As they say, it’s all fun and games until someone wears the cone. We had minor toe surgery recently and are relegated to the cone, but I have to say does he ever take it in stride. I manage to project all of my claustrophobic fears onto his situation but he just looks at me like “dad get me my dinner”.
Last night as he watched me eat my spaghetti (Friday night is pasta night), I completely forgot that he too loves to eat spaghetti on Fridays. I mean it’s mostly the fun of having a strand hanging over your head and being fed noodle by noodley noodle.
As our lives change and we adapt to new situations and physical and medical conditions I forget sometimes that we don’t really have to change up the routine. We still have to have our Spaghetti night and Saturday is sharing the pizza crust night if daddy hasn’t managed to burn it once again. Or he’s staring at me because I have forgotten that there is a crunchy biscuit following dinner, as we have done since puppy-hood.
Saturday morning was a choring morning, in the early years a drive to the dump and in later years, the beach, the dunes, maybe a bit of shopping and treats at Canadian Tire or Home Hardware or Pet Valu, or all three.
He is a creature of habit, as am I, but sometimes he has to remind me because I get distracted by the cone, or the pill schedule, and dwell on the change and the inevitable changes to come, and miss the joy and indeed forget that there is still a routine, however tweaked it might have to be, and there is lots to be said for routine
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What happened to baby boy’s foot?