And They Said It Might Not Happen

I'm a very lucky dog.  In fact, my entire life has been filled with me beating the odds in one way or another.  Here are a few examples:

1. Despite being a nasty little puppy with big teeth and a bad attitude, my family stuck with me long enough for me to blossom into the model citizen I am today.
2. Despite attempting, unsuccessfully, to move the house with my face, and despite being told that I might end up with a visible scar from my endeavor, my fur grew in and now you can't even tell that there was ever a wound.
3. Despite being told that my damaged dew claw might not grow back in, it did, albeit painfully crooked, and had to be, along with its toe, surgically removed.

Hey wait, that last one wasn't so lucky!

Anyway, apparently my lucky streak is still going strong.  Observe:

This is what my nose looked like back in April when I 'chipped the paint' (Ralphie's Mom came up with this very appropriate description) and exposed my nose's pink undercoating.  At the time, the vet suggested that there was a chance that that part of my nose would never turn black again (and Pa meanly suggested that the rest of my nose might turn entirely pink in the meantime).  Needless to say, I was traumatized by the entire experience.

But, with Ma's liberal use of bacitracin and the antibiotics Pa got me when he took me to the vet, my nose, two months later, looks like this:

It is practically perfect (please feel free to take a moment to shed some tears of joy)!  Sure, there's a little pink left, a small dent due to a couple of layers of skin still missing, but I'm confident that it will be 100% in a month or so and I'll be back to my normal, devilishly handsome self (as if I ever actually lost my devilishly handsome good looks).