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The Sound and the Fury (of Bo)

January 04, 2006

conebo.JPG

Yes. Let me tell you how THIS happened.

The year 2006 did not start well for poor Mister Bo. Mister Bo would like to kindly invite 2006 to go fuck itself.

See, for New Years, we all went up to my parents' lakehouse. And I decided to only take Bo with us, seeing as there would be a multitude of people, as well as another dog, and the other three dachshunds don't...well, they don't do so great with "people." Or "other dogs." Actually, they suck at that. They suck quite a bit.

The basic rundown is this: Gimmme is blind, and highly alarmed by the sound of unfamiliar voices, and will sit there and bark, confused (bark?), for hours. Tasha is allergic to everything, including smoke and air and human beings (I am not kidding), and will sputter and cough herself into an asthma attack when new people come into the house. And Pugsley? Poor little sweet, darling Pugsley? Pugsley will bite the everloving shit out of all of y'all. People freak him OUT. He hates EVERYTHING. He will BITE it. And then he wants kisses.

So, through the magical process of "elimination" and "limiting bloodshed," Bo got to go. And Bo was excited. But sadly for all, this turned out to be a dubious honor.

First of all, as the only dog in attendance for the first several hours, Bo had to suffer numerous indignities. These included being held by everyone (BO HATES), as well as wearing peoples' hats:

bohat.jpg
BO HATES.

And then, my friend Sieg showed up with her dog, a darling black lab named Ella. And y'all, Ella is a sweetheart. Ella does not bite (Bo) or pee on the floor (Bo) or hold insanely long grudges because of perceived wrongs (Bo). Ella is a good dog.

So, naturally, Bo hated her immediately. But he scared the SHIT out of her.

ellabo.JPG

Still, they were getting along pretty well, until Ella discovered a bone which Bo had left, ignored and abandoned, on his dog bed. This was a bone which Bo could not be bothered to chew. Which six different people had placed next to him, all, "Go on, Bo! Have a bone!" Bo was not in the mood for bone. Bo could not be bothered with bone.

Until, of course, Ella found it. And actually, she'd had the damn thing for over an hour before he even noticed, chewing happily like a good dog, occasionally taking a break to fetch the paper or someone's slippers, sitting on command, and an assortment of other things that good dogs do (frankly, I wouldn't know. This is called "conjecture").

But suddenly, from across the room: Bo saw her. And Bo recognized His Bone. And somewhere, somewhere deep inside of his pea-sized brain, synapses fired, and weighing his options, he decided: I shall attack.

In less than a split second, he was out of Dukay's lap, flying across the room, and inserting his fucking HEAD into the fucking MOUTH of a fucking BLACK LAB, growling and snapping all the way, defending what was rightfully Bo's, CONVINCED that this would somehow, some way, END WELL.

People. WE ARE NOT TALKING ABOUT A SMART DOG HERE.

Ella freaked, predictably, and nipped back at Bo, who was, by this point, firmly embedded inside her mouth, and then she ran from the room in unrestrained horror.

And that is when the screaming started.

We were all on our feet by this point. There were a grand total of 15 people in the house, and many in separate rooms, but everybody came running like the place was on fire when they heard the sounds of PIERCING, PIERCING screams emitting from a small brown dog, who was lying on his back, feet bicycling in the air, yelping in an octave generally reserved for either "fatal accidents" or "Mariah Carey."

I swooped down to him immediately, and gathered his little, shaking brown form into my arms. He kept screaming. I pet his head; I made soothing sounds and smoothed his ears. He kept screaming. Desperate, Ziz gave him a piece of sausage.

He shut up immediately. "Yum," he said. "Bo like sausage!"

There was some blood, and Ziz and I took Bo upstairs and cleaned his little wounds -- two small puncture marks barely visible under his brown fur. He continued to whine in protest, but all things considered, he seemed relatively unbothered by his injuries. His chief complaint, we would soon learn, was with me.

Bo was furious with me. Furious. And his rage knew no bounds.

