Thursday, May 19, 2011

The Fifth Broken Toe

How can this be? One might ask. And one does.

Obie. Prone in agony. The vets closed as tis the weekend. Breath coming sporadically and glass covered blank eyes. Where is the strength and joy and life in that golden body that we’re used to? Gone.
Channeled into dealing with the moment, all because another tennis ball was tossed and how can one not charge headlong, with might and power to fetch yonder orb? One cannot.

Therefore, five broken toes later, Obie is on ball restriction.
He has been to the vet, his paw is swathed in royal purple, he has pills to swallow and behaviors to adhere to. The frisky wind and salt air beckon as he stands sniffing and grinning, but he’s going to have to find another passion, because five toes and you’re out.

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