Wednesday February 22
And there was I thinking that because The Tractor was out of commission I wouldn't be going anywhere this week. But no - it takes a lot more than a car falling apart to stop Mum taking me to the vet's for my three-weekly Cartrophen injection.
I was bundled into her sporty Z4 with my bottom crammed under the glove compartment and my head facing the rear. But I travel like that in The Tractor and I don't mind - I prefer being nearer the ground anyway.
Mum was determined to get me to the vet's somehow as she had also spotted some claw-shaped streaks of blood on the floor. Further investigation revealed a lump underneath my front left pad, which explains why I've been limping more than normal lately.
Dr John feared it might be a tumour but he won't be able to assess properly for another two weeks - when I've stopped self-harming myself, apparently. Wise (for once) Mum refused to put one of those clumsy Elizabethan collars around my neck, promising to prevent me from eating my own paw via other means.
Yes, you've guessed it, one of Dad's socks may not be sexy but it sure beats a stupid cone on my head. And I know how to get it off - but sshhh - don't tell Mum!
The only good thing about the day was that Dr John gave me the green light to go swimming afterwards - no pain, no gain!
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