Our lovely old boy is on Previcox for his arthritis. It's doing a fantastic job - he is bounding around like a little spring lamb. However, it's not him that's the problem - it's the tablets. They are wrapped in what I can only describe as human proof packaging.
Every night I (or DH) have to gird our loins and disappear into the utility room, usually muttering "I may be some time" under my breath. Then we have the long, painful struggle, with the toughest, springiest, non bending plastic film I've ever met. You could use it as a sail for the space shuttle. You could probably store nuclear waste in it. Some days we have to resort to drastic measures. Knives. Scissors. Various kitchen implements. More swearing. Neat gin. Tears. Yet more swearing. Eventually one of us will emerge, often with bleeding hands, a traumatised expression and a selection of bent blades. Tablet is then neatly swallowed by adorable hound and we stagger into the living room to find the gin/sticking plasters/ice pack.
Is it just us?