Honey the lab went after my piece of kibble. Not like I wanted it at the moment, I'd just got done playing with it, but maybe I might want it later, and anyway it was mine. So I went after her, then everything went black and I was screaming and Mrs. D. was screaming, and we went to two vets and the second one said I was a very lucky little dog. Lucky means that I have to stay in my crate a lot and get medicine rammed down my throat, one kind that tastes of chicken, which is OK, and another kind that tastes of bubble gum, not so much. And my shoulder hurts, hurts, hurts. Mrs. D. asked what's the long-term prognosis and the second vet said usually pretty good, just keep him quiet. Like there's anything much I want to do right now. Mrs. D. seems to be happy about the whole thing for some reason. A couple of people have said maybe I will learn something from the experience, but I don't know what's to learn. It is still my kibble.
