I will no longer be updating Iron Guide (see below). Instead, I am now writing at my new, personal blog. Though that will be about some of the newer things I'm doing in life, if you want to see updates about Louie, Lester, and now Dusky, add me on Facebook -- there's enough ridiculously cute pictures to go around.

Lester just loves his cone. He loves it so much, he could just eat it.

In fact, he did eat it. Not all of it, but enough to make it obvious that, given another couple nights alone with it, there wouldn't be much left. He really does love his cone -- just... in his stomach and not around his head.

So, for the past two nights, I've taken off his cone just before bedtime. Much happier and way more comfortable, he passes out in seconds instead of fidgeting and squirming around for minutes in the cone. I finished up work around 4am and, like I do every night and every morning, took a quick look at his belly to make sure there wasn't any redness or swelling or whatever. Two more days, his stitches come out and I can stop being the stereotypical over-protective dad, I think. In either case, so far, so good.

Around 6am, I wake up to the sounds of a puppy heaving his guts out. On the hair-trigger response anyone with a puppy understands, I scoop up Lester, run to the bathroom and let him barf to his heart's content. Barf handled, Lester prancing around ready to play, I then go back to the room to find the culprit behind my rude awakening.

Wires? All there.
Blankets? Intact.
Closet? Still closed.
Puppy toys? Still in one piece.
Books? Papers? No shredded paper.
Pens? Pencils? No plastic around.

Hm. That's odd. Random barf? Unlikely. What else?

Cell phone? Wallet? Keys?

All there.

Cone? No more chewed than before.

Oddness. I didn't go out anywhere, nothing's missing from the house, Lester hasn't gone on any walks, what with getting neutered and all. Ah, well, I give up on the barf. I might as well just re-check his stitches and then go back to bed. Still time to rack in a few more hours.

UH.

WHERE'D YOUR STITCHES GO?

...

Yup. Lester ate his stitches.

Much yelping, a frantic call to the vet, and a resurrected cone later, Lester is doing just fine. The receptionist at the vet sounded more amused than worried, so I imagine this happens more than I think. Still, I'm speechless. Eating your own stitches? I didn't even know that was possible! Don't you need... I don't know... something involving a medically-trained professional?

OK. So I checked it out. Here it is, ten-page stitch-removal procedure involving everything from sterile forceps to antibiotics to adhesive strips. Psh. Amateurs. Dr. Lester only needs his teeth.

Labels: Lester

Permalink | Written at 11:43 PM | Post a comment | 3 comments | Trackbacks

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Permalink   | Posted by  The Puppy Raising Roller Coaster at July 7, 2007 10:49 PM

HAHA being a vet tech in training...We have heard many stories like this. While amusing in retrospect not a very fun situation for the owner!
Permalink   | Posted by  Anonymous at July 7, 2007 10:50 PM

hee hee hee too funny!!
Permalink   | Posted by  Erin & Rei at July 10, 2007 10:52 PM