I really am not meaning this to turn into a "dog-blog" but it just really is part of who God made me. The truth is, I'm tired and can't think of anything to blog about...or I am thinking of too many things to blog about, so I am simply turning to what comes easy...loving Emma.
I had to take Faith to the vet today because she had what looked like a puncture on her neck. I was gone most of the morning and when I returned, she greeted me with her happy smile and a bloody neck. My regular vet closes early on Friday so I called a vet in Mena and they were more than happy to look her over.
It turned out to be exactly what I thought, a puncture...probably inflicted by Emma's shenanigans. While Emma is one of the sweetest dogs I've ever known, she is also a little terror. For some reason, she likes to remove everybody's collar. I tried, for a while, to keep Sophie and Charlotte's little sweaters on them, but kept finding them naked and the sweaters strewn on the lawn. Yesterday, after Faith's near death experience, I decided to place a collar on her (Emma had dispensed of her old one). I figured that in a tussle of collar-removal, Faith got the best of one of Emma's teeth. A good cleaning, a bandage and some antibiotics should have her better in no time. The vet actually looked at her eyes for me but really didn't know what to make of them. She contemplated whether or not she even had any eyes but said, "it sure looks like she's looking right at your doesn't it?" Perhaps we'll never know.
I explained Emma's behavior to the vet and she agreed that Faith's injury was probably a direct result of an over excited boxer puppy. The thing is, Faith LOVES Emma. She is so happy when Emma is with her even when she's in that crazed, lunatic, boxer state of mind. Rodney told me that earlier today while I was gone that Emma and Faith were both curled up together in Faith's little dog house, sleeping. She seems to rely on her for direction, even when it is so so misguided. A silly-hearted dog leading a blind dog...I'm not sure what to make of it.
At the end of the day, when all the lunacy is over, when all her energy is spent, when she's chased her last bird, barked at the last goat, and everyone but her is collar-less...she curls up and becomes the biggest, squishiest, precious-est, cuddly-est little doggy in the whole world. Look at that face, look at those neck wrinkles. God knew boxers would need these things to make up for all the trouble they cause. Because, right now, just looking at that picture, I want nothing more that to bury my face up in all that wrinkled skin and take a long winters nap.