The Dog with a Death Wish…

My Dad jokes that at times it would be appropriate to play the Eastenders theme tune as I walk into a room.

My life is dramatic.

I blame this blog, life was pretty normal until I started writing down our stories, then it took a definite turn for the dramatic.

This year my hope was to live a more mundane existence. I (stupidly) wrote on my Facebook page that all I wanted was to avoid surgeries for any one in the house.

Last year we had three operations (two for Owen and one fof the dog), but far less hospital appointments than in previous years.

I was even prepared to put off getting the dog spayed to ensure my wish of staying out of the operating theatre became a reality.

14 days…

Bloody pathetic effort in all honesty.

Clearly the one to blame is the dog.

The dog who has a death wish….

Not content with eating my cousins VELUX blinds in late 2017, she has now moved onto far more substantial snacking.

Stones.

She eats stones – whole.

And the theory of what goes in, must come out is failing us.

Every stone she digests has to be cut out, under anaesthetic, paid for by my lovely insurance company – who are increasing my premium as I type.)

Her stomach is starting to look like a patchwork quilt…

Poor little mite.

My New Year hopes have been dashed, my doggy is back on the big healing drugs, my garden is a banned zone.

Our only cure is this….

I bring you the Hannibal of the Canine world…..

Any other options on how to stop her so we can get rid of the mask gratefully received……