Chewy’s Journal – The Cone Chronicles

Yeah, that’s me in the picture. Sitting like a fallen warrior on the couch, wearing the Cone of Shame like it’s some kind of crown. Skye’s over there sniffing me—probably trying to figure out what’s left of my ear or if I still smell like the park or vengeance. I’m not sure. I’m too tired to care.

Let me tell you what happened.

It started like a good day. A walk in the woods with my crew—Joel had my leash, Emma had Skye and Peanut. We were running, fast, through the trees. I love that. That’s my element. Nose down, heart up, just pure movement.

Then bam—another dog came out of nowhere. No leash. No muzzle. No manners. Just teeth.

He came for me while I was muzzled, defenseless, restrained. I tried to hold my ground, but it’s hard to defend yourself when you’ve got a basket strapped to your face. Joel was yelling, "Get your dog off my dog!" But that lady? She didn’t do anything. And then—get this—she called the cops on ME. Claimed I bit her finger. Me. The dog with a muzzle on.

It gets worse. Emma had to pay $500 to get my ear sewn back on. Five hundred bones—actual bones would’ve been better. And now Animal Control is involved. Because I got attacked.

So here I am. Coned. Wounded. Accused. I’m stitched up like Frankenstein’s dog and have to sit on the couch while everyone whispers around me like I’m made of glass. Skye’s trying to be sweet, sniffing like maybe she can smell justice. I appreciate it. I really do. She’s a good kid.

I hate this cone. I hate this couch. I hate the way everyone looks at me like I’m broken. I’m not. I’m just... tired.

I was doing my job—being good, being leashed, being muzzled. And still, I got hurt. That’s the part that gets to me. No justice in the woods.

But don’t worry. I’ll heal. I always do.

—Chewy