Ozzie is The Parents' 5-month-old Keeshond puppy. He's quite precious really, and also rather obnoxious and jumpy and evil, cat eater-ish, but we all still love him anyway because, HI, it's a PUPPY. And that's precious.
Tell that to The Parents' three felines, however, and they may disagree. They're all like, "Dammit, Mom, did you HAVE to bring that thing home? Honestly."
And then Ozzie just chews on their heads. He showed them, boy.
Anyhow, poor Ozzie had quite the day yesterday. For months Mom has been warning him that his days were numbered. Those testicles of yours, pal, they're SO out of here. Also, we all secretly hoped the removal of said testicles would, you know, calm him down and make him less jumpy. And bite-y. And cat-eater-ish.
So yesterday was D-Day. D, as in, Dude, say goodbye to your manhood. But he was in for a real shocker when also, on top of Manhood Removal, he also said goodbye to his dew claws, a hernia (a HERNIA? Really?) and four teeth. Mom called me yesterday after she picked him up from the vet, and the conversation went something like this:
Me: Hi, mom.
Mom: Your brother is a conehead.
Me: Wha- ?
Mom: Ozzie! No, down! (Some scuffling). Let me call you back.
(Insert two-minute break, Krista confused, and then phone rings again)
Me: Mom. Hi. Again. He's a conehead?
Mom: He's still retarded. I thought this was supposed to calm him down!
Me: Why is he a conehead?
Mom: He has to wear this cone around his head. For TEN days!
Mom: Ozzie, off! Man, you're a pain in the ass.
And so it went with my fur-brother, The Conehead. I was slightly surprised the traumatic events of the day, mostly getting his balls castrated, didn't put the little fella' in a bit of a funk. You know, like, STOP being naughty. But, he's a trooper. And then Mom called again today.
Mom: You're poor baby brother. I don't think he's getting any better.
Me: (Mentally tallying all of the objects that were removed from his body just yesterday, and also making note of the cone on his head). I think he'll be OK.
Mom: But. He just lays there. The cats are worried.
And then she e-mailed me this picture, and I completely understand.
I don't think the cats are so much worried as they are terrified of the satellite dish surrounding their brother's head like a lamp shade. It's OK, Ozzie, buck up. It's really quite becoming on you. Er, well. No.
Yeah, I got nothin.' You just go right ahead and lay there.