The Mending-Heel Case Here

My sweet, sweet Juno came out of her house today to greet me. I think that's a sign that she's feeling better.

Of course, the heartless Mansion-dwellers who accuse my four-legged soulmate of nosing into the groceries, eating eggs on the sly, chasing chickens, eating cat food without permission, peeing on the SIDE of the house on the garage end of the porch, and deny her entrance into our home have declared that she comes out of the house and performs her dogly duties as normal. Sure. Sure she does. To hear them tell it, she runs after the Gator down to the creekside cabin a couple of times per weekend day, and sprawls in the front yard soaking up sun, and accompanies the other two fleabags on their midnight barking tour. I don't see it.

For the last week, Juno has been in her house every time I open the kitchen door. With great effort, she hops out to gobble up special treats that I save for her, treats that I don't want to put inside her house because she might eat some cedar shavings while licking them up. Sometimes, she grabs her treat and runs back inside her house, growling to discourage any furry ne'er-do-wells who would have her treat as their own. I know she loves her warm house in its prime location. Her big fat foot makes it hard to step over the board Farmer H nailed on her threshold to keep those cedar shavings inside.

Every time I go out, I reach my hand in to pet my sweet doggie. I hear her tail thump the side of her shingled house. She's a black dog in a dark interior, so I can't always see what's going on. I DID see that Farmer H had indeed given her the special snack of deli ham that was left over from last week's Pony lunch fodder. I could see that he'd given it to her, because he set the entire plastic tray thingy inside. Seriously? How hard would it be to grab that wad of ham and hand it to her mouth? So Juno had laid in her home with a clear plastic ham tray in her foyer all night. I'm surprised she didn't eat the plastic. She's a busy one, that Juno. Until now.

Today I went outside around noon, on the way to town to give my mom the used tabloids and some leftover fried rice and sweet-and-sour sauce (sorry, Juno). I spoke to Juno. AND SHE HOPPED OUT OF HER HOUSE! She did not put weight on her right front foot, but it was almost normal size. I guess she's on the mend. She wobbled all the way around to the side porch, and stood for our forgotten lovefest. My sweet, sweet Juno, smelling of cedar, warm black silky fur, loving hazel eyes, and...dry black nose. I didn't have to taste it to know she's not 100% yet. At least her nose was cold, not warm like it was the last couple of days.

Farmer H said he tried to look at her foot again this afternoon. "She didn't want to come to me, because she knew what I was up to. I got ahold of her, and felt her toes. She didn't seem to mind that very much, but when I pressed here, on the heel part of her palm, she pulled away like that hurt her. I didn't see any cuts or anything in it. I think she's getting better."

So sayeth Farmer H, Dog Doctor.