the vet called to say the surgery had gone fine and Juno was ready to be picked up.

The only bad news was that, to prevent her from scratching the stitches on her face, she was going to need to wear one of those goofy-looking cones with her head sticking out of the middle.

What with owning a cat clinic, our vet did not have doggie-sized cones, so I had to drop into another veterinary office, and while I was standing at the counter, my wife called to point out that I am an idiot because we already own a turquoise-coloured canine cone, which apparently we bought for our main dog, Bogey, a few years ago.

But that’s beside the point. The point is I went to pick up Juno and the veterinary assistants gently placed the turquoise cone over her head before she came scrambling and squealing out of the back room to greet me.

I am somewhat ashamed to say this, but at the sight of her groggy face poking out from the middle of this floppy cloth cone, I burst into laughter, which — and all you pet owners will understand this — Juno did not appreciate in the slightest.

As soon as we left the office and rounded the corner to my car, Juno and her wounded pride marched over to the side of the clinic, firmly pressed the cone containing her head against the exterior wall, and refused to budge.

As curious pedestrians wandered by, I had the following conversation with my dog, who was able to reply telepathically:

Me: “What’s wrong?”

Juno: “I can’t believe you did this to me. The indignity!”

Me: “What? You look great.”

Juno: “I look like a (bad word) satellite dish! Or some kind of psychedelic flower with a dog’s head sticking out of the centre.”

Me: “Ha. It’s all in your head.”

Juno: “That’s kind of the point.”

When we finally got home, my out-of-sorts mutt was forced to endure the further indignity of being sniffed from top to bottom by our other dog, Bogey, who seemed visibly pleased that he was not the one being forced to wander around sporting a cone on his head.

It probably doesn’t help Juno’s somewhat battered self-image that I have been trailing around after her taking dozens of photos on my smartphone to send to friends and family, all of whom end up laughing so hard they are at risk of having an accident on their living room carpets.

For her part, our furry little patient is doing her best to bravely navigate our home and the backyard, but it’s not easy because the (bad word) cone keeps bumping into, or getting caught in, furniture and doorways, not to mention low-hanging tree limbs.

Every once in a while, she will refuse to let us look at her sad face, choosing instead to press the floppy cone up against a wall to seal out the cruel world that has treated her so unfairly.

The growth removed from her lip is being shipped out to be analyzed, and it’s probably nothing, but our normally fun-loving pet has to continue playing the part of a depressed Conehead for several more days until the stitches dissolve.

It’s stressful for all concerned. In fact, I don’t know how anyone can think of elections or trade wars at a time like this.

doug.speirs@freepress.mb.ca