I may very well own the only stupid standard poodle in existence. I’ve of course heard the myths of this lovely breed with supposed above average intelligence and grace. However, my Princess or Poodle, as we call her, posses neither and in fact falls dramatically short.
Princess has always been a sweet gentle soul, in spite of a minimal IQ. My grooming graduation present, (we all go through that phase that we want to try every poodle pattern in existence, so don’t judge) she never quite made it as a competition dog. This failure is partly because competition wasn’t a fit for me and partly her ability to go 3 days without using the restroom, because it wasn’t “HER” yard. After a decade on this Earth, she is no wiser, rules her subjects (an IG and Boston terrier) and takes long prohibited swims in her private pool, aka horse trough.
About 3 months ago, this dimwitted but well loved diva developed a growth in the inside corner of her left eye. Golf ball in size and very vascular, of course concerned but aware of her age, all options were explored and discussed, especially since in the past she’s had a history of similar growths in the ear canals that have been benign. Shaved down like a slender curly coated retriever, we figured we’d wait to see how things progressed. Of course Poodle, thought otherwise and determined that during a holiday weekend she’d take matters into her own paws. Needless to say I was taking what appeared to be a stigmatic poodle to a vet visit first thing Monday morning.
Thankfully her vet came in on his day off to especially take care of his “sexy old lady” and after much worrying on my part the tumor was removed. That afternoon I picked up the Princess armed with the largest cone of shame in history, a healthy dose of drugs, instructions to take it easy and a quizzical look due to her swelling. The initial night home, I put her ointment on, gave her a pain pill and had a thorough discussion on why she would not fit into the kennel with her subjects while donning the cone. Not only could she not fit, but the mere presence of the cone struck fear in the IG and a consolatory look from the Boston (he has much experience of his own this e-collars). Poodle was less than amused and pouted sleeping on the floor. Thinking nothing more, I too went to bed.
With the morning cursatory beeping of the alarm clock, another surprise awaited. There sat poodle, sans cone and of course a Carrie like mess. In panic, I cleaned her face up, to thankfully discover no stitches harmed but tightened that e-collar as close as humanly possible. Obviously, I could not leave the Princess alone and she’d be my sidekick for the 2weeks.
Resigned to my position, I hurried to get her and myself ready for work. I cleaned the face, administered the ointment and now it was time for potty break, food and pain pill. Remembering that she wasn’t supposed to be too uninhibited for a few days I gently opened the back door and encouraged her to go down the steps to water the grass. Instead, the door frame got whacked by the cone and she flew out the back door with legs spread like a flying squirrel over the steps. Proudly barking at nothing, spinning in circles and then taking on an excavation project using the cone like a shovel. Urgh, this was going to be a long 2 weeks.
After, cleaning up the resident archeologist and attempting to feed her (she simply refused to eat while watched and since the cone had to be removed to eat, privacy was not going to happen), off we went to work. Of course upon arrival, she soaked up all the “ahhs” and “poor babies” she could get. She showed her gratitude and the lack of effect her massive pain pill had on her speed, by spinning like whirling dervish and beating all in her path with her cone. No one’s knees and shins were going to be safe for a while. Also, any items table height were fair game to be flung like shrapnel in her spinning fit of joy.
After the initial attack, I quietly led her to the back kenneling area. Like the true genius that she is, she bolted for what must have been a coveted airline style kennel. Of course her size sans cone, but a tight fit now, she found herself stuck facing backwards. The simple solution of just backing out the way she forcibly entered did not seem to cross her mind. Instead, it was far better to bash her head to and fro like an inmate and tin cup against the bars. Palm found contact with my forehead; I knew I’d be pulling the brilliant Poodle out myself, legs flaying and sprawled out.
Once extracted, the Princess found a corner to sulk in while work continued to progress. A few hours passed, and lunch time had arrived. The refusal to dine in front of others instantly vanished when popcorn and pizza emerged. She ran full blast into those garnishing such delicacies, and proceeded to bash those lower extremities again with yet another fit of spinning happiness. Unable to resist aiding the “injured”, 2 slices of pizza and plethora of popcorn was donated to her cause. I could see she was thinking, “This cone may be a godsend.”
With the final pet being fetched, it was time to load up my ward and head home. While I was dragging, still the Poodle bounced and spun, leaping despite my best efforts to the contrary into the back seat. The 30minute drive home I spied her in the rear view laying on the air vent with a smirk and a fogged up cone. As we pulled into the drive, she bolted up and shoved herself into the far corner, refusing to emerge from her carriage. Once again, I got to extract a flaying, sprawled poodle in full hissy fit. Of course as soon as the feet touched Earth it was acrobatics up the stairs and into the house.
Once inside, while being pelted by the cone I went through the instructed ritual. Clean wound, ointment; try to feed non-junk food and her hefty pain pill that by all accounts should have had her seeing Jimi Hendrix. However, I had 2 weeks to survive I added an additional step to the ritual. Small glass, fill with ice, fill half with Coke and half with rum and then grab a pillow to guard shins, this was going to be a long 14 days.