Why Me? Then Again, Why Not?

It's All in the Name of Looking Good!

Poor Oliver. Once again something has gone not quite right. He seemed to have a pretty good weekend after his traumatic surgical event (the trauma was really just the type of surgery). He was upbeat, trying to run around a bit, even though he was not supposed to.

We followed orders the best we could, but it's kind of hard to keep a Weimaraner from engaging in any activity whatsoever for two days, let alone two weeks. He's just energetic, what can I tell ya?

Anyway, on Saturday it appeared as though there may be some slight issues with his sutures, so we called the Vet. We were advised to keep him more constrained. We already were walking him in the yard on a leash for him to do his personal business, and we were keeping him in the crate as much as possible without driving him and us insane. We even keep Ollie and Romeo apart so they don't get each other excited and start running around.

Sadly, we were told that he would have to spend even more time in the crate. So, with heavy hearts we decided to try to keep him in there even more. Despite all of it, though, he had additional issues with the sutures. I think he's some kind of magician or something and he's just trying to get the things untied. Anyway, Beata had to take him the Vet today for a look at his unmentionable area. It turns out that he was still causing difficulties for himself, apparently through some sort of contorion exercise in which he actually uses a technique that produces salavic relief for the aformentioned unmentionable area.

So, this is what they did to him...

That's right, they enrolled him in the wildly popular and hugely successful SETI Institute. He's proud to be the only one there to have ever actually found any intelligent life while searching. Turns out it was him.

At least that's what they claim.

Errrrrrr (annoying screeching tires sound), back to reality. Come to find out, this is just so Oliver can hear us better and maybe start responding to our very gentle requests for cooperation with his healing process....you know, things like, "Please don't run Oliver," "Kindly remove your rather large paws from the dinner table, Ollie, so you're not so stretched out and risking tearing your stitches," and, my personal favorite, "Crate Ollie, Crate. It's good for you, and besides, you know you want to."

Alright, let's try this again. Back to reality. Just briefly, though.

He needs to wear this thing all the time for the next week. It's a good think I've been able to convince him that it's okay to eat from my hand (bonding, you know). Otherwise, it would be awfully entertaining to watch him try his best to get to those small crunchy bites. Sadly, he can't fit in the crate now. I'm sure he's disappointed.

It's all for the best, I guess. I just hope he isn't too self-conscious when he's standing out in the middle of the yard squatting for his aeromatic extra curricular activities. It will all be over in a week if everything goes well, and, why shouldn't it?

That's all for now. Remember to check back soon for a nother installment of Oliver's Journal, where you can get all the lates sports, news, and weather.

Good Day, and Good Night!