Poor, poor Baxter. It has been eight weeks since Baxter limped back to my parents’ house in Boone with his front left leg looking like a peeled banana. We didn’t see him injure himself, but he must have snagged it on a barbed-wire fence. The muscle and bone weren’t damaged. At the time, we couldn’t have imagined the amounts of time and money required to get him well again.
The little guy has not run in eight whole miserable weeks. He’s been locked up in the house. Short walks are his only break from the monotony and boredom. He wears an Elizabethan collar and frequently has a red bandage (our vet is an NCSU grad who knows I’m a Carolina fan) 24 hours a day — the outfit makes him look like a sad little clown, sidelined during the circus. I’ve never seen a bird immediately after its wings are clipped, but I imagine it’s similar to watching a forlorn, invalid Baxter, banging his e-collar on furniture, doorjambs and my legs as he mopes around the house.
Maybe you need a visual to make the sad clown connection…
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October 28, 2008 at 5:24 pm
Anne
Baxter’s in his own private hell! Poor guy. Adobe’s got fleas.
July 14, 2009 at 9:11 pm
Independence weekend at Blue Knob « I think I spent the dog food money
[…] from my parents’ deck, and Baxter making it through the weekend without injuring himself like he has before when running wild in the mountains. Katie also cooked a sublime steak dinner, and we visited my grandmother twice, including lunch at […]