Apparently, Bo -- somewhere in his pea-sized brain, which we have already established is not awesome at "logic" -- decided that I was the cause of his suffering. I invited the big black dog; therefore, I was responsible for Bo being nipped upon sticking his fucking head into big black dog's enormous, gaping mouth. Obviously, my fault. My fault entirely.

And I was punished accordingly. Bo would not sit next to me. He would not give me little Bo kisses. He walked in circles around the room, sitting with everyone present; when he'd get to me, he'd turn his nose into the air, and strut past my feet. He hated me.

This continued for the bulk of the weekend. Bo wanted nothing to do with me, and honestly, I was a little heartbroken. "I didn't bite you!" I kept saying. "It was her! Go hate on Ella! Go hate someone else! I cleaned your wounds!" But Bo was having none of it.

We got home on Monday, and the bitterness continued. He slept at the foot of the bed. He squirmed away when I tried to pick him up. In fact, because I was so worried about him, I left work early on Tuesday to check on my Little Brown Mass of Anger. And I found him sitting listlessly on the sofa. He still wouldn't come to me; he still wouldn't talk, Bo-style, when I asked him questions. I noticed a little swelling around his jaw, and so I decided that we'd head off to the vet.

(The Vet. Y'all, I have a tab there. You think that I am kidding. I'm...not. Seriously, this is where my money goes.)

So off we went. We got there, and I explained to the vet that Bo maybe...you know, bit off a little more than he could chew, and that ONE of us learned an important lesson this New Year's, ha ha, that being NOT to attack dogs that are roughly seven times your own size, but seriously, dude, I'm totally a responsible dog owner. Just clean him up, give the dog some antibiotics to fight any evil dog-bite infection like rabies or Ebola, and we'll be on our way.

And all was going well, until the vet started poking around on the wound on Bo's lower jaw. It looked small and minimal, and had generated a series of "Bo is kind of a pussy, Leigh, no seriously, it's a scratch" jokes all weekend long, so I was like, "Yeah, he's been this huge whiny bitch, but it's, like, NOTHING," and the vet agreed, until she trimmed some of the hair and turned Bo over and then: hello.

There was a fucking hole in Bo's jaw. A perfectly round hole. A tooth hole. You could see daylight through this hole. You could see Bo's gums through this hole.

I shrieked. The vet said: "Man, that's gotta hurt." Bo whimpered in agreement.

This is when I started to cry. My poor Mister Bo, walking around with a goddamn fucking HOLE in his little JAW, glaring at me as I encouraged him to "walk it off, man." Trying miserably to eat his little hard food when each individual chew tortured his tiny mouth. Yes. I cried like my heart would break. Some mom I am.

"I wouldn't have seen it, either," the vet assurred me. "It was all under his hair, and all held together by his fur and everything. It really did look just like a little scrape."

I was unconvinced. More importantly, Bo was unconvinced.

"You have failed me," he glared. "My hatred knows no bounds. You are now my sworn enemy."

The vet told me that Bo would need stitches; however, in order to get these stitches, he'd need to be put under. It's not that major of an event; all of my dogs get their teeth cleaned every February (it's dental care month!), and they have to put them under for that, so his new appointment would just be a few weeks earlier than usual. They'd stitch him up, give him his yearly dog shots, and clean his teeth, all in one swoop. No biggie.

"It's no biggie," the vet said.

"Oh, it is a very biggie," Bo glared.

So this morning, Bo and I went to the vet, where I dropped his miserable little self off for stitches and his annual cleaning. And then I proceeded to call the vet every six minutes to make sure he hadn't ODed on the anesthesia or something, because PEOPLE, I WAS KIND OF FREAKED OUT. Finally, the vet was like, "Look. Leigh. I will call if something goes wrong. Which it will not. And I will call when we are through. Which we will be. Now please. Go do something else."

So I worked, distractedly, all morning. Finally, at 1 p.m., the vet called.

"He's waking up now," she said. "He did great. He has one stitch."

"One...wait, one? One stitch?"

"One stitch."

I felt strangely shamed by this. One stitch? For all that drama? I changed the subject.

"Was he a good boy?" I asked her.

There was a pause.

