The kids and I were outside with Bailey yesterday. She’s an energetic dog, and thus occasionally in the out-of-doors (and luckily, very rarely in the in-of-doors, since she is not a small dog) likes to go on a mad tear. This basically involves running in a circle or back-and-forth as fast as her legs will carry her for about 20 seconds. Then she’s good.
Yesterday, she got just a little too exuberant, and hurt one of her back legs. I’m waiting it out right now, because even though she wouldn’t bear weight on it right after it happened which was a little scary, she was much more willing and seemingly able to bear weight after a minute or two. She’s still favoring it a bit but seems to be OK.
In dog years, she’s now about 42. Since I’m on the cusp of middle age, I can sympathize with her. It’s hard to give up those youthful days when you could do whatever you wanted to your body and have it give you barely any negative feedback. Oh Bailey, those days are gone for both of us, I think. Now is the time of warming up and stretching, of pacing ourselves, of going to bed a little earlier, of rethinking that third glass of wine. (OK, maybe Bailey isn’t drinking much wine these days.) It’s sort of funny, once you know better, your body isn’t up to the challenge anymore.