I have never been one of those dog people who believe they can go online for 15 minutes and know more than their vet, who has gone to school for six years and is heavily in debt as a result.

Vets have helped my dogs, saved them, and put them down with great care and mercy. I trust them and defer to them.

Except for one thing – the awful plastic hoods and cones many vets put on dogs after surgical procedures. For years, I’ve objected to them, fought about them, and finally, thanks to inflatable collars, refused to keep them on my dogs.

Until Sunday, when I wrote about Zinnia’s surgery, I didn’t know about the inflatable collars. Several of the blog readers did know and suggested it to me. I went right over to Chewy.com.

As a veteran of many years of therapy, I accept that it could be my problem as much or more as it is a problem for dogs. My vet would never hard a dog or any animal, she doesn’t see the hood the way I do.

Dogs are adaptable and accepting as a general rule, but my dogs – border collies and Labs – have never been accepting of these long hoods and cones, which obscure their vision, block their ability to smell the ground, affect their hearing and sight, and in my experience,  frighten and confuse them.

My very competent vets and vet techs disagree with me and smile knowingly when I bring this up, just another dog lover who has odd ideas about animal health care.

But I feel the hoods are wrong.

I consider myself the steward of my dogs; I speak for them; I am their advocate. I am not their boss or partner or daddy; I’m a steward; it is my responsibility to care for them and represent them.

Yesterday, Zinnia was spayed, and the surgery went well. This morning, I went to pick her up, and she came out with a hood/cone on. We gingerly lifted her into the car and brought her home.

I was supposed to walk her only on a leash for two weeks.

Zinnia has only been on a leash once or twice in her life, and I was confident I could handle it without one. She follows the “heel” command and also “get busy.”

I opened the car door, made sure she jumped out slowly, and then watched as she tried to navigate this hood, which stuck out well ahead of her nose. She circled and circled – she always sniffs the ground before peeing, and she couldn’t find it with the hood. She got anxious and confused and kept looking to me for directions.

I called her to me and took the hood off.

She went and sniffed the ground and peed. And she really had to go.  I got angry. I heard that old voice going off in my head: this is not going to stand.

This seemed cruel to me, not lasting or vicious abuse, but thoughtless disregard for both the dignity and security of the dog.

I have tremendous respect for vets, they know more about dogs than I will ever know, but I felt a strong sense of responsibility to do right by my dog – seeing her confused and spinning around and unable to figure out how to eliminate triggered my steward button.

Dogs are not people or children, and I don’t treat them that way. I ask a lot of my dogs – trust, obedience, training, respect, and affection – and they are owed the same. I am not an easy dog owner, but I am a fierce steward.

We have a contract; I keep my part; they keep theirs.

Today, the steward button clicked on.

I had ordered an inflatable collar that keeps dogs from licking their wounds and stitches. But the one I ordered isn’t coming until tomorrow.

I told myself to do the mature thing. I’d already bought the new collar, it was on the way. We didn’t need two and why not do the mature thing and just wait. One night in the crate with the plastic cone would not kill her.

So I get into the car and headed for Benson’s Pet Shop.

I knew I couldn’t wait until tomorrow. Tonight, Zinnia will be sleeping in her crate, and with that blue, soft, inflatable collar,  her movement, sight, smell, and peace of mind will not be disrupted and impaired.

And I’ll sleep better.

These cones drove my border collies crazy. Rose went wild, and I had to take them off, and Fate gets them off before we get a block from the vets. They can’t abide by them blocking their vision and movement.

I squawk about it every time, but on this, I get blown off.

If they choose, vets can have some of these inflatable collars in stock and put the bill’s cost.

There was no way she was sleeping with that hood on in a crate, not even for one night, let alone two weeks. I drove to Saratoga Springs in a kind of trance, a steward with a mission. Several people told me I was silly, and of course, they were right. At the store,  a young salesperson opened the door for me.

I told the salesperson what I needed, and she took me right over to a large-sized blue inflatable collar. “I know what you mean,” she said, “I can’t bear to put one of those plastic cones on my dogs.”

Because I speak for them doesn’t mean that I know what they are thinking. Zinnia an easy-going creature; she would have survived the done and gotten through it without scars or damage. But I think we can do better than that.

I have an honest relationship with my vet, and we’ll talk about it. Perhaps I’ll donate some inflatable collars so she can offer them as an option to people who might prefer them.  I got home from the pet store and blew the blue-collar up, and put it on Zinnia. She came out with me into the yard and did her business, all of it. She is lying at my feet as I write this, and I am unsure whether I am acting as a dog nut or as a responsible steward.

I took the collar off; for now, she really isn’t bothering her stitches, and I’m watching her. I’ll put it on at night when she goes into her crate downstairs.

Zinnia is the sweetest creature; she gives me nothing but love, obedience, and goodwill.  It’s not really about how she feels; it’s about how I feel about caring for my responsibility to her.

It’s my job to be her voice.

I can’t get by this feeling that the cone is wrong, the veterinary world can move past those cones with little trouble or cost.

Zinnia and I rarely speak, but we do trust one another – I can take a piece of meat right out of her mouth – and she is only moderately spoiled – that I owed her this, that is was my job to make sure she didn’t have to suffer the discomfort of surgery and the disruption of her senses and sense of the world.

Next time, I won’t argue with the vet, they don’t deserve that, but I’ll make sure to keep the new blue-collar hand. I’ll give my vet the one that’s coming tomorrow.