Vacation or Whiskey? Choices, Choices...

Just when I thought things were doing well with the boys and their vet experience of last week, I was brought back to reality by Max rubbing his head along the bottom of the couch, tearing out the stitches in his eyelid.  Naturally, this required an emergency run to the vet as his eyelid split open like something from a bad alien reptile movie.  So, more shots, stitches, and a very miserable past few days for everyone.  
 
Now, despite his crying and shaking, not eating or drinking as long as he wears it, he is encased against his will in the Cone of Doom.  Still, even that might not work if he gets too worked up.  The vet said the surgical thread used on his lid is so fine it can break easily if rubbed too hard or too often.  Uh huh.  Great.  Max is going to look like Rocky Balboa, or maybe Scarface, if we can't get this healed up pretty soon.

Because of all the drama, I haven't been able to do much.  I have to keep an eye on him at all times, and occasionally shout with the Mom Voice if I see him trying to scratch or rub against that side of his face.  Honestly, I feel for the guy.  I've had stitches.  They itch, they pull, they're nasty and uncomfortable.  And that's before they've been yanked out, ripped the skin, then had to be replaced. 

So, I need a vacation--at the least a timeout--but I can't have one.  Who would monitor my boy?  Pay attention?  Yell with the voice of authority that freezes him in mid-scratch?

And the whiskey?  Don't even tempt me.

Though...hmmmm.  I wonder if Max would be interested in a little marinated doggy biscuit...?