When I was little and my grandmother would come visit, she would declare one afternoon to be “animal hospital”. My siblings and I were to gather our best loved and most tattered stuffed animals and she would do her best to fix them up. She was amazing. She somehow made a cotton ball substitute for a hippo’s missing tooth.
I’ve had a few animal hospital sessions here in my own home, but sometimes the service isn’t exactly what you’d call prompt. Katie’s Caleb (KAY-wub for those of you who say the words out loud in your head) has had an injury for a few days, and the owner decided to take matters into her own hands.
She started with great enthusiam…
…and then reality hit. I don’t think surgeons are supposed to pout during procedures, dear.
She needed a breather…all that blood and gore, you know. Surgery can be messy.
HELP ME! ANESTHESIA ON!!!!
Finally, the patient came out of surgery, made it through the recovery room, and has a battle scar to show off to all the other stuffed animal inmates.
Nice work, Kate. Stay in school.