"Well," she finally answered, "Um. No. He's actually...yeah, he's glaring at me right now."

That's my baby. Bo was going to be okay.

I still had some things to do at work, though, so my father and sister went to collect Bo from the vet. The doctor met them at the door.

"Listen," she said. "This isn't...unusual, or anything, but, um. He's having hallucinations. Just ignore him."

"Hallucinations?" Dad asked.

"Yeah," the vet said. "It's a side effect of the anesthesia. See?"

At this point, Bo started barking hysterically at something in the corner.

"It'll go away," she assured him.

"Great," said my dad.

By the time I got home, Bo was sitting, angry, on my parents' sofa, staring furiously at an invisible intruder underneath my father's chair.

"He's being doing this for a while," Dad explained, bored.

I noticed the cone collar on the table.

"Is he supposed to wear that?" I asked, incredulous. Bo barked at something in the ceiling.

"Only if he starts fucking with his stitches -- or, actually, his stitch," my sister said, glancing at my perplexed, acid-tripping dachshund. She shook her head wearily. "Seriously, dude, he's been doing this all afternoon. It's driving us up a wall."

So I took Bo's drugged and delirious self back to my house, where he barked at doors, walls, and the fireplace for a good twenty-minute stretch. Then he settled onto the ground, gazing in corners, and looking highly suspicious of everything within a five-foot radius.

At this point, I did what any responsible pet owner would do. I put on his collar cone.

And...okay. Look. I'm sorry. I know he wasn't fucking with his stitches (wait, excuse me: his STITCH), but -- DUDE. It's a cone collar! A collar cone! I've never ever seen one in real life! I don't even know what they're called! The temptation for a photo op was just too great, and really, I am a weak woman. Which is why the world now has this:

cone.JPG

(Frankly, I think the world is a better place for it. Hallucinating dogs in cones? Seriously? Where can we get more of those?! Those are better than movies. I could watch that shit for hours!)

Fortunately (for Bo), however, I'm not entirely evil. After the pictures were snapped, I took off the collar. Dukay, who IS entirely evil, protested, but I explained that the collar was clearly killing Bo's spirit. And, Bo's spirit being drugged beyond all belief as it was, I felt we shouldn't screw with the matter any further. Plus, he'd had a bad day; he'd gotten stitches (no, sorry: he'd gotten A STITCH), and that pretty much sucks, no matter how mean and mom-hating you may be. So off it went, and needless to say, Bo was glad. Bo...was not a fan of the collar. Even when high out of his gourd, convinced that the walls were talking and all the colors were singing Dylan songs, Bo knew that the collar was just not his groove, man.

Now, several hours later, he's sitting curled up next to me, at the end of his little hard day. At the moment, he's stopped hallucinating, and has put aside his blind rage long enough for a small snuggle while I scratch his bitsy little head. And so, for now, crisis averted, we can get back to life as we know it -- a little smarter, maybe, and a little poorer (anesthesia is not free, it turns out), for the whole damn experience.

So, welcome, 2006. And here's hoping all of us have a lot less stitches (or, excuse me: STITCH) in our collective futures. And to that end, let's all take a lesson from Bo, and keep our heads out of places they simply shouldn't be.

stitch.JPG

Posted by doxie in The Dogs (Or, Poop) | permalink

71 Comments

Oh Gosh! Poor Bo. I'm sorry little Bo. I laughed and laughed and I know it's not nice but funny!

Our dog has had the cone more than a few times. Not a big fan either but geez, if he'd just stop trying to go all kamikaze on us he wouldn't need it. It's really fun trying to watch him walk around the house with it. Or eat. And drink.

Poor poor Bo!

Posted by: Mrs X | January 5, 2006 02:29 AM

Haha aw, poor Bo. I once had a shih tzu that had to wear the Cone Of Shame or whatever the heck it's called. Everytime he would look at the floor his face would get stuck (which was pretty amusing, but sad, also). Ironically, his name was also Bo. Maybe it's a Southern thing. :)Here's to a speedy recovery for Bo, and may his hatred of you lessen a little each day.

