I haven’t been posting much about Riley because we’re going through a rough patch right now. He’s been self-harming more and we can’t figure out why. Poor Riley has a number of raw spots he’s made by licking and biting at himself. So we maintain the routines that he knows, we control his diet, we watch for infections and parasites, we make sure he’s getting exercise and love and a few hand-fed treats from each of us every day. And we wait, and feel helpless.
There are other blogs and stories about dogs rescued from abuse. I read them and obsess over them. Then I wonder why my dog doesn’t just bounce back and become ‘normal’ and grateful. I remind myself that sometimes there are things you can't bounce back from, that his sight and hearing won’t be miraculously restored, that progress can be so slow that it’s invisible, that Riley is bouncing back, but in his own cautious way. I know this is true, but still can’t help feeling sad.
And just when I think that there isn’t much more we can do, that I should be grateful that he’s safe and warm and well fed, he’ll do something miraculous. Like this.
There are other blogs and stories about dogs rescued from abuse. I read them and obsess over them. Then I wonder why my dog doesn’t just bounce back and become ‘normal’ and grateful. I remind myself that sometimes there are things you can't bounce back from, that his sight and hearing won’t be miraculously restored, that progress can be so slow that it’s invisible, that Riley is bouncing back, but in his own cautious way. I know this is true, but still can’t help feeling sad.
And just when I think that there isn’t much more we can do, that I should be grateful that he’s safe and warm and well fed, he’ll do something miraculous. Like this.
Remember last winter when Riley was so afraid of the snow that we had to dig out a ‘safe spot’ in the yard, right down to the grass, so he could tolerate going outside? Remember when all he would do was run AWAY from humans?
In case you missed the expression of pure joy on his face, here’s a close-up.
In case you missed the expression of pure joy on his face, here’s a close-up.
Yeah, baby! That's a nearly 10-year-old blind dog running so hard he's airborne. Today he’s bouncing back and showing me that progress isn’t always slow and invisible, sometimes it’s undeniable and in-your-face beautiful.