The Short Bus

8 Jan

He has no sense of his body or regard for personal safety. Honestly, I admire his fearlessness. He’s one ballsy son of a gun. No inhibitions. Throws himself into any and all situations as if he were made of jello and his bones were soft. Alas, they are not, and eventually he was bound to hurt himself.

Little Frank bumped his head. Got a giant goose egg. After about a week I took him to the vet, afraid he had a tumor or cancer or something. Nope. Hematoma. They drained it, sent him on his way.  As I sat nervous in the waiting room the vet came out giggling. She explained he cracked the bone at the back of his skull, explained he might do it again in the future. Told me about how during the examination he was so determined to get a belly rub he rolled off the examination table and smacked his head on the wall AGAIN. Donk. Explained that as they discussed treatment he twirled himself up in a leash, got stuck, and stood motionless in the corner until they came and untied him. She told me he was special, a rare gem, and that he had ‘special needs.’ Advised he wear a helmet.

You have not truly lived until you have seen a dog in a helmet. 

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