Hi. I'm Oliver. And I got a stupid piece of asphalt stuck in my foot. That's why I spelled "ass-phalt" with an "ass." That little piece of asphalt was a big meanie for getting stuck in my foot. So I called it an "ass." (NOTE: The above photo is a re-enactment of the ass-phalt that was in my foot. My mom left the real ass-fault at the vet doctor's office so I don't have it any more. But it looked a lot like the little dot in that photo.)
It all happened a few weeks ago. I would've written about it sooner, but I needed to let my foot heal before I could type again. There's still a little mark on my pad, but my foot doesn't hurt anymore. And I can jump around and run really fast, just like I used to.
Anyway, I was out running with my mom and I stepped on something sharp. I didn't know what it was so I kept running. By the time we got home, it was hurting more so I started licking my foot and all of a sudden it started bleeding all over the place. All over the floor, all over the couch and all over my mom's new bed spread from Anthropologie.
My mom saw the blood and got really sad. She didn't even yell at me for getting my blood all over her new bed spread. (And I know she really likes that bed spread. It's got pretty flowers on it and everything) Right away she sat me on the couch and looked at my foot. It didn't even look like a cut at the time, but the blood proved that there was a cut there. So my mom washed off my foot and wrapped it up in some gauze and weird purple sport tape. Then she covered up the gauze and purple sport tape with a pink baby sock and more purple sport tape.
Pink and purple bandages? All I can say is I looked like a total weenie even though the bandages made my foot feel better. (See below.)
That pink sock is pretty embarrassing, but all the blood makes me look like a tough guy so I guess it evens out. And just to prove I'm not a weenie, I chewed the heck out of my fox toy, Bruce. You can't see it in the picture, but right after that picture was taken I chewed him, shook him and tore that shit up. That's me. "Mean And Tough" Ollie.
Anyway. Back to my story.
My foot felt better initially, but the next day I could hardly walk on it. My mom kept looking at my foot and couldn't see anything wrong with it. But she knew something was wrong with it by the way I was limping around. Then my mom got really scared. It's super cute when she gets scared about me. Her eyes get super big, she hugs me a lot and I get a lot of treats. She knows that treats won't make my a foot any better, but I like them and she needs to appease her feelings of guilt and helplessness.
I could've been really pathetic-looking and got even more treats, but those treats make me gassy and I didn't want stinky dog farts to keep her from wanting to hug and spoil me. I'm smart. I know how to work the treat system. The hug-giving system too.
After a few days of me limping around without any signs of a real owie, my mom took me to the vet doctor. Even the vet doctor couldn't see anything wrong with my foot except for a tiny, little mark that seemed harmless. Next thing I know I'm off to the x-ray machine and on doggie sedatives. Ahh. Doggie sedatives. I don't like being in the back room at the vet doctor, but it's a lot better with doggie sedatives.
When the vet doctor showed my x-rays, we found the problem. There, in the middle of my foot, was a little piece of something. It turned out to be that ass-phalt, but we didn't know what it was at the time. The vet doctor gave my mom different treatment options and my mom decided the doctor should perform a little doggie operation and remove that thing in my foot. She didn't like that idea, but it seemed like the best way for me to get my foot better. (At the time, I didn't give a crap what my mom decided to do. I was having a blast spacing out on all those doggie sedatives.)
The next morning, I was back at the vet doctor. (And early too. Sheesh.) The vet doctor liked me so much that she prolonged her vacation and came in to do the doggie operation on my foot. (Now that shows dedication. Not many vet doctors have dedication like that. My vet doctor is a really nice lady.) After my operation, I was pretty doped up on doggie sedatives again. I pretty much just chilled out and slept until I was ready to go home. My foot hurt a little, but my vet doctor put a nice bandage on it so it was really soft and easy to walk on. I think I love my vet doctor.
I was pissed at my mom, though. She made me wear a satellite on my head. Then she even posted this picture on her Facebook. How embarrassing.
Today, I'm as good as new. My bandages are off. My energy is up. And I get a piece of cheese with every antibiotic I have to take. Yay me. I love cheese. I get chicken treats too because I have to take my antibiotics with food and sometimes I don't eat the dry stuff.
This whole foot owie thing, I'm totally working it to get all kinds of treats and attention. Don't tell my mom because I don't want her to stop spoiling me. I know this won't last forever–my foot will get better, I won't need any more antibiotics–but I might as well take advantage of this opportunity. To prove my point, I'll wrap things up with a picture. A picture of me in bed, totally happy and spoiled.
The end.
Ollie
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