There we were, halfway through November, and the Cone of Shame was not weighing me down. Days were fun, nights were quiet, even tranquil and life was good.
All at once it began, the itchiness, the urge to stick my paw into my ear to scratch the itch and to roll my head on the rug to try and alleviate the incessant urge to make my ears raw with the application of my paws. My parentals looked at one another, sighed loudly, felt sad for me and made the inevitable phone call to the v-e-t who was of course glad to assist. Duly loaded into my travel crate I was off to my second home, a short distance of some eight miles to go and see one of the vets. I seem to be on first name terms with them by now. I was examined and some swabs taken for analysis both at the v-e-t as well as off to the lab. This was all done last week and we waited until yesterday to hear the results. Oh how exciting I have another ear infection which is different to the previous ear infection. Joy of joys (insert appropriate levels of sarcasm here). So, here I am, being dog-handled twice a day by the parentals so the new ear drops can be administered to my itchy lugs.
So there you have it. My freedom from the Cone of Shame was brief and I am now returned to its grasp around my neck. Cue comments such as “where is flowerpot head?” and “here comes the frilled lizard?”. When will this ignominy end? When will I be free from the clutches of the CoS. Is this destined to be my life from here on?
The quiet one will be me. Those who know me, and who have met me, will be aware that I am rarely quiet but that’s another story.
So, I have been quiet on here as well as on other unnamed platforms, for a while now. With the help of my assistants we have been dealing with a few symptoms of old age creeping up on me and I have been neglecting my duties on here. Also I am not yet ready to hand over the editorial reins to my young vampiric assistant Lenny.
Since around last November I have spent most of my waking hours along with those of slumber, in a piece of torture equipment that is known by us furry fiends as the Cone of Shame.
I have been biting my paws, gnawing my legs, scratching my ears and itching my chin pretty much relentlessly. Through numerous visits to the vet I have been on many potions and lotions to try and alleviate my inability to avoid scratching and biting my various extremities to such a degree that my ears became infected, the ears were also scratched raw, I was chewing my legs to the extent that I was pulling the fur out and finally, my chin was red raw as a result of me incessantly scratching the itch. I have been tortured by my itchy demons until quite recently when I visited the vet and was seen by a person I had not encountered before. Swabs were taken of my ear infection, the source was identified, lotion administered and the ear problem subsided. Then it was onto the paws and chin which needed an injection to be given in my rump to settle down the symptoms. I got the injection on 29th September and the problem started to calm down within a few days. I was still in the Cone of Shame as my feet couldn’t resist trying to make their merry way toward my ears and chin until last Friday 10th October. I was snuggled up on the sofa next to my favourite assistant and she removed the Cone. I snoozed quietly. After we had been into the garden for our final business trip of the day I was expecting to see the Cone making its evil way back toward my neck, but it strangely stayed away. I slept without the fiendish device on Friday, found myself without the Cone all day Saturday including my sleeping time. Yesterday I was once more allowed to be outside of the Cone. I haven’t scratched, I’m not itchy and I don’t feel the need to rake my chin and ears, with my toes.
There is a general feeling of relief around the house that I am on the path toward a happier retirement from my duties and that I can live out my days pretty much without the infernal item being attached to me. There is some way to go, my assistants watch me like hawks and I often get warning glares if I become too frantic with my scratching. I may be writing on here a bit more often, you never know. Moral of my tail is, I suppose, that even us beagles have to listen to other people now and then as it seems to be in our best interests. Getting old isn’t necessarily fun or all its cracked up to be. Hopefully I can age disgracefully now, without the Cone being used too frequently.
Having never taken much notice of my servants, I continued to ignore their requests for me to stop scratching my ears with my back paws. I argued that the ears in question were, after all, mine to do with as I wished. Sadly my scratching made my ears raw, they itched more and I scratched more.
So it was that a couple of weeks ago I was loaded into my travel crate and we set off for some exotic and far flung destination. I realised after a short time that Lenny wasn’t in the car with me and this could only mean one thing, that I was off to somewhere neither far flung or exotic. Duly arriving at the vet, I dismounted from my travel crate and found I was expected. The vet was pleased that I had my Cone of Shame already around my neck as this appeared to stop me scratching and making the ears worse. I was thoroughly checked, prodded and poked. Discharged with some new potions and lotions as well as recommendations to my mum I returned home where even Lenny looked at me like I was foolish to keep on scratching my ears without considering the veterinary consequences.
Fast forward a week or so and my life was still blighted by the Cone of Shame. When I had been released from its grip I had immediately started scratching again. So on the orders of the vet I was returned to their custody to be examined. This time however it was with my other parent. I knew I was in trouble as he would tell the vet everything that I had got up to. Right on cue my inner secrets were divulged and the vet gave me some serious side eye which I would have been quite proud of to be honest. The vet looked in my ear with her otoscope (is that not a great word for a beagle vocabulary) and I was told there was an infection which needed to be cleared up. And NO scratching, so the Cone of Shame was to stay in place. Once again I returned home to Lenny smirking at my alleged foolishness.
For the last week I have been captured once a day by my parents who have administered the drops to my ears so I can try to have a life without the Cone. The last two days or so I have been a “Cone free zone” albeit whilst being watched permanently by two humans and my younger brother (who’s not actually my brother but…). Don’t tell anyone however I feel free and I haven’t tried to scratch my ears as they don’t itch anywhere near as much. Whisper it quietly as it is hard to accept that my parents are right and I should listen to them. Maybe! ðŸ¤
As regular readers will know, I am not one to grumble about things. I like to try and be positive, don’t you know.
