Mom and Dad are very frustrated with me right now… not me personally because they love me so much, but they’re terribly tired of dealing with my boo-boo and very worried that it’s never going to heal right.

We were very pleased that Diane — she’s our vet — tried to fix my cyst without surgery, but the drains didn’t work. So she cut me open and removed the cyst. It was two inches wide! I was in good shape for a few days, but then my noggin started swelling up like a balloon. Diane’s only in the office every other Saturday, so Mom and Dad had to take me to CAVES.

The doctor at CAVES (I don’t like him one bit…) took something like a gallon of fluid out of the top of my head and said I had a something-or-another-oma. He said they had to use hot compresses on my head and keep me quiet until it healed. Well… they’re doing pretty good on the first part.

We’ve been to see Diane a couple of times so she could clean me up and open my drains, but they’re just weren’t working — so yesterday she removed them. Now Mom and Dad are having to work on me every few hours to clean me up and Dad’s a little ticked off because all I want to do is play and they’re having one heck of a time with that “keeping me quiet” bit.

Oops… gotta run. Here comes Mom with the towel and hot water.

For the last month, Mom’s been checking out the top of my head several times a day because she says she thinks I have a cyst, whatever that is. Well last Thursday, something bad must have happened because they took me to the vet on Saturday. That must have really caused a stir because I had to take pills for three days, I didn’t get to have any treats after dinner last night and I had to go see the vet again this morning.

I’m now missing fur on the top of my head, I have two funky tubes sticking out of my bald spot, I have to wear this huge clunky plastic cone thingy around my neck and I haven’t been allowed to play with Kisa or Larkin all day. The vet said I did have a cyst, but my hairs grew into it and caused quite a mess… and I”m supposed to wear my cone for five whole days so I don’t scratch and accidentally remove the tubes.

To make matters worse, Mom’s calling me divot-head. You just wait ’til the next time she’s having a bad hair day!