Poor Pottles. I don’t think it’s possible for her to be any more po-faced than she is right about now. As with all dachshunds, she does not take kindly to being controlled in any way, and having to sport a large plastic cone around her neck is both, frankly, beyond the pale, and an insult to her dignity.
The reason she’s wearing the Cone of Shame™ is because she’s had a series of benign warts (delightful): on her forehead, her back, and on each paw. She’s been scritch, scritch, scritch for a month or so trying to reach them, and has taken to sucking the ones on her paws ’till they were raw. So, although it’s always a tough decision to submit a small dog to an operation, it was clear that the two weeks or so of recuperation far outweighed the potential months of discomfort they would cause her.
So lil’sis took her in to the vet whilst I was in Los Angeles, and the deed was done. (She sent me the photo above on the way home.)
She also had a large lump on her chest that the vet had wanted to biopsy for ages, but which we felt was too invasive a procedure on its own. As she was going under, they ended up removing the lump for safety’s sake, so she really does look like she has been in the wars.
She’s been convalescencing in the countryside with my mama: there’s a lot more room for a little dog with a Cone of Shame™ and sore paws there than in a London flat, and she comes back tomorrow. I can’t wait to see her, not just because it’s nearly three weeks, but because The World’s Most Spoilt Dog™ has a pile of presents waiting for her: Cath Kidston have sent her a divine new dog bed, and Whistles dispatched the Uh-May-Zing Marcus Lupfer Woof! sweater.