This month’s doggy delinquent is Jax, a dog who looked at a walking pincushion and thought, “Yes, this looks like a delicious midnight snack.”
Here is our traumatic week, written with the dark humor every pet parent needs to survive:
Monday Night: Jax decides he is a free spirit who cannot be contained by a 4ft fence. He escapes into the night headed for his favorite destination, the stinky marsh.
Tuesday Morning: Jax returns looking like a furry, heavily armed Cactus Man. He has quills through his lips, quills in his gums, and a tongue that looks less like a dog part and more like a medieval torture device.
Tuesday Afternoon: A quick $800 later (because nothing says "I love my pet" quite like financing a veterinarian's next vacation), the quills are out. Jax is returned to us barely functional—so heavily drugged he can’t walk straight.
We stare at him asking ourselves the hard questions: Why do we feed this thing? What does he bring to the table? Can we trade him for a nice, quiet houseplant?
One Week Later: Fast forward seven days. Jax is fully recovered, has zero regrets, and would absolutely fight that porcupine again if given the chance.
Because Jax possesses the situational awareness of a goldfish, freedom has officially been revoked. He is now on mandatory night-leash lockdown. Freedom is a privilege, Jax, and you traded yours for thirty seconds of tasting nature’s toothpicks. He’s grounded until further notice.