Jackson and Tucker had a collision in the living room Saturday night. It’s still unclear what happened, but I speculate Tucker was running laps, Jackson was chasing and eventually fell on him. I was busy brushing Jon’s teeth when I heard it—the awful screeching cry of an injured Cavie. It was déjà vu Sammy, for me. Really a horrible moment.
Fortunately, after assessing the leg and a quick call to my favorite vet (thanks Dad), it was determined to be only a bad sprain. Recovery could be as little as 48 hours away, provided we keep Tucker on strict crate rest. Absolutely no unnecessary activity and NO JUMPING (if you know Tucker, you realize what a tall order this is). Also, all backyard business had to be conducted on the leash, which is just a pain all around. Additionally, Tucker is quite proficient at cleaning up after the boys and I had no idea how much cereal/popcorn/crackers/peanuts my kids drop every day, until my vacuum cleaner spent 48 hours unable to reach the floor.
If you’ve never experienced a spaniel puppy on confinement, you don’t know what you’re missing. We parked him by the living room window and tried not to give in to his begging eyes, “What did I do? What did I do? Whose face can I lick to get back in your good graces?”
When that didn’t work, everything was suddenly a national emergency. “Is that a bird on the back porch? Let me out! Let me out! Grrrr. A bag! It’s a plastic bag blowing across the yard! I must investigate this instant! We’re all gonna die! Let me out! Grrr… cough, cough…”
Around hour 45 I found him turning circles in his crate, cage rage style. I recognize it from my days in the depths of the humane society kennel. Hour 46 he began chewing on his back leg. Who knows what that indicates. Hour 47 I fed him half my popcorn through the crate bars. Hour 48 I opened the back door, he shot out like fire was lit under his tail, and all I saw for the next five minutes was an auburn streak rounding the yard.
I think he’s recovered. Lord help us if not.