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| Layla...Her Inner Puppy is Alive and Well! |
For six to eight she was to remain confined to allow the leg to set, prayer being the bone was strong enough to hold the pins in place. (The rod, to be removed.)
Five weeks and two days ago, Layla said, "Enough already" letting me know in no uncertain terms, "It's time."
It doesn't take a Dr. Dolittle to understand what animals are saying... If you'll stop long enough to listen, they'll tell you themselves precisely what they're thinking.
Back from errands just in time for supper, I open the kitchen door allowing Layla in from the deck where her crate now resides. I've left her crate open for the past few days, to allow her a tad more freedom while keeping her safe from the other dogs. (Hix and TJ, continue to vie for her affection; Rosebud wants her gone. Rosey, the only who's gotten to know Layla, spotted her vulnerability instantly and thus returned to her maternal roots. Any notion of jealousy or threat to the pecking order is a non-issue with Rosey. Then again, Rosey is a self-actualized dog... a dog comfortable in her own fur.)
I set groceries on counter; stroke the cat; nuzzle Minsky and begin the supper ritual, as do they.
Minsky prances her circle dance then assumes the waiting pose by her bowl. Boo swishes his tail as I clink a few kibbles -- a tactical maneuver to get him to quit pawing at me while I work.
I turn on the oven (Yes, we heat our food.) I open the fridge. Dinner is a ritual around here, anticipation being a big part of things. The entire routine can take anywhere from 10 - 15 minutes, by which point whoever's in the kitchen has formed a circle around the island, perfectly still and keenly attentive. Only this time I hear a different sound; I look down to see Layla, who mischievously cuts her eyes up at me with the corner of the kitchen rug in her mouth.
I scowl at her, saying nothing. She drops the rug...and then ...
"Wraaarrrrr-arrrrrrr-arrrrrrrrrrrrr...rrrrrrrr."
(I've never heard her speak before. It makes me laugh. She sounded a lot like Darby, my Siberian husky from years ago.)
"You talking to me Layla? You talking to me?" She does a Minsky kinda circle thing, only for her with with leg a-draggin'.
"Layla, be still" I say, "You gotta be still!" to which she defiantly thumps her front paws downward and grabs the rug again, playfully taunting me to double dog dare her.
"You want to play Layla? You want to play?" Her tail wags in large circles now. "YES!" She is saying. "YES! YES! YES! YES! YES!"
Like that red plastic pop-up in a store-bought turkey, Layla's saying "I'm done! Get this thing out of my leg. You DO know I am a puppy, right?"
I had almost forgotten. Somewhere in the midst of all her trauma Layla turned one year old this month...She literally spent her first birthday in the confines of a crate with a rod sticking out of her leg. But Layla didn't care.
I thought of all those sweet children at St. Jude's...All those at the beautiful kids at Vanderbilt Children's Hospital...Souls whose lives were rudely interrupted when they should've been playing and doing kid things.
For Layla, eyes and tail said it all...Don't know what the x-rays will say, but Layla says "I'm done! Rod or no rod, leg or no leg...I'm ready to play~" and I predict that exact same spirit has hastened her healing. (We won't know till the vet says so, but rest assured that's top of the list come end of this holiday weekend.)
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