little dog

Little I* was nearly lost at weeks old.  Second and smaller of the two pups, he didn't get enough milk; not with a sibling like W*.  He had to be handfed to survive; had grown to be introverted, shy; and protective, all the time wary of strangers.  He had also learned to be cautious, also fearful, having nearly broken a leg at three months old after falling the steps for the first time.  The second time, he was accidentally pushed down the flight.  He isn't demonstrative, except during dinnertime; and not very affectionate, except at certain times.  He likes to stay at my feet, lay his head on the foam of my house slippers.  His brown eyes always with a little sadness I don't think I will ever know why (although he is most happy playing chase)

Because of circumstances, I* has been home-groomed.  Until last Sunday.  The wild coat had become beyond me.  Also the paws.  Last week, he limped a little; I didn't want it to be a case of tangled coat and nails.  Of course he didn't want to be at the vet's.  Didn't want to be left alone.  Didn't want to be in a kennel.  So I stayed with him in a corner, we waited for our turn, for nearly four hours.  All my work stood still.  He kept his end of the bargain and didn't bark at all the strangers streaming in and out; except, maybe, growl back at the dog who'd been growling.

Now, little I* is shaved like a different dog.  We arrived home and I watched him from afar, like someone else's.  He seems happier, of a better disposition; although I've spent the first few hours talking with him.  Telling him it's alright, he'll grow his coat in time.