The Big Operation
November began with a bit more drama than usual, because this was the month Looby Loo had her operation. Mummy had found a lump on her head, and although the vet said it was probably nothing serious, Looby took the news as though she were starring in a medical documentary. The sighs. The looks. The tragic glances over her shoulder.
On the day of the op, she strutted into the vets like a soldier going off to war. When she came out again, slightly wobbly and missing a patch of fur, she looked very proud of herself. Her stitches were neat, the lump had been removed, and the vet confirmed it was benign. Mummy cried with relief. Looby, meanwhile, was already wondering how long it would be before she could milk this for sympathy snacks.
The Drama of the Donut
Then came the cone. The hated, dreaded, world-ending cone. Looby refused to walk, refused to sit, refused to acknowledge its existence unless she was glaring at it. So Mummy swapped it for a big pink donut, and that went down only marginally better. She sulked. She dragged it. She stared at us all like she was the first dog in history ever to suffer such injustice.
Rosie pretended to be supportive but truthfully found the whole thing hilarious. At one point Looby tried to squeeze through a doorway and got wedged. Rosie watched, tail wagging, as if she’d bought front-row theatre tickets.
Holiday in Freda the Caravan
Once Looby had recovered enough for gentle walks, the next adventure of the month began.
We went and collected Freda and set off for Pershore, ready for our last holiday of the year with her. Of course, because it was us, we arrived just in time for Storm Claudia. The rain battered the roof, the wind tried to take the awning to France, and Rosie refused to go out for a wee unless bribed with a biscuit and a personal escort.
Looby, still recovering, spent the first 24 hours doing her Victorian-invalid act on the bed while Rosie poked her nose out of the caravan door, decided the weather was unacceptable, and retreated back inside.
When the storm finally calmed, we explored the muddy footpaths. Rosie trotted along looking very pleased with herself, while Looby took everything at half speed, making sure no one forgot she was still in recovery. Every passer-by received a look that said:
“I’ve been through things.”
Christmas Tree Supervisors
Back home, it was time for Mummy’s annual tradition: putting up approximately seventeen thousand Christmas trees. Rosie and Looby took their jobs very seriously. Rosie inspected every branch, every bauble, every bit of ribbon. Looby positioned herself in various cosy spots, watching the whole process with squinty, supervisory eyes, as though she were head of Quality Control.
Rosie kept trying to steal decorations. Looby kept falling asleep on Mummy’s tree skirts. Between them, they were about as helpful as a pair of toddlers who’d eaten too much sugar.
It has been a busy November. Surgery, storms, stitches, sulking, caravan holidays, and Christmas chaos. But through it all, Rosie continued being dramatic in her own special way, and Looby made sure everyone knew she was recovering bravely from her ordeal.
And now December is just around the corner, which means one thing. More trees. More mischief. And probably more stories for next month’s Tails of Rosie & Looby Loo.