9 July 2013 (Tuesday) - At the Vets

As I scoffed my brekkie I had a text. The most recent fruit of my loin wasn't planning on visiting today. Which was a shame as I had some chores she could help me with (read "do for me"). Lacking a lackey I got on with the chores myself. I got the camping washing up bowls out of storage and cleaned them all. I swilled out the camping water containers. I dug out the camping cups and cutlery and got jiggy with them. I planned to wash up the camping plates and bowls but couldn’t find them. I am assured that they are in the shed. I shall hope that those who assure me of this can find them.

I then took "Furry Face TM" for a walk round the park. I let him off his lead in the Bowens Field Wetland Park, and apart from a minor incident with a dead slow worm he was as good as gold. Either I’m getting more tolerant of his little foibles, or his behaviour is improving with age.
I’d timed our walk to arrive at the vet’s just in time for his appointment so he wouldn’t have time to get fractious in the waiting area. On arrival he was weighed. Just under ten kilogrammes. Kilogrammes means nothing to me; in real terms that is a stone and a half. The vet then called us in. She spent a little while fussing him, and I explained about his bald spot. The nice vet explained about dogs’ anal glands, she put on gloves, lubed up, and made like Edward Plumb. (For those of my readers who don’t know the tale of Edward Plumb, just ask me – I won’t regale it here).

Fudge was remarkably cool with the concept of having a finger rammed up his bottom. Just as the vet was having a particularly vigorous rummage she asked if "Furry Face TM" had ever bitten at times of stress and worry. If I was going to shove a hand up an unknown dog’s chuff I would find out whether he was likely to bite me before I got busy, but that’s just me. For all that it didn’t seem to be an especially comfortable procedure, Fudge showed no signs of getting aggressive. I could understand if he had, but I would have been very surprised. He was as good as gold, and the nice vet lady squeezed all manner of unspeakable stuff from all manner of unspeakable places. With gloves off she gave "Furry Face TM" a biscuit, and the two of them were immediately the best of friends.
Mind you if she’d got equally gloved with me and then given me a biscuit I expect I would have felt much the same.

The nice vet lady said to leave the bucket on his head for a while, and gave me some cream for the bald spot. Down his glands are empty he shouldn’t worry his backside because of that, but he might have made it sore and he will worry it now because it’s sore. Whilst she was at it she had a look at his back leg; he does walk funny from time to time. Apparently Patagonian Tripehounds occasionally get dislocated kneecaps, but he seems fine at the moment.

I took "Furry Face TM" home and as he slept off his ordeal I drove out to Sevington to check up on one of my geocaches. It had been reported as having been muggled. It had been. When I hid the thing I’d dropped it down inside a metal post which supported a public footpath sign. Tied to the top by fishing line it had been fine for a few months, but I had a report at the weekend that all was not well. I arrived to find that it had gone missing. Together with the entire metal pole it was hidden inside, and the concrete in which the pole had been anchored.
I’ve put out a replacement cache – we’ll see how long this lasts.

After a spot of lunch I attacked the laundry. I sorted my smalls and ironed my shirts, and in the evening the tribes gathered in Somerset Road where I had some Iron Brew. I've not had that stuff before. It's not bad. And so home again where I applied cream to the bottom of a sulking dog. When we went out we'd put the bucket on his head to stop him from biting himself whilst we were out. He's managed to chew his bucket...

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