Posted by: Radiantsky | January 5, 2006 03:22 AM

Dear God how you make me laugh MD. I really want to pat Bo's empty head.

J.

Posted by: J. | January 5, 2006 04:42 AM

Hee! Heeheeheehee! PoorHEEHEEHEEHEE! Wait, sorry...poor...HA HA HA HEE HEE HEE...poor Bo...HEE! I love dogs and cats so much it almost isn't healthy, but really, is there anything funnier than a dog wearing a cone? No. No, there isn't. HEE. Thanks, Dox. I needed that.

Posted by: Tina | January 5, 2006 08:11 AM

Poor Bo. (Yes, I know it's more like 'poor Miss Doxie' but I am trying not to get on Bo's bad side.)

I had a cocker spaniel years ago who apparently thought he was much bigger and tougher than he actually was. He started a fight with a pit bull mix. A pit bull mix, I might add who up to the moment of the attack thought he and Patch (my dog) were good buddies. He was surprised and a little hurt by the attack but not so surprised or hurt he didn't whip Patch's butt quickly and easily.

I'd like to report that Patch learned his lesson and never did anything that stupid again, but that would be a lie.

Feel better soon Bo!

Posted by: Contrary | January 5, 2006 08:44 AM

Ohhhhhhhh poooor Bo!!! What a way to start his new year

Posted by: Anne | January 5, 2006 08:56 AM

My heart breaks for Bo. Poor thang. He THINKS he's a big dog. I have a 13 lb bulldog that is just as hateful. I'm reading him the Story of Bo in hopes that we can learn where not to put our heads.

Posted by: Lisame | January 5, 2006 09:03 AM

Bo's the man, and has the scar to prove it.

Posted by: CLD | January 5, 2006 09:04 AM

Bo makes a lovely lamp.

You're a good doxie mama; these things happen. Heck, sometimes it happens with human kids. (Well, perhaps not this exact thing. But similar overlooking of what turns out to be serious injury. And I'm gonna shut up now before DCFS shows up on my doorstep.)

Posted by: Mir | January 5, 2006 09:17 AM

Now, Bo, we love you and you know that, but you're a nasty tempered little (insert adjective). Let this be a lesson to you and come over here and get cuddles and kisses. Next time that lab might eat you. So there better not BE a next time, guy. Get well soon. xxxooo

Posted by: Daffy | January 5, 2006 09:18 AM

Poor, poor Bo. :-( (Giggle.)

Posted by: Peyton | January 5, 2006 09:27 AM

Victrola dog! The master's voice... I *know* the master is in there _somewhere_...

Posted by: Rosemary | January 5, 2006 09:30 AM

That story is exactly what I needed to cheer me up!

My dog Elvis looks suspiciously like Bo, only with some terrier and other things mixed in. But he's got the glare DOWN.

Posted by: Anne Glamore | January 5, 2006 09:35 AM

It's called an Elizabethan collar. Though when my dog had to wear one, we still called her "Cone Head" -- "Elizabethan Collar Head" just doesn't have the same ring to it.

Hope Bo recovers soon!

Posted by: Soylent | January 5, 2006 10:05 AM

Oh the cone!

Actually, it's called an e-collar. And what does the 'e' stand for you might ask? Elizabethan. Seriously. And as a medieval recreationist I seriously got a kick out of the image of my 13lb Rat Terrier in an Eliz.Ruff a la Queen Elizabeth. But yes, they kill her spirit, too, poor thing.

And drunk dog? So remember that from The Spaying of Abigail. It was quite funny. I laughed a lot at my zone-out little dog who couldn't walk in a straight line.

Posted by: Jenn | January 5, 2006 10:06 AM

Awwwwww, poor Bo. My bulldog had to wear the Cone of Shame for a while. He would try to go in his cage, and bump the cone against the opening, back up and try again, and again. It was the saddest, funniest think I've seen in years. http://www.pbase.com/jupman/image/42308092

Posted by: jcc | January 5, 2006 10:20 AM

Keep head out of the mouths of very large dogs.

Finally, a New Year's resolution I may be able to keep.

