The Cone of Shame

We were on our long morning walk. We’d been to the beach and back, and just a block from home. Red had gotten her energy levels down to a manageable place. Then a dog behind a fence lunged and snarled…what’s a girl to do? She snarled, then lunged back.

She whacked her paw into the fence and cut it somehow. Half a dozen stitches (actually staples, like you’d stick in papers) across the top of her paw. Hence, the Cone of Shame.

12 days in this thing, which is called – I kid you not – an Elizabethan Collar.

It comes off tomorrow.