I had been on leave the past week and it was hard to go back to work yesterday. The only thing that kept me going was that I would only have to work a day, and then I'm off today. Which is a nice way to ease back into work. Of course I'm paying for this by working this Sunday. Long weekend be danged, I'm working Good Friday too. I'm counting on the usual half-pace slack over Sundays and public holidays.
It was hard to tear myself away from the furkids to go back into the work routine. I didn't realise until I stopped to think about it that I haven't actually spent an entire week at home with Rupert since he arrived last September. Oh, there were weekends and days off but not a whole week. I've never had the opportunity until now to be with him on a prolonged basis, long enough to watch his biorhythms, work out when his upswings and downswings are, what he does all day, when he naps, when he gets up to watch by the window for his furry friends out on their walks. Up to now, he had to adjust to my schedule.
Oh and of course he hasn't developed sphincter muscles. The last post was dated April 1, what do you think?
And what a nice week it was. I really didn't do anything, I spent a lot of time on the couch watching Queeni sleep; watching her hobble on three legs and then tentatively using her affected leg and finally breaking into a cheer when she ran on all four legs; watching the sun move through the different parts of the house as the day progressed; watching people go to work, the women's heels making a clickety-clack on the footpaths; watching the kids drag their feet as they walk to school; watching them run home at the end of the day; watching -- well, hearing -- the toddlers shriek around the playground and the sudden silence when they are summarily ordered home for dinner; watching the working people return, some with bags of groceries; watching the dogs out on their walks; watching the prime-time TV I never get to see on work nights.
It was much needed after the trauma of Queeni's biopsy results and that awful dangling in the middle of nowhere feeling when you're exploring various options to take for her. The hardest part was the waiting and the deciding. Once you've embarked on a course of action, things swam into focus and got better.
We noticed she will walk on all fours on the grass downstairs but on three legs around the house, I guess the field is softer and feels better to her paw than the hard tiled floor. So we took her to the dog park on Sunday. The bitch was back, she ran around, she sniffed, she gave what-for to all the dogs that dared to sniff her behind. And then she realised she wasn't favouring one leg. The game was up.
However, HRH is still pulling a fast one on sucker dad. She still gets his personal taxi lift service down the stairs and into the field where she will run around on all four legs. After she's done, she starts hopping on just three legs, gives him a doe-eyed look and he scoops her up and she gets carried up the stairs back to her couch. She's a con artist.