Wednesday, 30 August 2017

Cone free!

Hi there my fab-pack!

As you all know, it's been a tough time for me recently, after an unexpected encounter with a tennis ball ended with me in emergency surgery.

Drugged up and checked out :(

But, after a good week of sulking, refusing to move, and doing everything I can to get myself out of the horrid Cone of Shame...

Things finally started to look up -

Mum stopped giving me the nasty tablets, and told me I could take the stupid plastic cone off, if I was a "good boy" and "stopped being such a sausage."

I love sausage, so I decided to show her that I was well again, and ready for cone removal.

Firstly, I showed her that I could walk outside on my own, and even discovered that I enjoyed getting some fresh air.

Mmm, that fresh air tastes good....but where's the sausage?

I also stopped sleeping all day, and led my self to the front gate - proving I was ready for our usual walks.

Just working on my tan... where's the sausage?

And, with a bit of practice, I slowly got better at moving around in my cone.

In fact, I even got back to my usual day-job of patrolling the perimeter of my property!

It's just a shame those stupid trees kept getting in my way :(

Best of all, I convinced mum that I needed to be hand-fed.

She's a sucker like that...

Truth be told, I was actually getting used to my cone, and I'd started to accept that maybe I'd be a cone-head forever.

But then the day I'd been dreaming of suddenly arrived.

Papa suggested a "short walk" and I was more than happy to oblige - 

Where are we off to papa?
When we arrived at the vet, I was hesitant.

Last time I came here I ended up being a cone-head...

But you won't believe what happened...

Not only did the vet take out my funny purple stitches....

But she TOOK OFF the Cone of Shame!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My cone-free ride home
 It was so liberating!

It's hard to describe the feeling of being cone-free again... but I am so, so happy.

When mum got home she took me for a celebratory play at the park...

So happy


I am still waiting for that sausage.


Until next time! 

"...because there's nothing minor about being a Morris..."

Saturday, 19 August 2017

The cone of shame

Well hello there!

Please excuse me for not being my normal chipper self today... and for hiding under the table as I write today's entry.

Please don't look at me

As you can see, despite my best efforts, mum and dad have left me trapped in the plastic Cone of Shame.

I have no idea what I've done to deserve this treatment, but it has been hell.

Mum keeps saying:

"Well you shouldn't have eaten that tennis ball."

But I can only assume my parents don't love me anymore.

Yes. I am sulking

Over the past days I've been subjected to all sorts of nasty tablets, 

and been kept indoors - imprisoned in a pen all day long.

As if that wasn't bad enough, I've even suffered the indignity of having to try and eat with the Cone of Shame on:

At times mum and dad have carried me outside, telling me to:

"Get some fresh air."

I'll give you some fresh air

But I've refused to move, just sitting there sadly, staring at the grass and shivering violently as my shaved, exposed tummy feels the full brunt of the cold.

And no - putting my favourite blankie on me does not help

All in all, it's been a miserable time.


But last night I did manage to find some joy...

When I taught mum a thing or two about making me wear the stupid Cone of Shame - 

Hee Heeeeeeeee!!!

Until next time!

"...because there's nothing minor about being a Morris..."

Tuesday, 15 August 2017

Watch what you eat (my life and death story of swallowing a tennis ball)

Hello again!

Please accept my apologies for not being with you in person to give you my signature head-bump greeting of affection...

Unfortunately this week has been one of great drama for me.

Being a Scottie, I'm used to taking on - and winning - my share of battles.

Nice try buddy...

I'm also quite adept at wrapping my ample fangs around many an object...

They call this a 'long lasting' chew stick...ha!

But, on Monday night, I met a foe greater than even a Scottish Terrier could take on.

Let me set the picture for you:

It started out like any evening walk, with me dragging mum out the front gate -

Hurry up...
I met a few friends at the park, and we started playing chasey (I was winning of course).

A blurry photo of me winning chasey at the park

But then one of the humans threw a tennis ball into our game, and things became heated.

