Yesterday Timmy went to One Love for his annual check-up. Squishing him into the smaller, hard kitty carrier (since Glenwood blew out the larger, soft one) was challenge #1. Once in, he folded himself into the smallest possible area in the back, with his rear end and his face facing the door. Sounds impossible, I know, but it's true. I neglected to document that position, but did document the one he took on the ride home, which was the opposite. His face was nudged into the front corner so all I got was ear.
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| Timmy After the Indignity of a Check-Up |
Since we got home, he's been hissy and growly at Glenwood, and even took a few whacks at her. If you've been reading this blog for any amount of time, you know that has absolutely no effect on her. He's being nice to me.
On another note, I was loathe to photograph the awfulness of Glenwood's first weeks here. Who needs that? It was hard enough for me to look at (and touch ... ew). But yesterday I asked about Bishop, a pit bull who was in a horrific fight and who I'd met about a week after he arrived. It wasn't clear he'd make it, but he had sweet eyes and his sewn-up drippy stoned-on-meds face haunted me. Bishop pulled through. Dr. Ken showed me the before-and-after photos. Bishop's nose was gone. (I can't believe I didn't keel over.) After Dr. Ken's reconstruction, he's not exactly Prince Charming, but he has something like a nose, and he is home. That is one lucky pooch. I'm sure few owners would have taken that on.
All that to prepare you for Glenwood's ear goo. It's time to share. I dig this out of her once or twice a day. She is going to be having surgery in the next few weeks, as soon as Dr. Ken can line up his expert consultant. It's getting worse and even though she remains the happy terrorist, this can't continue.
