Here’s the belated update I promised Nancy.

When we first got Llewd back from the plein air bordello, he had a bad limp. We figured he’d just twisted his foot slipping into some bondage gear. Upon closer inspection, we found he must have gotten it caught in some wire and sliced a coin- sized chunk of meat from one of his knuckles as he hove off to continue fucking the remainder of his walnut sized brain out.

We couldn’t tell if his apparent depression upon his return was from the pain of the injury, or the fact he wasn’t in Paris anymore. For days, he was nothing but a motionless black lump in the pasture, only raising his head periodically to sigh or flick his tail at a bug. He’d also contracted some mange along his back, brisket and flanks.
We treated the mange and packed his foot with Nitrafurzone, periodically spraying the wound with pyrethrins to kill the maggots he brought back with him.

He seems better now, to the extent that he’s starting to test the fence a little again. Perhaps some more radical therapy is warranted.