Can’t Win em All

‘Well, the thing is, we’ve not got much space… and we normally limit it to grown produce… and I’m not sure if that’s overly suitable… and did I mention that we’re limited for space. So, you know… not sure if it would fit with – ‘

‘Is this just another way of saying that dog biscuits aren’t suitable’ I asked

‘… yes’

This wasn’t a good start. Mindful that I really should get making more of an effort to get the dog biscuits into the markets, I thought as a starting point I’d contact the local weekend market near where I live. The exchange didn’t exactly go as I had hoped.

Not to worry, I thought, I might still be able to sell them at the dog park. I opened up my email, and read the response from the council,

“Applications are considered on a case by case basis, and in this case your application to trade at Halswell Dog Park has been rejected”

Not the most productive start to a Monday morning I thought, as I walked Rusty down to the vet to get his leg looked at.

The previous day we had gone looking for snow at Mt. Potts in Hakatere Conservation Park, on the outskirts of Canterbury.

‘I’ll bring Oshy and Rusty’ I helpfully informed my mates who were coming too. Who doesn’t love a barking, unpredictable animal running around, trying to grasp the concept of snow, when you’re attempting to snowboard? I’ll tell you who, most of my mates.

As you may have guessed, it didn’t go overly well. The snowboard went into the back of Rusty’s leg, spilling blood everywhere. The surrounding, pure white snow did nothing to help the situation, as it kind of amplified the crimson tint of the blood, making it look as if there had been some epic battle on the mountain side. Luckily we had a first aid kit, and were able to temporarily patch him up until his visit to the vet today.

Several stitches, two dressings and one cone of shame later, the vet bill arrived. My heart sank. It’s going to take a lot of dog biscuits to sort this out I thought to myself.

‘Still, a bit of drama to write about for the Dog Tails entry aye Rusty’ I said, looking over at a despondent dog, his drooping head buried within the plastic cone. ‘Well Oshy enjoyed himself anyway’.