We Don’t Do Cones of Shame.

Last week Bentley was neutered.

Which, if you’re a dog owner, you know is usually a fairly routine procedure.

Except Bentley decided routine was for other pet parents. While they were in there, the vet also repaired two umbilical hernias, which means my sweet little velociraptor didn’t just come home with one surgical site.

His entire tummy is basically stitched together.

So for the last week and a half I’ve been living with one full-time job: Preventing a puppy from being…a puppy.

If you’ve never tried this before, let me save you some time. It’s impossible.

The vet sent him home wearing one of those plastic cones.

And Chris and I said absolutely not. We don’t do cones of shame in this house.

We do dignity. So naturally, we ordered him one of those inflatable recovery donuts.

Which doesn’t look like a medical device at all. It looks like he’s wearing a tiny cowboy hat around his neck.

Every time he walks into the room I expect him to tip it and say, “Ma’am.”

It’s aggressively adorable.n Which is unfortunate. Because underneath that adorable little cowboy hat lives absolute ANARCHY

Since his stomach is stitched from one end to the other, he’s also wearing one of those post-surgery recovery onesies.

So currently my dog is dressed like he’s headed to a rodeo-themed pajama party.

Cowboy hat.

Onesie.

Medication.

Constant supervision.

​

My entire week has become:

“No.”

“No, buddy.”

“No jumping.”

“No zoomies.”

“Please don’t lick that.”

“What do you have in your mouth?”

“HOW DID YOU GET OUTSIDE?!”

Which brings me to Saturday. NSomehow—and I still don’t know how—this tiny criminal escaped into the backyard before I could stop him.

We looked up…and immediately knew what was about to happen.

Chris took off running. I have been married to this man for 21 years and I have never seen him move that fast.

Not when we were late for a flight. Not when there was a mouse in the basement. Not even when he passed out after I broke my toe.

But the possibility of a puppy pooping inside a post-surgery onesie? Apparently that’s his athletic event.

He was absolutely flying across the yard.

AND!!!! We made it.

Barely.

For one absolutely horrifying second…we all believed we were about to experience something no dog owner should ever have to.

So if this week’s email feels a little lighter on networking advice than usual…now you know why.

This week my full-time job has been keeping a drugged-up puppy from reopening his stitches while convincing him that “strict rest” isn’t merely a suggestion.

Sometimes life teaches you profound lessons about networking.

And sometimes…it hands you a tiny cowboy in pajamas and says, “Good luck.”

We’ll get back to networking next week. Assuming my little outlaw doesn’t have any additional plans.

Cheers,
JB 🥑

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