A royal hangover

The porcine princess went to the vet on Friday to have her teeth cleaned and hooves trimmed. 

This year's visit went much the same as last year's, which is to say uneventful but exhausting. 

For reasons known only to Wynonna, she fought the anesthesia mightily, and the vet had to give her
more than the usual dose to knock her out. Hence, she was still passed out when we arrived home.

Pushing 165 pounds of sleeping pig down the ramp is easier than 

pushing 165 pounds of awake pig up the ramp, and one has to be grateful for small mercies.

Me: Wynonna, this would not be a good time to wake up.

I needn't have worried – she was still out cold.

I arranged her in a safe place in her pen and kept vigil until she came to.

Me: It was for your own good, but you're gonna hate me in the morning.

Me: Anybody in there? Apparently not.

When she began to twitch her legs a bit, I decided to roll her out of the crate as gently as I could.

I hope she doesn't remember what ended up being an unceremonious dump.

George: Tsk...tsk...she's an embarrassment to the crown.

Within the hour, she tried to stand but couldn't get her back legs under her.

Wynonna: Somebody call me a cab.

She eventually made her way into the royal chambers and was served dinner in bed.