Posted by: LadyBug | January 5, 2006 10:28 AM

Poor Bo, poor Miss Doxie. But. Hahahahahaha.
My cat had to wear the cone when she was spayed. She looked pathetic walking around with it on but it was also the only thing slowing her down. When it was off for her to eat and drink she would run around like a banshee.

Posted by: Allyson | January 5, 2006 10:55 AM

LOL... silly bo! i hope he recovers well from his bit of folly...

my parent's dog, zephur, was very smart, but got a little forgetful as the years went on. she would bark at guests' arrival, then see them 2 min later, think, who are these people? did i bark at them? and then bark again for good measure. (and again every 2 min for the remainder of the visit.)

and HOW much better would this all have been if poor zephur was strung out on anesthesia and hallucinating?! she would bark at the hallucination, forgot she saw it, and then bark some more! a whole afternoon of fun!

Posted by: Ali G | January 5, 2006 11:07 AM

God, this is the most hilarious entry I've read in a long time. Unfortunately, I also have bronchitis, so I coughed rather horribly, but it was worth. What is it about little dogs thinking they're Dobermans?? Man.

Posted by: shaxgirl | January 5, 2006 11:40 AM

Poor Bo! But have no fear, you are a good mommy. And his love will return with his appetite, I'm sure.

Unfortunately, I had a dog that did insist on fucking with his stitches and so I had a 100lb. Akita floor lamp roaming around, destroying my home for a week. Nothing is safe from a tall dog in a lamp shade.

Posted by: anne | January 5, 2006 11:43 AM

I just happened on your site. You are so funny. What a great laugh. Poor Bo he just has a bad weekend. We to have a mini hotdog. He is always creating trouble. My daughter is ready to trade him in .

Posted by: Kelly | January 5, 2006 12:09 PM

You realize cones come in sizes, as well. Magic our black lab had at least three different sizes during his long life.

Give Bo sausage from me. I'd say give kisses, but he might, you know, think you were a hallucination and hurt you.

(And I know this isn't a big deal, but all I can think of is that movie "Adventures in Babysitting" when the kid is stabbed in the foot, and they give him one stitch, but the babysitter thinks he died and faints in the ER.)

(It is a lot funnier than how I typed it.)

Posted by: Coleen | January 5, 2006 12:11 PM

Holy Cow. This story had me in stitches (oops, sorry, STITCH).

Sorry, Couldn't pass it up.

Posted by: Brian | January 5, 2006 12:24 PM

Awwwwww! Love the Bo pictures. Poor little guy. I think it is so funny that your dogs have such strong personalities!

Posted by: alfredsmom | January 5, 2006 12:26 PM

Ask Ruger. Elizabethan Collars are no fun to wear. She had to wear one to keep her from chewing on her IV's when she was at the vet for three days with Colitis. I surpressed the urge to call her a conehead. I figured she had been through enough! LOL

Posted by: Mac and The Weiner Patrol | January 5, 2006 01:13 PM

Poor Bo! He looks just like my little girl dachshund, Micah. How old is he?

Posted by: Darla | January 5, 2006 01:52 PM

conehead bo is v. cute.

Posted by: kilowatthour | January 5, 2006 02:28 PM

The Perplexed, Acid-Tripping Dachshunds: best band name EVER.

Poor sweet little Bo. Give him a cuddle for me. Or some sausage.

Posted by: Nothing But Bonfires | January 5, 2006 03:18 PM

Awww... at first I thought your jellybean exterminator friend came up with the idea of a travelling dachshund floor lamp. Bo is still a rockstar, even if he hurt is face.

I am ruled by a doxie, so that "feet bicycling in the air" and sausage=silence made me laugh the hell out loud.

Posted by: VeeBeeWhy? | January 5, 2006 04:10 PM

I thought the Dog in Hat pic was going to be my giggle and awww moment of the day, but who knew there were still such guffaws and AWWWWs to come?

When Real Cat got sick for the first (and only! spit spit at the Evil Eye) time, and when the vet told me he had a fever, I so totally broke down. Ugly, heaving sobs. The vet was kind of shocked, in fact.

