It’s been a crap few days. I’ve been snowed under by work and at the end of the week was struck down by a nasty head cold which sent me to bed for a couple of days.  On top of that, Son managed to drop a boiling hot teabag on Dog’s side resulting in a bit of a scald.

We ran cold water on it and Dog seemed unperturbed, so I assumed all was fine. I noticed she was licking it a bit, but we soon realised the small, square, teabag shaped brown patch was wearing away to reveal an open wound.Christ!

So the next day, with a headache that felt like a disreputable nightclub owner had snuck in and put on a banging, drug-fuelled, thumping dance session in my brain, I dragged Dog out to the vet. I had promised Son I wouldn’t tell the vet what he’d done so I had to take the blame and pretend I had thrown the hot tea bag towards the bin and Dog had got in the way.

He looked at me not only as if I was an idiot, but also as if he was toying with the idea of calling the RSPCA. I gave Dog an extra big hug to show what a loving, kind owner I was. I immediately regretted it as she had, as usual, rolled in something dead and the last bath hadn’t quite got rid of the smell. It did a good job of clearing my sinus cavities though.

The vet shaved some fuzzy fur off and cleaned up the wound. He handed me some cream and I was all set to return home ready to mainline some Lemsip, pronto.  After I had paid, (£58!) I was about to make my way out when the vet called me back, ‘wait! You can’t go without this!’

And there is was, an absolutely enormous plastic cone. Dog started to back away as far as the lead would stretch. But it was no use. Quick as a flash, the vet slid the cone on and tied the bandage ends up with a jaunty bow.

I wish I could put into words the look Dog gave the Vet. It was beyond just reproachful, it had a kind of noble sadness about it, a hint of head-shaking regret at such cruel and disrespectful treatment. She must have stood there, fully coned up, gazing into the vet’s eyes for a good two or three minutes, standing stock still.  This look, tinged with outrage, moved the vet so much he actually got down on his knees to rub her head (awkwardly through the giant cone) to apologise, explaining again it was to stop her licking her wound which would get infected.

It was a touching scene and finally, with a dignified nod of her head Dog walked away from the Vet. She smashed straight into the wall with the edge of her cone. Shocked, she reversed, swung her head and hit the backside of a portly Labrador who jumped and let loose a short volley of barks. Dog shot forward, knocking her cone against the edge of the opening door so hard I could almost see cartoon birds tweeting around her head.

By the time I got back she had chewed the damn thing off. Back at home she worked out a way of sliding along the floor until it tipped forward and she could slip it off. Very shortly the bandage holding it in place became useless because she chewed through it so often we were left with two sorry looking shreds. She pulled it off fifteen times in an hour. It reminded me of when Son was 18 months and took against a sun hat. Eventually Rob hooked the cone up to her collar where it has, thankfully remained.

So Dog has spent the last few days lying on the sofa like la Dame aux Camélias casting us soulful looks and refusing to eat when anyone is looking.  This, coinciding with me coming down with the ‘flu has been a real pain for poor Rob who is having to look after us all. She’s got more used to it now but it is unnerving when she misjudges coming up behind you and knocks your knees away with the stiff edges of the cone.

The good news is it’s my weekend off! Hooray! Off we go to our house away from work and deep in the countryside. Bliss. It’s snowing like crazy as we leave and I’m keeping my fingers crossed that it will get worse and worse and we all get snowed in and I don’t have to go back to work until the Easter holidays start.

Son and Daughter have to go to school on Saturday, poor things, so we pick them up and head straight up to the country which is looking increasingly snowed over. Despite being told a million times this means they had to pack BEFORE leaving for school, neither of them has done it. As I was at work that day, it was down to Rob to pack the children’s clothes. My contribution was grabbing their coats and Daughter’s beloved bear Denty, (named after the day I didn’t see she had an abscess and had to spend a horrid couple of nightmare hours at the dentist) and without whom she cannot sleep.

We arrive! All is peace and quiet. Dog goes bananas zooming around the snow in the garden. We were getting used to the sound of the CLUNK whimper CLUNK noises as she smashed into trees, gates, walls and the children. She still wasn’t used to the cone. All is going well until Son discovers what Rob has packed for him: His phone, his headphones (tick for Rob); a pair of Daughter’s sports socks; pyjams and two t-shirts. A big cross for Rob.

No trousers. A prolonged, intense and teeth-gratingly shrill meltdown follows, with Son fluently expressing his dismay and disappointment at having to wear either pyjamas bottoms or his school uniform trousers all weekend.

It was at this point I retired to the bedroom with a book, a gently steaming Lemsip and a fully charged iPad. Bliss. I had a date with Norman Reedus in The Boondock Saints (including the deleted scenes – phew! *Fans self* Why did they delete THAT scene!?) Thanks to Heather Tasker for the tip!

By the way, I was highly amused to see Norman Reedus wearing a pea coat throughout the film. Why? Because I  realised I had worn the EXACT same coat when I went to meet him. Spot the resemblance?

When I returned to the bosom of my family, Son was lying full length on the floor wearing pyjama bottoms, school shirt, tie, and blazer with Dog next to him, her cone resting on his knees. Every time he stopped scratching and stroking her she would pat him with her paw until he resumed.

As night fell the whole family spent a good hour pressed up against the window watching Dog in the garden. Snow was falling heavily and it lay thickly, more than she has ever seen in her life. With great deliberation she started going round in circles. Was she doing a poo? She does has a tendency to poop in a circle. But no, her head was too low down.

Gradually, we realised she was methodically scooping snow into her cone. She kept doing it until we couldn’t even see her face. She then tossed her head back, flinging a big chunk of snow up into the air, which she caught in her wide open mouth. She was making her own snow cone ha ha. Of course as soon as I got my phone out to take a video she stopped, but I did get a few shots of her just before she came back in.

Sorry they are so blurry but I hope you get the idea! If you look closely you can see the grooves where she’s scraped the snow up into her cone.

Well I’m off to bed and my Lemsip. I’ve got to get back to my date with Norman’s deleted scenes. Roll on, Spring and the Easter holidays!