Dear Journal,
Today… it happened. The cone is gone.
THE. CONE. IS. GONE.
For two weeks I have lived in plastic purgatory, burdened by neck floaties and the weight of betrayal. I have suffered the indignities of gorilla tape repairs, sympathetic head pats, and more than one very public bathroom break involving a cone full of leaves. I have knocked over chairs, bruised shins, and been mistaken for a satellite dish at least twice.
But this morning… the humans said the magic words.
“Charlie, let’s take that cone off.”
At first, I didn’t believe them. I stood there, frozen. I’ve been burned before. I remember that first day when they said I could go outside to pee, but meant on a leash? Yeah. I wasn’t falling for that again.
But then—they unbuckled it. They removed the neck donut and the cone. I shook. I spun. I zoomed.
And then I saw THEM. My goats. My herd. My purpose. My slightly confused woolly friends who have spent the last two weeks being guarded by… another dog. Honestly, Journal, I think one of them tried to unionize in my absence. After all, that other dog wasn't ME!
I ran to them, free at last, with the wind in my fur and the overwhelming need to sniff every single one of them just to make sure no one got funny ideas while I was away.
The humans clapped and called it “adorable.” I called it justice.
They think I’m healed. They think I’ve moved on. But deep down, I’ll never forget. I’ve been through a lot. I’ve been snipped, stitched, stapled, and shackled in shame plastic. I’ve known the pain of betrayal. I’ve licked the edge of the cone and tasted despair.
But I survived. And now I am FREE.
If you need me, I’ll be out in the pasture—head held high, tail wagging strong, keeping my goats safe from every shadow, squirrel, and suspicious breeze.
And if anyone tries to come near me with a cone again? They’d better bring a LOT snacks.
Forever victorious,
Charlie, the Restored
Protector of Goats. Breaker of Collars. Survivor of The Snipening.
Editor’s Note:
“Charlie’s Journal” will return in the event of porcupine encounters, skunk diplomacy failures, mysterious barn snacks, or any future medical interventions requiring inflatable accessories. Stay tuned. It’s only a matter of time.
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©2019 Sandy Davis | American Way Farm
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