My friends suddenly didn't seem to accept that I was the natural leader of the pack, and that I should therefore have unlimited, and uninterrupted access to said tennis ball.

I made a point of securing it in my generous jaws and keeping it off them, but they were relentless - hounding me for the prize that was rightly mine.

What choice did I have?

I was put in an impossible position - keep the ball to myself and lose my friends, or hand it over and lose the respect of the pack.

So, I did what anyone would do; I ground it as hard as I could in my teeth, hoping I could either break it into pieces so we could share it, or destroy the ball so it was no longer an issue.

Trying to grind the ball into submission

Unfortunately, somewhere between trying to destroy the ball and break it into pieces, I managed to swallow it...

Mum became hysterical. She rang the vet crying:

"My Scottish Terrier has just swallowed a tennis ball, what do I do?"

I tried to insist I was fine.. but she was not having it.

Before I knew what was happening, I was being dragged back home, loaded into the car, and placed before a scary vet:

Trying to escape from the vet's clutches

This part was hell, and I have to admit it brings back terrifying memories as I recount it for you.

At first, the vet gave me a special liquid, which he told me would be tasty. He tricked me, and the substance made me vomit.

He seemed angry that no tennis ball pieces had come out.

I then tried to run away -

When that failed, I was taken "out the back" where they did a scan of my tummy...

Apparently this is not good

There were discussions about whether to perform "surgery" or an "endoscopy."

I didn't know what it all meant, but I was adamant I didn't want to be a part of whatever witchcraft this vet was peddling.

But despite my pleas, no one believed that I'd be able to digest the tennis ball naturally, so I was left at the scary vets in a cage overnight... and the next day I was given an injection.

I have no idea what happened after that.

I woke up a few hours later in what can only be described as a groggy haze.

My tummy was sore - and SHAVED - and for some odd reason there was purple thread stitched along my abdomen -

But by far the worst development was that a plastic cone had been attached to my collar, making it impossible to reach all my favourite licking spots.

I instantly hated the cone, and knew I had to escape the vet's evil clutches if I had any chance of getting it off me.

Thankfully dad came to pick me up the next day, and I was hopeful that this nightmare was over -

So embarrassed...I can't even look at you dad

But for some odd reason both mum and dad have left the plastic cone on me, and I still feel groggy and tired...

I have no idea what that evil vet did to me, or what was in the tennis ball... but I know I'm determined to grow my beautiful hair back, and get this awful cone off me...

But first I think I'll have a nap...

So tired...

Hopefully next time we meet, things will be back to normal...

"...because there's nothing minor about being a Morris..."

Wednesday, 9 August 2017

My fat phase (or: the time I was a little bit chunky)

Hello there my growing pack!!

What a great first week in Blogland I've had! Thanks to all my new friends for taking the time to drop by, leave a comment, and follow my adventures.

You are all the best!

I'm so excited I made a meme

Now before we go any further, there is something I feel I should get off my chest.

This is quite hard for me to admit, so bear with me as I build up the courage to share my shame...

Wait for it....
Okay - here we go...

As you all know, I'm an incredibly handsome man -

Adore me - you know you want to

But.. And here's the shocking part -

I. Haven't. Always. Been. This. Handsome.

What?! But you're so spunky!!

I know, it's hard to believe. But even someone as genetically blessed as myself goes through bad patches, and there was none worse than my dreaded Fat Phase.

What a lard-arse

As you can see, I was a real wobbler - an obese little rolly polly.

In fact, if you'd decked me out in pink Lycra I'm sure I would have been mistaken for a baby hippo.

I have no idea how it happened. But I blame mum.

You see, when I first arrived, I was perfect -

Eight weeks old and perfect.

And mum was (understandably) besotted.

Of course I'm adorable but PUT ME DOWN

So when I wanted something - ANYTHING - she simply couldn't say no:

An extra helping of food?

Of course

Another treat?

Why not?

Maybe a snifter more ice cream?

Take the whole tub.

