The story behind the scar

The story behind the scar will stay in my head long after my fur’s grown back. It will be documented in my medical notes at the vets and no doubt be fodder for dinner party gossip long after I’m gone. The main thing is that it’s over now and I think that she’s seen the error of her ways. I’m still not going to look at her, even though she keeps looking at me. Good. I hope she feels really guilty. The only thing is, I’m not sure if I can carry off this deaf thing any more. Now, I know I’m a pretty tough, handsome, intelligent and all that but I have to admit that these past few days have taken their toll on me. Naturally, my pride is wounded and the visible scars on my forehead do nothing to make me feel better about things. I believe that being beaten up by a woman is even unacceptable for humans so they should have at least some idea of how I’m feeling. And then there’s the other issue of Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. You see, how it works is that you’re going about your business, cocking your leg, sniffing lampposts and rat holes one day, quite happily. The next minute, something like this happens and the little green light in your head which tells you that it’s OK is suddenly stuck on red. You can’t go around thinking that bad things only ever happen to other dogs when it’s already happened to you. A bit like an eternal bonfire night but without the camaraderie of the cats . So I’m jumpy. A car horn, a voice from behind, a car door slamming. Suddenly, she notices that I’m hearing things. This is bad news for me long term because I’d been working on my selective hearing technique and had been making real progress. So I’ll keep not looking at her, making her feel bad and hope that she forgets my little slip-ups on the hearing front.