Not again, says Molly, and so say all of us. Yet another bout of ear-related abscess, and further intervention, rounded off the general mood of vague and unjustified despondency, for which it certainly provided a focus. I hesitate even to report on this, it's became such a sad and repetitive tale of woe, yet between whiles she's so chirpy and well. The vet says the small op today should be the last, and, hopefully, it won't happen again. Let's hope he's right. At least she getting it out of the way before I'm due to be away for a week next month; this dressing stays on for ten days, the pills will be for a while longer. Tom says she looks like she's just come back from the front. So far, no need for a plastic bucket collar. Did you know they're called e-collars because they're Elizabethan collars? I suppose like the ruffs in the portraits by Hilliard and the like.
Needless to say, she's still enjoying her food.
We took her in on Tuesday, reckoning to have to spend the afternoon on it and miss the Inauguration on the telly, but she'd eaten some breakfast, and he said he wouldn't risk it, gave a an effective shot of pain killer, and told us to come back the next day. So we were able to come home, have a cheerful walk around the plan d'eau, and all snuggle down to watch, which was nice.
Anyway, as promised, a sample from the archives. I have decided to call this series Saved Nuts, from a comment Rosie left last time. This one is by popular request from the ever witty and gallant Barrett Bonden, who delights in any wry account of French living , having done his share of this. It's 'The déchèterie, and other waste matters' . I've tidied it up a bit, but not cut much really.
There, told you I wouldn't stay away for long...