It was another long day at the doggy neck and throat trauma rehab center. Poor little Jean-Luc is in a lot of pain. Yes, we’re giving him pain medication, but he still hurts. A lot. I feel so terrible watching him try to navigate the hallway and the small set of stairs to the yard. But picking him up almost seems worse. I’m pretty sure there isn’t a place on his body that doesn’t ache.
I finally coaxed him outside this morning for a little walk and that seems to have cheered him up a bit. He walked over to where the attack occurred and sniffed around a lot, but wasn’t visibly upset. Of course, if something had tried with some success to eat me alive in my own backyard I’d have needed six months of therapy by a trained team of psychiatrists AND a bottle of Ativan to dare venture out there, but not him. He sniffed around and then took a big poop right there where it happened. I guess he told whatever it was.
I’m sick as a dog as well. We make quite the pair, he and I.
ETA: Oh great! I wrote the word “rehab” in my post and now I see my banner ads are for alcoholism treatment. Crap. Probably writing “alcoholism” isn’t helpful. Darn. I wrote it again. Sigh.