So, I've been wearing this plastic neck thing around lately, and everyone I meet insists on calling it The Cone of Shame. I'm having a hard time with this, because I don't understand what I'm supposed to be ashamed of. Ok - the first time I had to wear it was because I ate too many sticks and leaves, so I can see how maybe I should have been ashamed of my gluttony, which led to surgery, which led to the cone.
But I'm not at all ashamed of having had my man parts deleted. How is that my fault? If anyone should be ashamed of that, it's Mom and Dad, because it was their idea. Literally stealing someone's man card is a good reason for them to wear the plastic cone, in my humble opinion.
Then the next time I had to wear it was because I had exploding butt glands. Yes, that is as painful as it sounds, but here again, not my fault. Even the vet said it was a surprise to her that a dog like me could have a problem like that. So, I wore the cone willingly - not shamefully. In this instance, I would nominate the vet to wear the cone. Anyone who puts their fingers in a poor puppy's butt glands should be ashamed! And if one case of exploding butt glands wasn't enough, I am wearing the cone one more time for that exact same reason. The vet said essentially that it was Mom's fault for not giving me the right allergy medicine, but poor Mom feels bad enough that I don't think I'll nominate her for the cone this time.
But all of this supposedly shameful cone wearing got me to thinking. And since you can't go to dog camp with either a cone or exploding butt glands, I've had a lot of time lately to put that thinking to work in my daydreams around the house. What if this cone was the big neck ring collar thing astronauts wear? I could be a famous space dog! History tells us that Gus is a solid astronaut name. The moon has already been conquered, but I could take on Mars and be the first dog to find a stick there! I'll be more than Facebook famous! One small stick for pups, one giant branch for canine-kind!
Or maybe I could be a knight in shining (ok, plastic) armor, with a handsome bevor to protect my neck. Look at me teaching you fancy, new words to describe parts of armor!! When I curl up in my Big Joe beanbag bed with this darn thing around my neck and close my eyes, I see Sir Sticksalot, brandishing a sword and rescuing all of my dog camp ladies from scoundrels and fools! My fame will be legendary, my spell upon the fair maidens irresistible. Come away with me, sweet Lily! I am here to save the day camp day!
Ah, speaking of scoundrels, one of my favorite rascal good guys is Robin Hood! I know, I know - he doesn't have a plastic necklace, but I could pretend my cone is his green hood. I'd skulk around with my hood up, carrying my trusty bow, with my feathered hat at the ready for when I yank off the hood, toss on my hat, and shout, "Long live, King Gustard!" A legend in my own time! Ooo-de-lolly, ooo-de-lolly, golly what a day!
Ah, daydreams. The stuff good naps are made of - and I've had quite a few of those these last two weeks. Thankfully for me, the cone is now back in the basement, but my legendary feats will live on in my dreams until the next time the cone makes an appearance. In the meantime, I'm going to take the right allergy medicine, see a specialist about maintaining the ol' glands, and let all my dog friends know how to use daydreams to transform that cone of shame into a cone of fame!
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