My Week With the Cone of Shame

We sensed something was wrong with Murphy Dog almost immediately. Although he is normally fond of the occassional scratch behind the ears or under the chin, and with a humans help, a nice back scratch, this was different. He was definitely concerned with...how do I put this in veterinary terms?...the "butt region". This was most exemplified in his own particular version of "scooting", which, if it weren't so sad to watch, was downright impressive. (If Michael Jackson comes back to this earth as a dog, his moonwalk would be very similar to Murphy's scooting move.) Karen and I observed this behavior for about 2 days before deciding that perhaps he simply needed to "express" himself (in dog terms), and we promptly set up a time at the wonderful pet store/doggy discoteque,"Pussy and Pooch". Well, after giving Murph the full spa treatment, the wonderful groomer gave us ominous news...something was definitely wrong and we needed to get him over to the vet asap.

The vet confirmed this diagnosis. Our dog needed surgery immediately, and we had 2 options: take him directly to an animal emergency room, or book a time with our personal vet for first thing tomorrow. Karen and I both shared the same apocalyptic vision in our heads of just what an animal emergency room might be like, and decided to book the surgery for the next day.  Then they presented us with the cost estimate.

While I highly recommend to anyone and everyone looking for a best friend that a rescue dog is the way to go, at this time I would like to disabuse them of the notion that this is in anyway a "free dog from the pound". If it's impossible to get out of Target without spending anything less than $50, a trip to the vet is likely to double or triple that number. Or in our case, much more than that. Similar in some ways to the auto mechanic, you really have no idea what they are talking about, but if you do not agree to the recommendations you are out of luck. Of course the huge difference being that you rarely find yourself in the middle of a workday wishing you were at home on the couch snuggling with your car.

The next morning at 7:30am we brought Murphy in for surgery. I have seen many sad things in my life, but watching Murph being led away with a confused look in his eyes that says "where are they taking me? why can't I just be with you guys?", ranks right up there. This look immediately brought Karen to tears, which meant that I would need to take on the role of the "strong man". I gladly accepted this role, as I seldom get opportunities to play it. There is not one thing I can fix in my house, and I wouldn't be able to find the carburetor in my car if the survival of the human race depended on it.

7 hours later, we arrived back at the vet to pick him up. My first instinct was to apologize to all the nice people working there. I am sure they had just spent the last 7 hours listening to a dog that has over the years found many new colors on his whining palette to express his displeasure.

He finally was led out and we were overjoyed to see each other. To put it plainly however, his butt was a mess. Part baboon, Frankenstein and plumbing project gone terribly wrong, our little boy was going to need some serious time in the now legendary "cone of shame". We had been proactive dog owners and had already purchased a quite fashionable cone which was soft and black and not anything like those transparent lampshades that most dogs wear. Our feeling of superiority faded almost immediately however, because fashionable cone or not, Murphy seemed to be running into almost every piece of furniture in the house.

This was going to be a long week. But as anyone who has a pet can tell you, it's all part of the wonderful deal you make when you bring them home for the first time to be your new best friend.