There are many fantabulous things in this world that have no explanation…the Nazca lines, crop circles, why when you put a pair of socks in the dryer only one comes back out. The kind of things that for the sane and logical mind, no matter how hard you try, have no rational explanation.

Well, I have one more to add to the list of the great mysteries of this world – the dog with the shrinking head! Now, I know what you are thinking…obviously this writer has had way to many malted milk balls and is functioning in some hallucinogenic state, induced by way too much chocolate. But here is the proof:

After a visit to the vet last month, River, (The Boykin Spaniel with the shrinking head) was observed to have a head that was…how to put this delicately…her head was no longer in proper proportion to her body! I mentioned this to the vet who became quite amused. She regaled me with the story of a similar patient, whose owner presented her at the vet with “ a shrinking head.”  She seemed quite amazed and in a state of wonder that her dog, while seemingly quite healthy, had a head that was getting smaller and smaller. Offering photos as evidence, she proudly showed her pictures in which her head was in correct proportion to her finely tuned frame.

As the vet giggled a little more, she explained to me that this was a common problem resulting from a Dancing With the Stars addiction (it’s one of River’s favorites), squirrel watching from the back of the couch and creating a worn spot in the ceramic tile in front of the treat cabinet. I assured the vet that there was no way that River was opening the cabinet and treating herself to yummy granola-crusted chew treats and Better Than Ears treats  – who knows what’s in those things, but at least they don’t have little hairs on them!

We agreed that we would not assign blame to River since we had no proof of her thievery and other interested parties all plead no contest to the accusations. Nevertheless, River has agreed to chase her Frisbee a little more, spend less time trying to coerce Jumbo milkbones from parties, which shall remain nameless, and give up Reality TV for Lent. We conceded that if there was a summer version of Dancing With The Stars that she could indulge if she promised to dance along with them.

So, short of a voodoo priestess showing up in a foggy mist, smelling of swampy bayou water and Spanish moss and sprinkling zombie dust on her head, the condition should reverse itself shortly.