Posted by: Real Girl | January 5, 2006 04:22 PM

Oh Bo. I am sad for Bo. Does Bo get HBO and Showtime now? Bet he is tuned to Animal Planet all day while you are at work. Just think how much fun it will be to convince the other three dogs to go get their teeth cleaned now! You know Bo is telling them horror stories of this year's dental trip. Get well soon Bo.

Posted by: mackmomma | January 5, 2006 04:26 PM

Ahhhhhh poor Doxie - just remind Bo that "a stich in time saves nine" I'm sorry, so very sorry for that...(WTF does that mean? can someone tell me please) and feed him extra bits of sausage for me, too. Its so sad when the furry ones are sick or hurt and you can't quite explain WHY you must be so mean and torturous to them. He'll be right as rain in little while - love the stories!

Posted by: Maya | January 5, 2006 04:46 PM

Love The Stitch!

Posted by: Rayne | January 5, 2006 05:22 PM

Poor Bo! Although, this story was entirely too funny - as all your doggy stories are. :D Hope Bo recovers soon and that the rest of his 2006 is better than the beginning.

Posted by: Foxy | January 5, 2006 06:53 PM

"... keep our heads out of places they simply shouldn't be."

Bo Confuscious, very wise dog. Who knew I could learn such a valuable lesson from a little brown dog I've never met? I will think of Bo Confuscious whenever I am about to do something or go somewhere, there, perhaps, "go there" as they say, so that I make better choices in 2006.

(Secret message to Bo: "Bo...some chicks dig the scars...use it to your advantage!")

Posted by: S. Faolan Wolf | January 5, 2006 07:43 PM

ahh, this is my favorite christmas special yet!

Posted by: chuck | January 5, 2006 09:03 PM

I had a hallucinating dog... but... I think... it may have just been a part of her personality...

She also wore a cone on her head when she had eye surger--Cutest thing in the world!

I hope both Bo and your wallet recover quickly.

Posted by: Angela | January 5, 2006 09:50 PM

Aw, poor little Bo. You are a good mommy. Isn't it weird how these little creatures can hold grudges and be so uppity to the only ones who can give them sustinence?

Posted by: Amy | January 5, 2006 10:16 PM

Hey, it's not rock and roll till somebody bleeds.

Posted by: Megs | January 6, 2006 12:56 AM

Awesome. By far the funniest thing I have read all year. :)

Here's hoping Bo has a speedy recovery from the stitch and doesn't suffer any trippy flashbacks in the future. "My hands, ahem, paws are HUGE"

Posted by: jen | January 6, 2006 01:01 AM

Haaaaaaaa! It's mean to laugh at those less fortunate, but oh , Bo, you and your freaky cone-head have brought back fond memories of various of my cats and their disgruntled faces encircled by rings of plastic. And, on one memorable occasion, a giant Newfoundland head encased in the world's biggest e-collar (we had to banish him to one room because he was like a stray satellite dish come to visit).

But, Bo, take heart in the fact that you show courage (foolishness?) despite the size of your opponents! Not like my Great Dane, Miss Mojo, who just yesterday ran yelping to cower behind Mommy because the smallest cat was crouched in the flowerbed, aiming the Beady Eye of Death at her.

I'm so glad I'm not the only one with crazy pets!

Posted by: ysabelkid | January 6, 2006 06:26 AM

Poor baby! My childhood doggie had one after surgery, and she had a habit of ducking her head down when she walked...and the cone would get stuck...and she'd, well, trip ass over teakettle, and OOOOOOOOOOOOH, we would laugh. God rest her little doggie soul.

If anything like that happened to my evil evil cats, I'd sob my brains out. Don't beat yourself up over it.

Posted by: missbanshee | January 6, 2006 10:45 AM

I've had many cats over the years, and at one point or another they all seem to end up with the funnel head. And, while sad and pathetic, who can resist laughing at a pissed off feline that's walking everywhere BACKWARD thinking that it can escape the funnel-from-hell that way?

