. . . if not earlier.
We’d been taking walks solo this weekend but, thinking Rufus was pretty settled in his crate after his dinner, we took a 40-minute walk together this evening. He hadn’t tried to lick at his wounds since I’d sprayed the bandages with some bitter apple solution, and I thought he was ready to go to sleep when we left.
We came home to find that he’d chewed/licked through his bandages, tore up a bunch of his sutures, and has two gaping wounds in his leg again. We broke out the hydrogen peroxide, cleaned the perimeters of his wounds, and bandaged them (with sterile gauze covers first).
I should’ve tried to put his sweatpant-leg cover on before we left on that walk, but he was already in his crate and that’s the one place where I’m afraid that he’ll panic if I touch his leg wrong, and try to bite me.
I can’t tell you how angry I am at myself right now. I feel like one of us has to keep an eye on him every minute of this process. Also, the knuckles of my left hand are sore because I punched the ceiling out of rage/frustration.
Sorry to be such a downer. We’ll be at the vet’s tomorrow morning, and I’m hoping not to get browbeaten too much. Maybe she’ll have some advice on how to keep the bandages in place (they continually slide down) and how to stop him from chewing through his wounds.
of Pericles and Fabius. I had a devil of a time getting into the Pericles section. It’s possible I was more distracted than usual, but the prose seemed utterly unwieldy and drowsiness-inducing. Which bums me out, because I expected that sketch to be one of the greats. Still, he kept me going with the life of Fabius Maximus and the comparison of the two.
, by Modest Mouse.