My brother thought it was great fun to let my grandparents' Newfoundland out when I was playing in the yard. (That booger head.) My family says she was one of the sweetest dogs in the world, but when that big ol' Cassie dog came my way I saw my short life flash before my teary eyes as I ran and screamed for help.
My brother is no longer a booger head, and I am no longer terrified of every dog I see -- just some of them. I even have two furry space heaters to share the bed with. (I'm sure 5 year old Michelle would look at 25 year old Michelle like I'm nuts.)
One of Squirt's nicknames is Little Brother. Technically he is about 4 years older than Danny, but we go by size. Sometimes we call him The Problem Child because he's good at escaping if there is a gap in any part of our fence...and then doesn't quite seem to know how to find his way home.
Lately his new nickname has been Little Hop Along.
Squirt has been sleeping on the bed since we moved to the house. He was crated at the apartment after a few too many mornings of finding "presents" when he had free reign. At night he will usually snuggle in and stay put until the morning (unless there are storms, but that's another story).
A week and a half ago was one of those rare nights where he got up for who-knows-what-reason, and we got woken up by the heart-wrenching sound of scream-crying a dog only does when something is super painful. He still hasn't 'fessed up about whether he fell or jumped off the bed, but his paw was swollen immediately. I just wanted to cry. We iced it every few hours, though, and carried him around a lot.
The vet verified that he broke one or two matchstick sized bones in his paw, and we felt like terrible dog-parents that he got hurt when we knew we should have just crated him. He got a splint and meds, and a little later he got the Cone of Shame for trying to take his bandages off. We got to take that off when he got home, though, and he's left them alone since then. Apparently he isn't always a forgetful old man who forgets what he's learned. (Yes, Squirt, we are on to your "selective" hearing when we say "No"...)
He's gotten his own little suite next to the bed filled with a pillow, blankets, and the stuffed frog he adopted a while ago. He still whines a little when we first go to bed, but I think I pout more than he does. He can nest to his hearts' content and stretch out as much as he wants there.
At his check-up the vet was pleased to hear how he has barely slowed down. He isn't allowed to jump on or off the couch by himself, and I don't let him do the stairs, but everything else is pretty much the same. He will only have a splint for another week or two. Oh, she also gave him a much more dapper red bandage, too. I think he appreciates it much more than the purple.
Danny has been watching out for his little brother, though. He has sniffed him from head to toe each time Squirt has come back from the vet, and he's careful not to run him over lately. I'm sure things will go back to normal when Squirt's splint is gone, though.
These are things that 5 year old Michelle never would have dreamed of dealing with, and they are certainly things that I didn't expect when I first got him. I wouldn't trade our pups for anything, though. It's an adventure, and I'm sure it's helping Tim and I hone some skills for the future.
Here's hoping that nothing else breaks in this house any time soon. I think we've had our fill for a while.
