Porcupine Quill Extracting Surgery

You might ask why Mom didn’t bring me to the Vet immediately after the painful whacking of the Porcupine tail to my vulnerable, sensitive face. The answer is: apparently, Minnesota doesn’t have enough Veterinary staff to keep clinics open on the 4th of July. Mom’s options were to drive many hours to Fargo, North Dakota, or The Twin Cities. She was told to bring a bank to pay holiday fees and be prepared to wait as the hospitals were swamped.

As ya’ll know, Mom chose the let’s all pile on Otis and terrorize with a pliers technique. In her heart, My Mama knew the brutal but quick pile and pull method was in my best interest. Immediately following the well-intentioned attack, I could eat and drink again. A step in the right direction as I had a powerful thirst going on as my tummy was noisily singing, ♫ “please feed me, any old scrap will do, please feed me.” ♫

We left the campground and arrived back on the farm Monday afternoon. Tuesday morning at 9:30, I went under the knife.

In the vet clinic, on the other side of the door, I could hear a big, fat yellow cat singing she wanted to play with me. Yes, she had my total and unwavering attention.

Here I’m happily waiting for ‘fun’ to walk through the door. ‘Fun’ turned out to be a small woman with a smile hanging on her face and a big ol nasty needle in her hand. My life got dark quite quickly.

When I opened my peepers, I noticed two things: 1. I felt crappy, like I was floating in and out of my body.                                                                         2. My mouth was free of the nagging needle projections from my ill-advised porcupine meet and greet.

I felt wobbly and weak-kneed when I left the needles R fun surgery place. Thank goodness Mom caught my behind and gave me a push while I was hopping into the auto. Her well-placed hands gave me the lift I needed; Mom saved me from a severe case of butt-road-rash soreness to go along with my swollen-lipped, painfully tender mouth.

This is my tired, grumpy face.

After sleeping all afternoon, Mom surprised me with a hot homecooked meal of hamburger! Hot Diggity-dog, I got hot hamburger! I tried to gobble the yummies but settled for slowly savoring. Gobble hurt; savoring did not. At the time, I thought Mom was being especially sweet after the Porcupine debacle; little did I know she was hiding the nasty medicine amidst the yummies.

Typically My Mama’s not a rule follower. Apparently, the Vet is an exception because what the Vet dictated, Mom followed to the letter. Sadly, Mom insisted I take every yucky pain and antibiotics pill prescribed.

After the Porcupine attack, Mom tried giving me relax pills hidden in peanut butter. How stupid does she think I am? I don’t care how much I love peanut butter; if it contains an unknown, I’m spiting it right out! (And oh, by the way, she totally ruined peanut butter for me! Thanks, Mom.)

When Mom’s weary frustration got the best of her, she dropped the play-acting and shoved the pills into my mouth; she held my mouth closed as she elevated and blew into my nose. Blew in my nose? Yup, someone told her I would swallow if she pushed air up my nostrils. I keep telling Mom, “Don’t believe everything you hear,” yet what she manifests in her brain is “Listen to everyone except the dog.”

Let me tell you, the air up the nose trick didn’t work, so  Mom decided massaging my throat was the ticket. When she was sure I swallowed the “damn” pill, she let me go, and much to her shocked dismay, I promptly spit it out.

 Repeat times 2.

 The third time I kept my mouth closed until I was out of the camper and 12 feet away before I spit. My plan was a good one; I simply didn’t factor in that My Mama’s beady all-seeing eyes were still glaring at me when I sent the pill a fly’n.

In the end, Mom and Me both got what we wanted. She got the pills down my throat, and I got hamburger, pumpkin, yogurt, sweet potatoes, ham, egg, and bits of bread. I’d say it was a win-win!

Here I’m resting under The Ivy’s wide backend. My favorite place cuz it’s dry, cool, and biting fly free. Mom is trying to coax me out but color me leery. With all the pulling, prodding, manipulating, and other uncomfortable treatments I’ve recently endured, I’m sure you understand why I might not be all frisky and ready to run to Mom’s side.

All the pills must be gone cuz it’s back to straight dry kibble for me; that’s bittersweet. I’m back to barking and dancing when we get ready for an e-bike ride. I bark and growl if I feel inspired by something in the distance, and I play Panther while running in the corn when I’m happy, so I’d say, “It’s back to normal” around here.

Luv Otis

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5 thoughts on “Porcupine Quill Extracting Surgery

  1. So glad to hear Otis has survived his ordeal. By the way, this is genius: my ill-advised porcupine meet and great.

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  2. Poor Otis my heart broke when I read his story.  I am happy he is doing better.  Maybe you can get him some doggie ice cream.  He may need some extra spoiling since his terrible ordeal and his surgery.

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