Satellite of Pug
Hi everyone! Sid here today. And it will probably be that way for a while now.
See, I’ve banned my dad from the computer until he removes this goofy plastic satellite dish from my head.
About two weeks ago I got a tiny scratch on my eyeball and my dad took me to the vet. It actually didn’t really bother me much and the vet said the abrasion looked very shallow. They gave my dad a bottle of eye drops to dispense into my glossy orb four times per day to prevent infection while it healed. They also said that I had to wear a cone – though they called it an “E-Collar” (probably to confuse me) – so I wouldn’t mess around and scratch my eye further.
For two weeks, four times a day, my dad would corner me into the bathroom and squirt a drop or two of the meds into my eye. Let me tell you – those drops were flipping annoying so I made the situation as difficult as possible by TIGHTLY CLOSING my eye and flailing around like one of those air dancers you see outside of car dealerships. But my dad is very persistant and eventually a drop would find its way into my eye. Then I’d have to immediately don this ridiculous contraption. My eye actually didn’t bother me much (it only felt weird for a few minutes after the drops went in) so I only had to be humiliated for about a half an hour after each dose. THANK GOODNESS. I don’t know what I might have had to resort to had I been subjected to the vet-recommended 24-hour cone treatment. Eat the couch? Poop on my dad’s pillow? It might have just come to that.
Well, my eye has healed up very well and at my last check-up the vet said my eye looked like nothing ever happened. Woo hoo!
But before I take this goofy cone off for good, I have a small request. Trust me, it will be hilarious.
I want everyone to sing along with me to Lou Reed’s “Satellite of Love” but instead of singing the real lyrics on the chorus, let’s all sing: “Bom Bom Bom, Satellite of Pug!”. A one, a two, a one, two, three…