Monday, July 14, 2008
Update on Shiloh
Thank you for being concerned about Shiloh.
After his metal-edging-caused injuries, he looks like a football with stitches holding his pigskin together. He sports bandages to protect the wounds.
Still, he keeps telling me he wants to play ball and go for a hike. I feel so guilty. I’ve hiked almost daily for eight years with my friend Bob, and we’ve had variations of a routine. When we don’t plan our precise hike time, he calls me to make arrangements— scheduling, not flower. Shiloh, 4, knows my ringtone for Bob, gets excited, and starts looking out the window for Bob to come. This is no surprise, because everyone gets excited when Bob comes…then hides.
Next, I gather my shoes, keys, leash, ball, and drool towel. This step sends Shiloh whipping around in circles, flying in the air like a helicopter, touching ground occasionally on his worn-down nails, and bumping his nose against the door. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, Mom! You’re always so slow! Let’s go! Let me chase that ball!” You know how dogs are.
I then toss the ball for the fur-covered bundle of energy who resembles an equine more than a canine. When he sees Bob’s car, Shiloh runs up to greet it, ball in mouth, smiling. Then he runs back to me, tail bobbing around in circles, for another toss of the ball.
At last, I leash him—Shiloh, not Bob—and we’re on our way. Actually, Bob’s mom used to leash him, but that’s another blogging. Personally, I prefer the whip.
Now our routine is different so the convalescing pupper-dog doesn’t get aroused. Bob doesn’t call, so Shiloh has nothing to get excited about. I gather my shoes and keys quietly while Shiloh is eating breakfast. At the set time, I tiptoe up the street where Bob now parks, so Shiloh doesn’t hear Bob’s car. Sneaky.
Our veterinarian at Banfield gave a positive prognosis, though it may be a while before the big guy is mended enough to traipse the trail. It’s pretty strange to walk without stopping for frequent pee breaks, but Bob’s learning to hold his bladder.
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