My Right Paw

If you read my blog last week you will know that I suffered a paw injury.  Mommy, who has no medical training, attempted to fix it, while I knew that all wounds can be healed by a dog’s tongue, and we battled over what treatment was better, until it was healed, whereby we both took credit.

Shortly after I published the blog I was still licking my paw.  Mommy told me I would hurt it again if I persisted.  I scoffed.  What does she know?

The next morning I was lame again, unable to put any wright on my right paw.  Mommy told me I had done it to myself with excessive licking.  I disagreed.  The injury had nothing to do with my licking, the wound was caused by one of the following.

Pocket licking my feet while I was sleeping because my paws are delicious.

Our house is built over an Indian Dog Burial Ground and the spirits of the dogs attack my paw at night.

Robbers broke into the house while Mommy and Daddy slept and I fought them off with my paw.

I am the first dog to have a Stigmata.  

Mommy pulled out the darn socks again.  She, with Daddy as her accomplice, shoved my leg into the sock, they then bunched it up and taped it, so I could not lick my paw and heal myself.  Then Daddy, let out of the house because he ankle monitor was malfunctioning, went to the store and he bought booties.

This was the latest of my many public humiliations.

I was licking the sock so they put the boot on so I could not get to it.  I said fine.  I wore the one boot, like Michael Jackson attempting a trend that was doomed to fail.  I waited.  I knew my parents.  The boot just slipped on.  They had to tape the sock on.  They are weak and lazy.  Like Fredo married to Fredo.  After a day they decided to just put the boot on.  And when their backs were turned I slipped that boot off like Lindsay Lohan before knocking heels.  Oh I feasted on my foot until they caught me.

They soaked my foot at night in either Epsom salts or peroxide.  I calmly sat there with my foot in the Dixie Cup of doom, this time relaxed, like the drunk, sleeping fraternity brother with his two roommates slipping his hand into water and waiting anxiously for him to pee.  Daddy also bought something called Liquid Bandage which he sprayed on my cut and man did that sting.  It also had a bitter taste to keep me from licking.  Bitter taste my butt!  Once you’ve worn a sock for ten days how bitter could anything taste?

Then Mommy betrayed me.  She went on Facebook to say that I had opened the injury on my foot by licking, completely disregarding the Stigmata and Indian Burial Ground theories.  She asked for the opinion of other humans.  I don’t mind this.  But to do it on Facebook?  It’s just so...common.  TB, Doggyspace, the Blogger Community, sure, but Facebook, where people go to discuss Wal-Mart sales and the Kardashians?  I think not.  

Someone did tell her to use as product called YUCK, which sounded great to me.  I love gross things.  Human sweat, people with morning mouth, the occasional stool.  The more YUCK the better.

This battle continued for nearly a week.  Mommy told me each morning while I was dipped and socked that if I didn’t chew my paw I wouldn’t have to wear hosiery.  On Tuesday I gave in, and I am sockless again.  But now, when I lick my foot I get a pinch in the butt.  The simple humans think I will think each time I lick my foot I think it will cause me a pinching pain in the butt but truthfully it makes me think I’m on the subway.

So that is this week’s installment of As The Paw Turns.  We will see you next week.