Ok, all our good intentions have gone out the window. Frank’s balls are off. Him running off for miles across the park to sniff a female dog’s genitals and the nightly romancing of his vet bed just got too much. I made the appointment, bullied my husband into agreeing and the deed was carried out yesterday.

And boy do we know about it. It’s not that he’s groggy and feeling a bit sorry for himself – the issue is that he’s now got a weapon of mass destruction attached to his head which gives him the spacial awareness of a boiled owl.  Legs, door frames, corners of tables, even my neck all bear the scars of this bloody ‘elizabethan collar’ and the worst thing is, this is only day one.

We didn’t even make it to 9am with the first collar. After approximately 7 minutes’ frenzied cavorting in the garden he managed somehow to split it, making him look like an excitable swiss army knife. A visit to the vet and £12 later we had a new collar and a new tip: masking tape  – apparently this stops the collar splitting. We dont have any masking tape, so we’ve had to use parcel tape.

Here is a picture of my husband Frank-proofing Frank

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Five minutes later, the job was done.

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Frank looking suitably unimpressed here.

I’m worried about tomorrow. Will the parcel tape do the job? Will we have to move onto something more industrial? Will there be any paint left on the door frames in a week’s time? And more importantly, how will Frank recover any park cred now he’s been out in his ‘derelict’ head gear?!

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