the proud owner of a new fabric cone of shame.
A few weeks ago we took a trip to Great Wolf Lodge.
I had the fab idea (which will reveal itself to be not so fab in a moment) to bring the Doodle and board him at a fancy kennel near G.W.L.
All seemed to have gone seamlessly until 15 minutes into the drive home when I heard from the backseat:
EW, Mama. Charming has a big, big hole in his chest.
Vet visit, 10 days of antibiotics and a fancy fabric Elizabethan collar (AKA cone) later all was well again.
As Charming climbed awkwardly back into the car it brought to mind when he was neutered, had his first mandated cone experience, and it sparked in me feelings of jealousy.
Which all sounds odd (and may still) until I elaborate:
Charming came through his neutering procedure with
out testicles flying colors and emerged from the vet’s office in possession of the always popular plastic Cone of Shame.
Having been Crazy Canine Carla for previous periods of my life I had known what to expect.
The Child, however, was surprised and saddened by her dog’s post-op coned condition.
She immediately went to release him from his plastic prison (I think she saw it like a hospital bracelet for humans. He was sprung it was time to remove the cone!) and as I told her not to I explained the reasons he needed it.
Over the following week, as I watched Charming bumble around the house wearing his unwieldy collar, I pondered the plastic around his neck.
And, to my surprise, I started to pine for an Elizabethan collar of my very own.
4 reasons I’m jealous of Canine Cone of Shame.
- He was forced to MONOtask. I’ve recommitted. Charming was guaranteed success as he had no choice. When he snuggled with his stuffed fox (below) while wearing the C.O.S. it was all he could do. There was absolutely no option to love-up the fox, and cradle a Kong and graze on his morning meal. MONOtasking—forced or not–rocks.
- He had to seek help. He’s The Chairman. Of course he thinks he can do everything himself. Wearing the C.O.S. forced Charming the Doodle with the odd nickname to seek assistance. Everything from scratching his back to picking up toys now required the help of a biped. He asked for what he needed (or just forced his way onto my lap.)
- He was compelled to rest. This Doodle is active. Super active. He doesn’t bat his eye at a 40k step-count on
hismy Garmin. After surgery there was no frolicking free in the dog park or romping through a local creek. Charming initially fought valiantly against slowing down, but in the end he surrendered to the healing rest of the cone.
- He had no choice but break habits which didn’t serve him. Charming is licker. Prior to surgery it was merely annoying. After surgery, C.O.S. in place, he physically couldn’t lick. Now that the cone is finally off? He seems to have lost the urge! He shed his habit *and* it was fun in the process—at least for the Child who decorated his plastic prison.
Now that the cone-time is once again behind us I’m fairly certain we relearned lessons about wearing our virtual cones of self-care.
- I know I did.
- I know the child did.
- I know the Doodle learned how to indicate to his bipeds he’s decided—intuitively—he’s *ready* to resume normal, energetic activities:
(destroyed bed = healed doodle)
- Has your life grown so hectic you need a virtual Cone of Shame? (raises hand)
- Or do you already rock the 4 traits of the Cone of Self-Care?