Our Eunuch Wears a Lampshade

The deed is done.

Duncan is now a member of the sort-of-sexless-canine society.

Poor Duncan wasn't happy the second we put him into the car. In his little puppy brain, a car ride must be equated to getting shots because the only times he's ever been in the car, it ended with a walk into the vet's and a hypodermic piercing his tender flesh.

(Delaney, on the other hand, loves going to the vet. She's such an animal appreciator. Half an hour in the vet's lobby means half an hour of petting multiple dogs and cats and chatting with their owners. We'd throw her next birthday party there if we could somehow evade being noticed by the vet's staff.)

Apparently Duncan has to wear the cone of shame for two weeks! The veterinarian referred to the cone as an Elizabethan collar (as if it's some sort of fashion trend). It even has a bow on it as seen in this picture:


I realize the bow is utilitarian, but it looks like a sorry excuse for an embellishment.

His resilience is commendable. When the cone was first put on him, he balked for a couple of minutes, and then he just seemed to accept it. Now he runs around the yard, running into things and trying to play with his toys.

It's not keeping him from his usual routine of napping in the afternoon sun either:


This morning, I looked out to the patio and saw him trying to scratch behind his ear with his hind paw. Poor guy! Jeff immediately went out and gave him a good, thorough scratching behind both ears.

This, too, shall pass.