I come downstairs this morning, and what to my wondering eyes do appear?
The fucking Elizabethan collar on the floor in the living room, and the dog in his bed.
WITH THE DRAIN TUBES PULLED OUT.
Christ on a cracker.
Can't wait to call the vet and find out what to do, and how much it will cost.
I'd sure like to talk to whoever said dogs were the smarter animal. I'm certainly begging to differ on that point.
Dumbass has been re-collared (for however long that will be) but theres nothing I can do about the tubes. I should say tube because I only found one. At least if I can keep the collar on him, he'll not lick the wound. That would put me back to square one.
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