There is only one thing worse than an injured dog wearing a plastic cone around her neck: An injured dog wearing a baby sock on her foot.
If you have ever had to do it, you know what I mean.
It’s unnatural. It’s silly looking. And it’s more impossible than solving a Rubik’s Cube blindfolded.
My dog , Lily — who must have a think-tank constantly working on new ways to get sick or injured — somehow wounded the bottom of her front paw. She then proceeded to lick and chew it until it was raw, swollen and the color of a plum.
That’s when the UPS man showed up. Now, if the Mongol Hordes come to the house, my dog will surely serve them tea. But the UPS man signals a declaration of war. Maybe she thinks he is leaving a box of cats.
He causes her to fly into a rage of ferociousness, charging the door and slamming her outstretched front paws against the frame with such force that the house shudders. This is not usually a problem … unless one of those paws is licked raw, swollen and the color of a plum.
Now you can add bleeding to the list.
My house looked like a crime scene. There was a bloody paw print on the front door, and then a little trail of blood that led back to Lily’s bed in the living room.
“Are you kidding me?!?” I shouted, cleaning up the mess and surveying the paw. “It’s just the UPS man!”
“He was delivering cats!” my sad, but proud dog seemed to say.
So she went to the vet, got an antibiotic and an order to wear a baby sock when out on walks. Oh yeah, that’s going to work. Why don’t they just ask her to do our taxes?
The incredible thing is the dog never limped or made any fuss with her infirm paw. But the minute we put a sock on her foot, she started dragging and limping and making such a pathetic scene. People walking by whispered, “Look at that HOR-rible man dragging his poor, maimed dog.”
“It’s the sock!” I wanted to scream. “She hates the sock!”
But what does it matter. By the time I looked down, she had managed to ditch the sock and was back to her happy, peppy self. On one short walk, I had to replace the sock 15 times. We were gone three weeks. Then came the coup de grace. She stopped to do her “business” and, to my stunned disbelief, below the “business” was … THE SOCK!
“NO, STUPID DOG!!!” I screamed. “NOT ON YOUR SOCK!!!”
The people walking by mumbled, “Oh, that horrible man! We should really call the ASPCA.”
We’re healing up now. Getting used to the sock, little-by-little. And her paw is no longer the color of a plum. Hooray! We’re on the road to recovery … just so long as we don’t get any UPS deliveries.