Mozzie’s Journal, Day 3:

I tried to up the ante on the crying that I’ve been doing, but Mom and Dad seem to not care no matter how loud or repeatedly I whine. Mom keeps singing a song at me about a hound dog which I find frustrating because she thinks she’s funny. Clearly, she is not and the fact that Dad just encourages her at my expense is quite hurtful.

The cone does provide one, solid advantage: I know I can’t hurt my head so I can ram into things as hard as I want to. This includes Mom, Dad, cats, furniture, cars, and the floor. I know that if I ram my head hard enough at the right surface, the cone will break apart and I will have a few, brief moments of freedom to lick the leg that longs for licks. The last time I had a cone, I broke it off by running head first into an oak tree. It worked. They won’t let me off the leash to run on my own for some reason.

As if to further tease and mock me, Kita, my cousin dog, is now here to visit for a few weeks. She is allowed on furniture. She is allowed to run. She does not need a leash on the property. She had the AUDACITY to pick up my elk antler toy and now the war is on. She will go down. Every time she moves, I will bark. Any time she looks at the couch, I will bark. If she sits on the couch, I will cry like I have never cried before. I will also fling my cone about, dangerously, inflicting pain and damage on any who stand in my way.

This is my house, Kita. My. House. And you are curling up with my Boo Bear and my cat friends. You will rue this day, Kita. Rue. This. Day.

Sharon’s Journal, Day 3:

The back of my legs have half-circle bruises, as though I got rammed over and over again with the edge of a plastic cone. Because that’s exactly what happened.

Also, Elvis is stuck in my head on loop.

Also also, Kita is here and everything is louder.