“I Have Only One Eye,–I Have a Right to be Blind Sometimes . . . I Really Do Not See the Signal!” – Lord Horatio Nelson, Viscount Nelson

These eyes, tho’ clear
To outward view of blemish or of spot,
Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot,
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear
Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year,
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not
Against Heaven’s hand or will, not bate a jot
Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer
Right onward.
– John Milton, Sonnet XXII (l. 1)

Dear reader, weep not for me today (even though your every instinct would compel you) because I am bearing up nobly. I write only to reassure you that even though I suffer from a corneal ulcer and must wear this cruelest of medieval contrivances…the Elizabethan Collar…I am on the road to wellville (paraphrasing T.C. Boyle’s wonderful book’s title).  This is a mere speed bump, a minor snag in my already challenging life.

We have no idea what caused this but presumably I walked into something and scratched my exposed cornea. I liked the rakish look it lent, before treatment, sealed shut and offering only one window into the world.  I felt like a swashbuckling pirate pug, except that it didn’t elicit fear from viewers…only pity and concern.

I must receive eye drops three times daily and wear the collar until the doctor feels I am beyond self-harm. Being the rather clever and inventive pug that I am, I managed to devise a way of having my marrowbone and eating it too. If I wedge it carefully within the inside of the cone, and then press my head against a wall or some other stationary object, it is possible to enjoy, in a limited fashion, a small bit of comfort.

The really disappointing component of my malady is the discovery of that conniving and false Lizzie’s true nature. She who greeted me with wild abandon after my visit to the vet’s, she who sniffed me from stem to stern, assuring herself that I was okay, she who pretended to care for my suffering, is the one who immediately began to squirrel away all of my bones into her nest, knowing I would have an impossible time finding and reclaiming them. I am done with that self-serving, dishonest little strumpet of a pug. Remember, Lizzie, I may not see well, but I know and remember what you’ve done. Revenge will be mine.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

P.S. I cannot include a photo…it is far too humiliating for yours truly. Please respect my need for privacy.