I’ve noticed recently a large number of dogs sporting the protective collar. Or, as the dog world surely refers to it, the collar of shame.
Fido: “Did you hear about Sassy?”
Spike: “Yeah, too bad about her surgery. I hear she’s doing ok, though.”
Fido: “Well, I saw her out for a walk the other day. She’s wearing the collar of shame.”
Spike: “NOT THE COLLAR OF SHAME! THE HORROR!”
Surely that is the Starbucks courtesy water bowl conversation that ensues when another dog sees one of his dog friends with that stupid plastic collar. Luckily, I imagine dogs to be compassionate, caring. They care about how each member of the tight-knit dog community — I mean it must be tight-knit, they all sniff each other’s butts — is doing.
Not like I’d be if I saw one of my friends wearing a giant plastic phonograph.
Danielle: “Oh, hey Katie… WHAT THE HELL?”
Imaginary Friend Katie: “I had surgery and I kept scratching at my neck wound, so they put this on me. Please don’t laugh, it’s really painful and irritating. And showering is a nightmare.”
I am a terrible person. Dogs are better. So though I think those collars are terrible and ridiculous, I respect that they serve a purpose. And I guess what I’m saying is, dogs understand it, too.