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.
22 thoughts on “The Dog Sausage”
Good to know that Macauley is sans casings, Kate. I am wondering if a sausage would help me lose weight. 🙂
I can only think it is the raison d’être behind the whole lycra thing, Penny.
The creatures who hate the cones more than dogs are cats. At first the audience is amused as the cat tries to continually back away from the encumbrance but pretty soon it becomes distressing for all parties. Though I’ve yet to see a sausage suit for a cat, too many dog owners routinely place their pets open to ridicule with unnecessary joke costumes: nobody comes out of it well, canines included. (I’m sure you wouldn’t ever, Kate, mud being the only outer garment you’d allow –temporarily — on Macauley.)
Did I ever tell you about the time Phil put a dinner tie on the dog, Chris?
No, tell me more! Or is there a post already on this? ‘Dog’s Dinner’ perhaps? Or ‘Bow-tie bow-wow’?!
I can imagine that the garment was not popular, and that anti-dog conspiracy theories abounded. I wonder what the revenge is going to be?
Whatever it is, it will be dastardly, Col…
Haha! Glad that Mac is on the road to recovery . . . even if he’s not rushing around off lead yet.
We’re pleased to see him this side of it, Nancy: just a benign cyst but no-one likes an op, do they?
Kate: “It’s for your own good my friend. Besides, *snickering* you look dashing in that suit.”
Macaulay, a la Rodney Dangerfield: “I don’t get no respect.”
*Chuckles* Karen, that is almost precisely what I think he was saying…
The doggie onesie — how clever! I’ve recently learned about the doggie doughnut. It’s an inflatable ring, similar to a child’s pool floatie except it goes around the dog’s neck. It’s quite a sight. Talk about communicating with aliens!
He’s such a beautiful dog I could hug him to bits
Mac looks as handsome as ever in his onesie, even if his demeanor screams humiliation. I hope he makes a complete recovery and will once again resume dragging dead deer bones into the house; a trick he needs to teach Freddie — who I hope was not howling with laughter at Mac’s situation.
Jazz used to like her outfit when it was really cold. Glad Mac’s feeling better.
It’s the eyes, those big, soft brown eyes. They know how to use them on us.
Oh, yes, the dreaded “cone of no-chew”. Had to have one for my youngest dog as he’d broken his front leg and insisted on chewing off the cast. He succeeded in chewing the cone of no-chew, then the cast. We finally took several clear 2 liter soda bottles and extended the somewhat worse for wear cone nicely edged and divided by good old duct tape. Dratted beast chewed that too.
They now have something called “Thunder Shirts” which are somewhat compressive around the body of the dog so they – supposedly – feel more secure during thunderstorms and fireworks.
Glad Mac is doing well, he did look a bit irritated with the garment.
oh I want one for my beasties – our vet still insists on the plastic megaphone device but I think they’re horrible and the dogs keep walking into the furniture – my little Molly is soon to be desexed and I am dreading the plastic thing!
A bit of Trivia about the dawning of Olympicopolos in London for your bonnet:
I don’t know if I’d trust a terrier any more with a babygro either… 😉
Poor Mac! He just looks like he’s tolerating the sausage look, and just barely. I’ve never seen this post-operative costume before. I wonder if it comes in all sizes? A large dog in one of these would look to be from outer space, I think, but not as alien as those strange old cones. Cones would definitely interfere with his hunting in the forest. I wonder if he’s had any more encounters with large deer bones! 🙂
How undignified for a terrier to be rendered a sausage dog. Filthy look is deserved. 🙂