The weight crept up on me like the evil cat that lives down the end of my street, and before I knew what had happened, I went from being the park stud to the park dud :(

My friends were suddenly too fast and agile for me, and other humans were commenting on my "unusual shape."

Please don't walk away.. I'm still the same great guy :(

It was devastating.

Mum took me to the vet, and I was made to stand on a stupid metal thing, while humans tut-tutted and shook their heads.

The scales are clearly broken - I'm outta here

And then - as if the humiliation I'd already suffered wasn't bad enough - it happened...

I was put on a strict rationing system that I can only assume was taken from ancient Medieval torturing rituals.

I was put on a "DIET."

Suddenly my ample servings of food were halved...

Are you joking?!
My treats were restricted to just one a day...

That's a ridiculously small-sized cupcake

And my lavish helpings of human treats were scrapped. Entirely.

Give. Me. The. Dixie. Cup.

At times I feared the hunger pains I suffered would overcome me -

Sooooooooo hungry

But after a while, something remarkable happened!

I got a renewed spring in my step...


I could keep up with my friends again...

Well... almost...

And - best of all - I got my unbelievable good looking body back!!!

Look at that svelte silhouette!

It was a rough time - but I made it through.

And thank goodness I'm back to being spunky - not chunky.

Until next time!!! 

"...because there's nothing minor about being a Morris..."

Friday, 4 August 2017

Being a Scottie... (or, why Scottish Terriers are the best)

Well hello there my loyal pack!

As I stroll the streets of Melbourne, I'm often stopped by well-meaning (but completely ignorant) humans...

"What sort of breed is he?"
They often ask.

"He seems very friendly,  but I thought Scottish Terriers weren't very social dogs?"
Oh please.

Strolling the strassers...

So today I thought I'd help out, by debunking a few myths surrounding Scotties - so that everyone can fully appreciate just how wonderful we really are:

Myth #1: We are aloof and unfriendly

First of all; does this look the face of an unfriendly guy?

So friendly

Okay, so while it's true that unlike some breeds we won't go running over to every passing human and pretend to be enamored by your presence -

(Golden Retrievers I'm looking at you)....

This guy cannot be smart

We actually do ADORE attention.

Scratch my chin, pat my back, and rub my tummy, and we'll be friends for life.

Oooh yeah that's the spot...

Best of all - we are the most LOYAL members of your pack.

When our parents treat us with the respect and dignity we deserve, we will reward in kind... and you will be allowed to get close to us.

Lucky you mum... you've got ten minutes of hug time (then bugger off)

Myth #2: We are no good with children

Yes, we have fangs the same size as German Shepherds...

That's a great set of pearly whites

And yes, we do enjoy nibbling on the odd tree, toy, shoe....or even our own kennel...

Don't mind me... I'm just doing some renovations

But, we definitely DON'T nibble children. (They squeal and move around too much and we like quiet time).

Pipe down small humans... I'm trying to snooze

Myth #3: We are no fun

Are you joking?!

Look how much fun I'm having at Christmas!

If I shake your hand will you get this off me??! 

Or when mum returned from Korea and dressed me in this ridiculous outfit!

Help me

Alright, alright... it's true I hate getting dressed up.

But that doesn't mean I'm not up for fun.

Anyone for a beer? 

Hey! I'll take the whole slab...

This ought to do me...

Looking for a friend to play at the park? 

Sure! I'll take anyone on...

Come on big guy... let's wrestle

And if you're after a beach buddy...

There's no better guy! 

Ahh the beach.. reminds me of the Scottish moors of home

Of course, if you're after a lap dog...

Not a great example of a lap dog...

Fluff ball...

I'm sorry, but is this even a real dog? Yuck.

Or guard dog...

Just. Plain. Scary.

Then, Scotties are not for you.


If you want the most loyal, loving, independent and dignified little friend you could have...

How could you say no?! 

A Scottie be your best bet! 

Until next time!!! 

"...because there's nothing minor about being a Morris..."