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 -
|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...
Hopefully next time we meet, things will be back to normal...
"...because there's nothing minor about being a Morris..."