Sad Dog

Dex is just crying. This poor little dog has creepy-ass maggot-like creatures boring their way up through his skin, and nobody (not me, not him, not Jim) can stop it. He doesn't know why it hurts, but it does, and it makes him sad. He looks at me as if I should be doing something. He's not supposed to ever be uncomfortable. He's only supposed to be relaxed, on the couch, perhaps being fed a piece of cheese.

He is distracted temporarily by the new toy on the floor in front of him - a stuffed skunk, 2/3 scale to himself. It makes a metallic, recorded sound when squeezed. We've saved this toy for months, avoiding the clouds of white acrylic fluff that will dance across the floor by the end of the night (and well into the weekend). But now he deserves it. It keeps him from crying as much.

Oh, and the vet squeezed his anal glands too.
Bad day. Sad Dog