Forget that a cancerous tumor the size of a large grape was removed from her hind quarters. That it was big enough to cause her trouble going to bathroom. Forget that the vet’s incision to remove it wrapped around the base of her tail like a crescent moon or that she had a long line of blue stitches back there looking like miniature train tracks. Forget that she was supposed to be in pretty good discomfort — miserable even — for days. That she might lose her appetite. That she might have accidents all through the house. Struggle to go to the bathroom. Wouldn’t be able to take anything but short walks and would need to spend the better part of two weeks pretty much resting and not moving around. Forget all of that because … well … that’s just not my dog. Turns out there was only thing that bothered her after surgery to remove her tumor: the cone. Yes, the dreaded plastic cone that dogs must wear to keep them from licking their wounds and meticulously untying their stitches, which my critter nearly managed to do on the final day when we let her get some unsupervised cone-free time.