As Phin became stronger this past week, I exercised the right (with his doctor’s permission) to put him on a blanket on the floor next to me to let him stretch out a bit more. The trouble is that now he’s getting so much better (though not totally back to normal) that he wants to take a stroll around the living room. He’s even slyly snuck away a few times to venture (slowly and wobbly) into the kitchen.
I understand his impatience—like mother, like dog. So now we’re back to strict crate rest despite his energy rebound. He’s not happy about this. He gives me his best Bette Davis eyes. One time, I think he actually winked at me. I can’t blame him the little guy for trying to turn on the charm in an attempt to secure a get-out-of-jail-free card. I’m not happy about it either and I’m not even the one stuck in the crate.
Healing, any kind of healing for anyone, takes time and rest and dedication. Healing is a lot of work. Let’s face it – the whole process of healing is a pain in the rear. And if we rush it, if we do too much too soon because we want so much to just get back to normal, then we risk robbing ourselves of all the potential that waits for us on the other side of healing.
I want Phin to make a full and complete recovery. I’m looking forward to the days when he and I can take our walks together again in the sunshine and fresh air. And they’ll happen; I know that. Come spring, we’ll take our spin around the Tidal Basin and he’ll roll around on that precious little healed back in the cherry blossoms. It’s just going to take some time and patience on both our parts – him in a crate and me sitting next to his crate as I write – marching toward our common goal to be well and whole.