I don’t mean a sausage, Silly.
I mean a silly sausage.
In days gone by, when a dog wanted operating on, he would have to sport a piece of anti-fashion to stop him scratching. A monstrosity: an archaic insult to the canine race.
I refer, of course, to the doggy plastic cone.
It is possible that these cones facilitated communications of which we know nothing: resembling satellite dishes, these unforgiving pieces of neckwear might have allowed dogs to contact and converse with alien life on a day to day basis.
Whether this is so, we shall never know: any more than we shall discover whether they talk to ghosts. Dogs cannot speak, and in all probability regarded conversations with selenites and martians as another piquing inconvenience: as if it wasn’t bad enough having to wear those restricting space dishes on their heads, they had also listen to dissembling plans to invade Planet Earth; and as usual, their Best Friends were ever uncomprehending of their efforts to alert the Human Race, and deeply condescending to boot.
Huge, irritable doggy sigh.
Now, pups of all kinds have an alternative: a soft doggy onesie which simply envelopes all scratchable areas. It wraps the dog up in a jersey tube rather like a sausage. It really works. I know, because Macaulay, the scratchiest terrier in the whole of eternity, has just spent a post-op week plagued by precisely no conversations with aliens at all, and walking around like a sausage with legs.
But in his opinion, he looked completely ridiculous.
His powers of communication are actually, despite my deprecation, highly developed. Humans may not get the specifics when he is trying to warn us of alien invasion, but when he is displeased with what he is wearing he comes over loud and clear. Waves of disapproval and reproach are sent out by method similar to microwaves, except that instead of having an effect on water molecules his waves of reproach are aimed straight at the human soul.
So I feel a little shrivelled, and finally, today, the sausage has been removed. The dog may not be able to run off the lead through the forest as yet, but he can scratch at will once more without being hampered by jersey.
Dog sausages: they are way better than the cone, but they’re not all they’re cracked up to be.