Conehead

Garbo's sporting an Elizabethan collar; her head just pokes out of it like a little scoop of pointy-eared, whiskery ice cream.


We went to the vet because she was doing this to herself:


It doesn't look nearly as gnarly as yesterday when the visible skin was all red and oozy, the fur around it wet and matted with Garbo spit. The vet tech cringed and said it looked "angry". I agreed. The vet cleaned the wound up with an antimicrobial and gave Garb an antibiotic pill plus a little shot of steroid to help boost her healing. And then the cone went on, putting Garbo on grooming hiatus.


With her whiskers in the cone Garbo can't walk in a straight line and her head, essentially twice as big as normal, makes her bump into everything scaring the crap out of her. That makes Garbo pretty much stationary and sad.