The Limper

These sorts of weekday bed naps depend on the bed owner being home.

I wish I could remember if Oates could jump onto my old bed...probably not? As a puppy he was an Olympian. He certainly was once a sprinter, tearing through the house for the dog park like lightning.

Now, he's a limper and on this especially high bed, he needs help up. I bought a felt dog stepladder and verified the cliche about old dogs and new tricks.

So, while Willie leaps into the bed effortlessly, whether I am home or not, Oates needs to be lifted.

He will often run to the bedroom if I'm reading in bed and patiently wait until I look down and see his silent pleading.

Then, when I reach for him, he does a little bob and weave, like a punch-drunk boxer, until he lets me trick him into getting trapped around the shoulder by hands above and behind.

Then, I have to, lying from the side of the bed, hoist him with the crane of my hands underneath his rubbery and lumpy underarms all the way up to the mattress. All along his expression is half joyful lottery winner and  half frightened bank hostage.  When he gets dropped, hw will run chaotically across his new universe rather than stop and visit with its inhabitants.

Then, he will drop and sleep. And snore.