Great balls of fire...

The wincing and mincing has continued (this from the husband who is still completely standing firm with his male counterpart in the house) but I am pleased to say that Reg seems to have suffered little inconvenience where his procedure is concerned.

Of course, there is the total embarrassment of having to wear a navy blue onesie at all times for the next week until he's completely healed (Reg, not the husband).  This has M.P.S. scrawled across the top of it and after much thought on yesterday's walk, I decided that this probably stands for 'My Poor Scrotum'.  

I have to unpopper the onesie and clip it together over his shoulders when we're out and about, and the husband, having been keeping a careful eye on his partner in crime, suggested that the operation had left Reg extremely traumatised as he seemed to have developed a tic. This involves walking ten steps and then whipping round to glare at his tail before wandering off again.  If he's still doing this after the onesie has been removed, I might be worried, but for now, everything's good.

Percy has coped very well with Reg having the snip.  The bunting and balloons were hung up before I got out of the drive, and on our return, Percy had hung a large banner reading, 'Welcome Home you Woofter'.  (Percy is a 1950's throwback and finds it very difficult to be politically correct).  I did feel for Reg though, and on Thursday afternoon, while Reg was coming round at the vet's, I spent a most amusing ten minutes playing 'Where's Reggie?' with Percy.  Reg wasn't the only one who'd developed a tic by the time I'd finished playing that game with Percy.  

We now have to wait up to three months to see whether the operation has had any effect on him.  I'm slightly worried, because if it doesn't help, I will never hear the end of it from the husband.

Mind you, having seen how determined I was to get Reg done, it might make him think twice about actually saying anything...

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