Oh, and the missing the hole thing? Yeah, don't feel bad about that... I missed my cat's entire belly being ripped open once. Long story, and trust me when I say you had to be there, but it's TOTALLY doable to miss a pet's wound, no matter the size or severity. It's all about the placement. And whether or not they're laying on it.

Best wishes to Bo for a speedy recovery.

Posted by: Nola | January 6, 2006 11:23 AM

Aw, poor li'l Bo. But the world is a better place for those cone pictures.

Posted by: Fraulein N | January 6, 2006 11:39 AM

This may be the funniest thing I've ever read!
I didn't want the story to end, but I don't suppose Bo would feel that way.

Posted by: Jaxxie | January 6, 2006 03:47 PM

Good Lord. And it's the year of the dog too!

Ha. Sorry. Not funny.

Posted by: justJENN | January 6, 2006 04:11 PM

Poor Bo! Sounds like a typical man though. Got hurt and acted like a baby. Hope he feels better soon though!

Posted by: Jessie | January 6, 2006 04:13 PM

Ok, first I have been reading your page for a while - not stalking just lurking and now, today, I am brave enough to come out of the shadows.

This entry is hysterical. I know it's at the cost of your poor doggie but my version of this story would have been that my dog got a stich, period. YOUR version is glorious and very funny. Thanks for the laugh, I needed it today!

P.S. May Bo forgive you. :)

Posted by: Laura | January 6, 2006 04:56 PM

I feel bad for Bo, I really do, but I just laughed so hard, I peed my pants. That was some funny, funny stuff!

My in-laws have a hallucinting doxie without the drugs. She barks and scratches at invisible things she sees in the carpet daily -- no drugs required. That is, when she's not humping someone's leg.

Posted by: Stephanie | January 6, 2006 07:26 PM

through many doggie injuries (a few inflicted by other, not-so-nice dogs), and days spent wearing the cone of silence, i have really come to appreciate pet insurance. i hope bo gets well soon

Posted by: ms. lemon | January 6, 2006 08:20 PM

you are so funny. I passed your blog from friend to friend at work...and oh how we laughed. One friend told me how her cocker spaniel had the cone and they came home one day and he had tripped coming down the stairs and landed on the cone, face down, and he couldent right him self...his poor little legs going...ahh good times.
ps you should burn the embroidered pants!

Posted by: christine | January 6, 2006 08:37 PM

God, you are so hilarious. That had me rolling. Poor Bo! Hope he feels better soon!

Posted by: Jackie Joy | January 6, 2006 09:47 PM

Bravo! Great post... thoroughly enjoyed it.

New to your blog, looking forward to following.

Posted by: JustLinda | January 6, 2006 10:52 PM

Oh, poor Bo! I can understand why you'd want to see him in the cone, though. Or, as we call it in my house, the funnel. We adopted a stray cat that was covered in ringworm, and the ringworm had scarred him some. We had some ointment for him that needed to be left on for a couple of hours, so the vet gave us a smaller, cat-sized, funnel collar. The cat HATED it, and he looked so pathetic when we put it on him. It was clear, too, so his breath would fog it up. He kept walking into walls and corners and things, too. Poor guy. We still put it on him sometimes for a laugh. We're mean like that. Here's hoping Bo makes a full recovery and forgets all about this horrible experience!

Posted by: evier | January 7, 2006 10:24 AM

Miss Doxie, you and Bo have me laughing so hard I am in stitches. Oops, I mean stitch. Poor, sweet Bo. A paper cone has never looked so adorable.

Posted by: karla | January 7, 2006 01:33 PM

Aaaw, poor Bo! I laughed my head off at the picture of the freaked-out labrador, that is the funniest damn picture on anywhere on the internet for as long as I have been reading blogs. Our dog, a whippet, finds dachshunds
weird and scary, too.It's like, how can anything twice as long as it is tall, be a dog? It smells like a dog, but the geometry doesn't add up.
May 2006 get only better, for Bo, and for you and Dukay. May Dukay never have to wear a conical collar, although Karma says he probably should!

