19 nails and counting...

Yesterday, Danny was let off his leash. Ever the hyper active schnauzer, he took off like a race horse. He shot around the dining room, scampering under chairs and racing through the kitchen.

Somewhere around the 10th lap, mom heard a loud yelp. She rushed over to find him hobbling about on three legs with blood dripping all over the kitchen floor. She tried her best to calm him down as she and Rhoda hunted for the source.

Their investigations churned out this:

It appears that as he was in fifth gear, he dashed past a metal rail on the floor and one toenail got caught in it. Totally unaware and unable to stop, the nail ripped off, leaving Danny with badly bleeding paw.

Mom tried to stem the bleeding by applying a rubberband to his paw as a sort of weird doggie tourniquet. It didn't work. Rhoda kept asking for him to be brought to the vet.

I was happily driving down Orchard Road on my way to meet a friend for drinks when I received the frantic SOS. At first I thought something had happened to my dad (daddy and Danny sound alike - see previous post), but I relaxed a little when I realised it was the dog AND it was a damaged toenail, not toe.

Being the wonderful, caring owner that I am, I told mum that if he wasn't fine by the next day, I'd bring him to the vet, but there was no way I wasn't going to miss my beer binge. Mum muttered something about him missing a toenail for life thanks to a lousy owner before she unceremoniously put the phone down on me.

I wasn't too worried because when I was six, I lost my toenail when my brother (who was suppooosed to be babysitting me) slammed the door on my left foot. The entire nail on my big toe broke off and I was nailess for about two months. I had blood pouring from the toe and when my parents came back, they simply bandaged it in tissues until it stopped bleeding. No doctor, no meds, no fuss.

I figured that if I lived, he'd be fine.

When I got back, I went straight to see him. The bleeding had stopped and he was his happy, sappy self.

The whole of today, he has been the best dog ever since he came. He was nice and quiet, didn't make a peep when he was left on his own. Gone was the mad rush about the house, the ripping of paper and sneaking to the garbage bin for snacks. He even stopped nipping completely.

Everyone loved him and we figure it's because his paw is still hurting him. He walks about normally but he licks at the wound occasionally.

I know it's terrible, terrible, terrible of me to say this but....he really is a nicer dog when he's in pain.

"Aww...whaddaya want? My paw hurts!"