My rescued doggie, Juno, is my special buddy.
I have mentioned the lovefests we engage in upon my return from the big world beyond back to her safe haven. She is ecstatic to see me coming down the driveway. Sometimes, she runs into the garage before I can climb out of T-Hoe. While I would like to think it's because she's so eager to reunite with me, common sense tells me it's that mouthful of cat food she steals before I can stop her.
Juno has not been herself for a couple of weeks. She incurred an injury, I suspect at the jaws of the black german shepherd, Ann. They are pals who wrestle and nip and bump and chase on frosty mornings. I had gone out to feed them before school, when Farmer H was gone to Massachusetts. Both dogs were hale and hearty. I poured a cup of dry food into each of the three metal pans, well-separated, for each of the three dogs. Rumbling growls erupted. As usual. They eat and growl at the same time. When The Pony and I went to the garage twenty minutes later, Juno was limping. She would not even put her right rear foot down.
We thought nothing of it. She has been hurt before, and bounced back. But this time is taking longer. Farmer H thinks she has something wrong with her foot. I think it's her back knee area. We can't really take her to the vet, because Tank the Beagle also has a leg issue, and his happened first, and, well, they're getting around on three legs, chase Farmer H over hill and dale on his Gator, don't appear to be in pain, and doggie x-rays and surgery and therapy and whatEVER costs more than my kids' doctor bills. The kids who need to go to college pretty soon. So we're resigned to having three-legged best friends for now.
I though my Juno was in pain. She had been on three legs a couple months ago, but Farmer H said she just forgot to use that leg once it was well. He was right. For a good two weeks before her recent injury, she was as good as new, romping and feinting and chicken-chasing for sport.
Last night, Farmer H was home when The Pony and I arrived. I asked him again about Juno's leg. "She's not hurting. Let me look at her foot again." I held onto her front end, because Juno is a feisty little gal who does not stand still except for our lovefests. Farmer H picked up her back leg. He folded it up like an accordion, put Juno's foot up under her belly, pulled that leg out like stretching a piece of warm taffy. She didn't whimper or try to pull away. Just stood there and let him manipulate it. Yet she still won't put full weight on it, although she WILL rest it on the ground now. We'll see what develops.
Meanwhile...my little buddy Juno has plunged a dagger through my heart. My special love. Our one-of-a-kind bond is not so unique, it seems. Last night, after laying her head on my chest, with her nose on my neck, huffing with pleasure at my full-body hug off the side of the porch...Juno went to Farmer H. Leaned against him. Put her nose under his chin. Gave a little mini-huff of pleasure.
I think it's because he threw her raggedy Nerf football once on Sunday on his way up the steps into the Mansion. Love is so fickle.