Returned

I had mourned them all day and was trying to figure out some way to get up and force myself to go to the church to play for night services when I saw Roux's face appear in the lower portion of the glass of the storm door.  At first, I wondered if I was just seeing what I wanted to see.  I had, after all, been praying for that sight for hours, wishing for it, willing it to happen.  Then Chewie's big white head popped up next to hers, and I stumbled over to the door and managed to work the lock with through my tear-blurry vision to let them in.

I had been so upset because my biggest fear was that they had been taken by someone.  Nothing good ever happens for dogs that are stolen.  It's not like somebody takes them to a loving new home.  All I could see in my head was them being used for bait dogs and being so afraid and not understanding why someone would be so cruel to them.  The not-knowing was killing me.  With every passing hour and with every acre we searched it just seemed more likely that something like that had happened.  Only once or twice in my life have I felt relief as profound as when I saw them at the door.

Roux is not in the best shape this morning.  If the speed she is moving right now is the speed she was moving as she came home, I can see why it took so long.  She can just barely walk.  She has over-extended herself in the extreme.  I'm feeding her pain pills and carrying her outside, putting her on the couch, making sure she eats and excretes.  There is nothing else I can do for her right now.  She's been almost here before, exhausted to the point of collapse, but this actually is the worst I've ever seen it.  As long as she keeps taking in and putting out, keeps being responsive, then rest is the best cure for her.  I've panic-buttoned her before, but the vet has told me on other occasions that she just has to recover from these excesses.  I wonder how long it will take this time.

Somehow she managed to abrade the tough leathery skin of the pad of her front paws off.  Each step must be agony.  I can't imagine how far she must have walked or on what surface to have done that.  It would be the equivalent of the entire sole of your foot being covered in broken blisters.  I think this is the main reason she doesn't want to walk much, and I am trying as much as possible to carry her so she doesn't have to put pressure on her poor tattered paws.  What could have done that?  Regular grass or woodland walking should not have damaged her feet that way.

Chewie seems fine.  He is asleep in the big brown leather chair he has commandeered for himself.  He is less bouncy than usual, but still had enough vim and vigour to drag me all over the yard this morning on the leash for his morning constitutional.  I guess we will both walk.  It will be good for us both, too.

So, for awhile then, I will be a dog nurse.  I am happy to play the role.  It's not the first time.  Roux and I are old hands at this after cedar trees, knee surgeries, skunk debacles, and all her other adventures.   I only hope that this time, too, Roux will get better.  Even if she for some reason does not, though, at least she came home.  I know that may sound strange that it would be any consolation to me, and it will be a very small one, but at least I will know that she was here with me if something should happen and not out stranded in the wild or being harmed by strangers.