Shake, rattle and roll

Posted on 7th November, 2011

Friday October 21, 2011


Poor Rolo. That's what Grandma said anyway. I was just going about my own

business - some simple housekeeping in the undercarriage department - when I

got a mouthful of blood. Mum spotted I was expelling the red stuff and

whipped me straight off to the vet's. She forgot the blue flashing light

this time though.


Louise the vet, who was standing in for John (how DARE he be on holiday at a

time like this?) was worried at first that all my drugs were reacting but

after a good feel (ouch!) and internal examination (double ouch!!), she

proclaimed that I had a prostate infection, which... wait for it... might

ultimately necessitate the removal of my crown jewels.


Luckily Mum delayed such a momentous decision and I had to have TWO painful

injections plus a five-day course of strong antibiotics - MORE pills. That's

er, one, three, seven, TWELVE pills a day.


And as if that wasn't enough for a dog to cope with, Mum and Dad bundled SB

and me in the car for a four-hour drive to Cornwall. 'This year's Your Dog

Where To Stay Guide, Boss,' said Dad by way of explanation.


Although I am feeling a little rough round the edges, I must admit the thought of another

beach break and the chance to roll in the sand has cheered me up no end...


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