Cone Dog finished up her last antibiotic with peanut butter, and her incision is healing nicely. We even gave her the bath of all baths last night–although technically it was a shower. All the layers of multiple animal shelter germs went down the drain, and all her cloth items were freshly laundered, so she can be the Queen of Sheba like crazy dog ladies let their dogs become. It shall not be so! The human is the master. Never defy the Dog Whisperer.
Anyway, we figured it was time to let her cavort with Tonto, eight years her senior, since they will be
cellmates friends till death do them part. She quickly established herself as younger, faster, and more energetic.
Who was this demon invading his territory? Why did she want to play? He just wants to lie around in his comfortable obesity and unquenchable need for attention and submissively pee himself, as he has always done. But Cone Dog is the captain now. Cone Dog controls her bladder, and Cone Dog controls Tonto. Tonto’s face says it all. Why couldn’t you have let me be an only dog??
Because, Tonto, God said it was not good for man to be alone. So now your neutered self and her spayed self can have have many years of merriment together. You’re welcome.