Now there’s trouble. Only a few days have passed since my check up and my parents seem concerned that I’m chewing away at my splint. Seeing me chewing off pieces of the bottom of the splint, they right away put a sock on my splint to protect my toes. They’re saying something about my “toenails need to be cut”. Since I’m not running anymore, my toenails are not naturally being kept short and I think they’re saying that my toenails on my injured foot are pressing on the bandages and irritating my foot so perhaps I’m trying to make space for my longer toenails. That makes sense to me.
The next day Jane drives me back to Rotherwood, the local animal hospital. Along with my usual bandage change and the usual cleaning of my wounds, I get a nice pedicure on all four feet.
This seems to work for a few days and then I start to chew at the splint again, only this time more. Again, Jane puts another clean sock back on and drives me to the animal hospital right away. Like usual, I like the drive. It’s spring time, and she opens the rear window so I can feel the fresh air and smell the spring smells.
Here I am with my sock on.
At the animal hospital, I’m happy once again. That doctor is smart! She says that by chewing at the splint, “He’s trying to tell us something”. She’s trying to understand my language and to understand exactly what I’m trying to say. Am I trying to tell her that my foot is itchy? Or that it hurts? She’s pretty smart and discovers that I have “an infection” in my toes.
Back I go on antibiotics and anti-inflammatories. Really, I’m not sure what they are: All I know is that three times a day, Jane makes me eat and then Phil comes to me with something in his hand and says “Open up” and down they go.
The sad part (for me) is that the cone is back on. They call this progress?