Waiting Game

Poor old Bess.  On Monday she began limping, and then gnawing at her paw.  There wasn't much I could do for her because I still can't get down on my knees.  I put in a text to Helper Dude asking if he were available to trim her nails (I almost said toenails, but then realized that's all she had), thinking he could also do something about the foxtail I suspected was in the pad of her foot.  I still hadn't heard back, so in the evening when she came to lie close by my chair, I was able to lean over with a flashlight and tweezers to get a look.  Sure enough, there was the offender between her toes and I was able to tweak it out.  The damage had been done, however.  All that chewing and licking had left the toe pad swollen and red.  She was much better yesterday, but, like my knees, it's going to take time to heal.

Inga was lying down in her stall in the morning and reluctant to get up.  With some gentle urging, she went out and immediately headed for the big pen to lie down under the big oak, not going up for alfalfa or water.  I tended to Sheila and Tess, and Inga was in the same place when I left the barn.  In late afternoon, Bess and I took the trash down to the big road and when we got back Inga had not moved, as far as I could tell, but her head was up  Oh crum.  Believe me, I really didn't want to go out at sundown, fearful for what I might find.  There was such relief when all three noses were waiting for me in the usual corner.

It has cooled off the last couple of nights enough that I could pull the sheet over, something that Ralph has evidently been waiting for (me, too).  I'd no more than settled down when I felt that feather-like pat on my arm.  I lifted the sheet and Ralph immediately crawled into the cat cave.  I missed you, too, Ralph.