I woke up eight days ago and wondered why I felt a bit yucky and then thought “I need to make a trip to the garden quickly”. Thankfully a parent assisted in clearing the way for my emergency dash. Lenny just looked out of his giant clam shell cave bed, yawned and went back to sleep.
An hour or so later I needed to repeat the trip and, again, a parent made sure I was in the garden in time. Over the next four days or so nobody apart from Lenny got much sleep whilst I went on a restricted diet, starved for a day in case it was something nasty, was fed my worming tablet and then went onto bland chicken and rice. I have no idea how it can be considered “bland” when you haven’t eaten anything for four days. Anyway, on Monday I was off to the vet in the company of my dad who proceeded to inform the vet of all of my inner most secrets. I didn’t authorise release of the information but apparently they are worried about me so it was justified. Having been prodded, poked, squeezed and had the stethoscope applied I then had to endure the dreaded “furmometer”. Apart from being ill, I was told I was in fine fettle for a dog of my age. The diagnosis was that I may have become intolerant to a food that I have been eating. At this stage I thought it best not to admit to the dirty puddle I had licked or the various other non edible stuff that I had sniffed, licked and digested on my walks. The vet had ruled those out however, so I was in the clear.
The chicken and rice continued to appear in tiny portions in my food bowl and the biscuits have all but disappeared from the menu. There was a strangely tasty paste applied to my meagre breakfasts and dinners. Subsequent nights have passed wherein the parents have been kept awake by a tummy that gurgles like a pan on the stove. I have also been restless throughout the nights whilst during the day I have enlisted the help of Lenny so we can use a double dose of the begging eyes when we are starving hungry. As beagles we are always starving hungry even if we have eaten ten minutes ago but this is by the by.
Last night my tummy didn’t gurgle. Today I did something for the first time in nine days, that made my parents happy. I shall not go into the gory details. I am still listless, tired and starving hungry. It seems that as an older fur it will take longer for me to recover from ailments which means more sleepless nights for those who look after me. Even Lenny backed off from playing bitey face with me as he can tell that I am not quite right. I actually caught him oozing out of his bed, with his head on my bed, early this morning. I will let it pass for the time being though.
I must remember that things take longer the older you become. I have to remind myself to slow down which is something I have never understood before. Take time to smell the roses, sniff the breeze and feel the sun on your face. But don’t drink dirty water or eat awful stuff on your walk.
On Thursday last week I overheard that it was going to be a “big day” on Friday for me. I went to bed with a smile on my face and wondered what I was going to get up to.
Friday arrived and I had my same walk with dad in the morning. We returned home with the rest of the day ahead of us. The excitement built, and then fell, as lunch passed without incident. Lenny and I had our tea at the normal time and still it didn’t seem to be much of a “big day”. As time marched on toward Biscuit O’Clock I suddenly found myself being harnessed and I was leaving the house for another walk. Maybe this was the “big” part of the day? Along the High Street, past the small store and down towards the bottom end of the village I ventured with dad. As soon as we reached the end of the street, we turned up the little steps and I was presented with a view of a door. Sadly the door led to the vet. I had been tricked. Hoodwinked! It was time for my annual check up. According to my dad, it was a check up from the neck up.
The nice vet lady asked me to sit on the scale and made note of my weight. She looked at my pearly whites, felt my ribs and tummy and listened to my heart with a stethoscope.
Then it started; the divulgence of information on my recent bodily habits. Thanks dad! I didn’t authorise any of the details to be made public so I sat there looking embarrassed whilst he told the vet all my innermost secrets. I have been having tummy troubles recently. I had a few days after Christmas Day when I struggled to keep food in my body. This seemed to clear up after three days and all went along as expected. Then it all seemed to start again. I was visiting my garden about four times a night for a few days and then making numerous visits another 4-5 times a day. As a result I was starved for 24 hours to make sure it wasn’t a parasite or other nasty creature. When I went back to food, I noticed that there were certain items missing from my diet, such as fish tiddlers and gravy bones. My food was predictably bland, consisting of tasty kibble and tasty chicken. Sorry, I meant to say boring kibble and boring chicken. I was still being watched pretty much all the time just in case I had an accident in the house. Unfortunately the revised diet and 24 hour starve didn’t seem to have the desired effect and I have been somewhat under the weather.
As a result of my entire biological history being divulged to the vet I managed to avoid getting a jab in my behind, at least for a few days. I am having some antibiotic tablets, that I apparently know nothing about, in my food. The gravy bone supply has completely dried up. My food has been bland, dull and extremely boring for the last two weeks or so. The vet lady said I didn’t seem to be too bad when she was examining me. Just because I was wagging my tail, arooing at her and not listening to dad when I was told sit, I am not sure what gave it away. I thought this means I am being a beagle. One good thing to come out of it all is this though. Dad has to collect some “samples” from me when we are out on our walk so I get to try and run rings around him, tangling my leads. That’ll teach him for giving the vet all my personal details. I am going back on Tuesday for another check up. If I am better then I fear the javelin in my feathery behind.
I wonder what tomorrow will bring.
I think I am just getting older and my body is changing. I cannot tolerate as many foods as I could a few years ago. I knew this time was coming and I am, of course, taking it all in my stride without complaint. I will eat my kibble and chicken without grumbling. I know that I am still here and I am, overall in good order and condition. I will have to try not to listen to Lenny crunching on tasty biscuits whilst I am on bland kibble. I shall soldier on, as always.
Dexter 