I did not accomplish much on this day off from school. I got Farmer H to his knee surgery by 6:30. Paid his fee so they would operate. Listened to his post-anesthesia tale of how the doc gave him the BLUE gas, not the YELLOW gas. Stopped by the bank for cash. Picked up his prescription. Got him in the house, where he promptly went to bed and slept two hours. Served him lunch at 2:00. And partook of a bit of internet. Now the day is gone.
The only thing of note that occurred, if you discount Farmer H surviving his surgery, was the continuing development of Juno's conscience.
I was trying to get Farmer H out of the garage and up the three steps to the porch. He was not a good student of Crutching 101. The therapist and I both emphasized that the crutches move with the bad leg. They are weight-bearers. He can put 50% weight on his repaired knee. He is supposed to ambulate, not crutch-hop on the good leg while carrying the bad one in the air like a lame, limping lion awaiting a thorn to be pulled from his paw.
Juno, in her zealous, life-loving manner, came rushing at Farmer H for the grand reunion. She ran down the steps and made a beeline for his kneeline. Just curious. Wanting to poke her dried-mud-encrusted nose on his ACE-bandaged knee. I scolded her. "No! Juno! NO!" Which she misunderstood as, "Hurry! I've buried a Beggin' Strip in the folds of Farmer's bandage, and the first dog to get it can eat it! And get another one!" She did not slow down one iota.
I was holding a crutch, getting ready to show Farmer H the proper crutching method up the steps. I had to stop my feisty little doggy. So I poked her in the ribs with the rubber-tipped end of the crutch. She twisted to look at me. Ran up the steps and laid down against the side of the house. Oh, the betrayal! She couldn't believe I possessed such a cruel streak. Toward HER. My bestie. We of our lovefest every morning and evening.
After settling Farmer H into bed and propping his freshly-repaired appendage on a pillow, I returned to the garage to carry in our belongings. Juno would not come to be petted. I sweet-talked her. She shied away. In fact, she ran into her house and would not even look at me.
This tough-love is killing me.