Posted by: fifi | January 7, 2006 04:43 PM

Oh my goodness, I almost snorted wine out my nose while reading this post. As the mommy to a sweet baby girl dachshund who is so, so unbehaved, and so, so sassy, I completely resonate. I am loving your site, as is Maisie the wunder-dachshund who sits on my lap as I'm reading it...

Posted by: Christen | January 7, 2006 06:39 PM

The cone collar really is funny...poor dogs, they suffer so much for our moment of laughter! And Bo definately made me laugh!

Posted by: Raybelle | January 7, 2006 10:28 PM

That's one of the funniest things I've read in ages...poor doggies.

Posted by: f-i-n | January 8, 2006 04:18 PM

My dog growing up never had to wear a cone..but he did develop a skin disease where his fur wouldn't shed properly. So we had to have him sedated and shaved everything but his head and tail for the summer so that he wouldn't bake in the Atlanta heat.

He hid for DAYS and he looked so embarrassed at being so naked in public...that shave hurt his dignity. WE got lots of laughs out of it though.

Believe me when I say this: there is nothing uglier than shaved German Shepherd.

Posted by: KSR | January 8, 2006 06:09 PM

It's called an elizabethan collar. . .or however you spell it. I didn't know what it was either till my kitten got his boys chopped off and he had to wear it for a few days.

Posted by: Kimber | January 8, 2006 10:51 PM

All I can say is that we have got to get your dogs and my Schnauzer from Satan together, because they (and we) would have a lot to talk about. One of the characteristics of male schnauzers is that even if neutered, they are so insane and mad to piss and shit on things that they don't just lift their leg and pee on something; if they run out of pee they will shit on it, whether they have any shit left or not. If they have no shit left, they will try to squeeze some out. This results in frequent dingleberries. And as Ben once observed while cleaning one off a schnauzer's ass, HEY! I'VE NEVER SEEN A DINGLEBERRY WITH A DINGLEBERRY BEFORE.

Posted by: Gretchen | January 9, 2006 04:57 AM

Those cone collars really are demoralizing aren't they. My cat had one after being spayed and I hated watching her in it so much that I took it off after which she immediately ran under the couch and started biting her stitches.
Thanks for the story, you are a funny funny woman.

Posted by: TB | January 9, 2006 12:06 PM

I'm Lee, I went to law school, I have an old dachshund with a very similar personality (disorder?) who will soon be getting her teeth cleaned again and tripping on anesthesia, my Dad's nickname for me is Bo, and Dad once had a childhood bike accident that caused a handlebar to pierce his jaw underneath leaving a scar to this day.

Is all that ironic or coincidental? I never can remember.

Posted by: Lee O. | January 9, 2006 02:19 PM

That is a hysterical story, perhaps not for Bo, but for the rest of us

Posted by: Blue | January 9, 2006 05:36 PM

OMG. I have now read this entry twice since it's posting. I can't get enough of the Sound and Fury of Bo.

Freaking Highlarious!

Posted by: Mandy | January 10, 2006 01:09 PM

Too funny!

Darth Lila has had to wear the cone on several occasions. After her spay, and after she ate a remote control and needed an X ray to find the batteries. I love that cone. She does as she is told in the hopes we will relent and remove the Thing. She hates it.

When we didn't remove it, she ran around the living room and knocked chunks out of the plaster until she wiglled her head free.

(Of course, we put it back on, she stopped drinking because she was scared of the cone touching her water bowl, and she ended up with cystitis. She won that round)

She is an evil rottweiler.

Posted by: DMouse | January 10, 2006 04:26 PM

OMG...you are a funny writer! Awesome entry! Your Bo is quite the little character. Never a dull moment with him around, eh?

I'll be back!

Posted by: Chickadee | January 11, 2006 12:37 AM

Please give Bo my condolences. I was giggling so hard when I read this that my husband wanted to know what was going on. When I tried to explain (complete with hand gestures) I kept giggling and couldn't finish.

But I feel for Bo. I really do.

Posted by: Laura | January 11, 2006 05:55 PM

Oh God the BLANKNESS! IS BACK!

Just wondering how many emails you've gotten about this already.

Posted by: Emily | January 12, 2006 11:16 AM

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