Pillow Ear

Last Saturday, I noticed that somehow, Olga injured her ear. It was substantially swollen, with a fluid-filled blister -- like Olga was carrying her own little pillow at the side of her head. It didn't seem to hurt her and I left it for a couple of days thinking it might go down on its own, but when it didn't, I called the vet for an appointment.

Normally we go to a vet right around the corner from our flat. But the receptionist there said they had no doctor on duty because the vet was out with Covid. If I wanted an appointment right away, I would have to go to their sister practice in Belsize Park.

So that's how Olga and I wound up walking 45 minutes each way to the vet yesterday morning. It's not even that far -- 1.2 miles, according to Google Maps -- but Olga walks slowly and does a lot of sniffing. The doctor seemed unbothered by the ear and said it's actually pretty common -- dogs scratch their ears or knock them against something and break a blood vessel, causing an internal hematoma. She drained the blood and said it might come back, and if it did, I should just leave it to slowly heal on its own.

The vet used a tiny needle to drain the blood, but there was still a pinprick wound and then Olga's ear was bleeding. Every time she shook her head she'd smear blood on her white fur. She looked like some kind of trailer park fighting dog. I asked the vet for a Band-Aid (or "plaster," as they say in England) to stanch the bleeding, and she fashioned some ridiculous thing out of a gauze pad and yellow tape that made Olga look like Pikachu, and that flew off the minute she shook her head. So, no Band-Aid.

Fortunately, the bleeding stopped on its own pretty quickly.

As long as we were in a new neighborhood I figured I'd stop for coffee before the long walk home.

We went to a cute little outdoor cafe where everything seemed to go wrong. First, I took the dog inside when I ordered, and even though I said I was going to sit outside, I was chided for that. "I cannot allow that dog in here," the counterman said (no doubt noticing the fierce and deadly Olga's blood-streaked fur). I told him again that I intended to sit outside, and he took my order and eventually brought my coffee out. But then there was no sugar, so I had to go find that, and then later I had to track someone down in order to pay my bill --  the whole thing seemed a bit star-crossed. Let's think positive: it was nice to sit outside, beneath the fluttering flags and the blue sky.

After dropping Olga back at home, I had another dental appointment -- this for a very minor filling to cover the top of a tooth where there had been some gum recession. It wasn't a cavity so there was no drilling, and I was out of there pretty quickly. Today I go back for a cleaning, and then hopefully I'm done with the dentist for at least six months.

The weather has briefly cooled, thank goodness. Even so, I watered the heck out of the garden last night. Watering takes a surprisingly long time. Temperatures are supposed to spike again in a few days.

On Netflix, Dave and I watched "The Girl in the Picture," which I thought was very good, and now we're on a promising documentary series about the mysterious '70s airplane hijacker D. B. Cooper. What is with our human tendency to turn certain criminals into folk heroes? Jesse James, Bonnie and Clyde, and yes, D. B. Cooper -- these people deserve prison sentences, not idolatry. And yet people think Cooper was a courageous mastermind to be admired. It's bizarre.