Having to go to the hospital stinks. Especially when something out of the ordinary happens.
Tuesday night, mama came home to see me unable to walk. I tried to run
to see her at the door, but couldn't really stand. It was really scary
for both of us!!! So immediately we went off to see the fine folks at
Penn Veterinary Hospital's emergency clinic to see what was up.
Right
now they think I may have had a seizure or a vascular event. We're
waiting to find out more, but luckily since then I haven't had any
issues.
Except for one. I DIDN'T SIGN ON FOR THIS NEW HAIRE-DO.
Now,
no disrespect to poodles everywhere, but damn I'm an Airedale Terrier
and a proud one at that. We're just not supposed to have breaks in the
manly fuzz like this.
It's OK. You don't have to pretend. I know it looks silly.
I mean, you don't have to spare my feelings or anything, give it to me straight.
Yep.
It just ain't right. Now mama has been thinking of ways to do a little
creative cover-up until I have some time to grow some of it back.
So far she's thought about cutting up some old socks...
And someone else suggested those stretchy, 70s-era wrist sweatbands (of course I would need a matching headband).
I'm
not really a fan of any of these, but then again, I don't want to
freeze my tootsies off either, especially during those chilly morning
walkies. We shall see.
OK, all of you back there in the peanut gallery, let he who has never had a bad haircut or funky perm throw the first stone...
Oh, I'm so not a fan.
Love,
Bogart
