I went to see Mister President today during visitors hours at the Animal Medical Center. They brought him in to an examination room walking on his own accord, groggy, a bit sedated and wearing an ignoble Elizabethan collar. The sutures holding together his stomach definitely look like serious business, and I felt so bad for his discomfort. He looked pitiful and unhappy, but the doctor said his condition is good and with luck I’ll be able to bring him home tomorrow afternoon. She gave me a little present, too.
Below, a picture of the offending object: the squeaky toy Mister President swallowed about nine days ago. This isn’t quite all of it all of it; he threw up the left arm and a chunk of the head on Saturday. Still, it takes a certain sort of instinct or determination to think swallowing something this size is a good idea. He’s not the smartest dog in the world, but he’s mine…