Ansa fell down the stairs yesterday. All of it. She's done partial slidings before, both forwards and backwards. This time she slipped on the very top step and then slithered all the way down. She limped for a while but was up for a 2k walk later on in the day. Me? Upset? You don't know the half of it.
I thought: yeah, that's it. I blocked off the stairs as she runs up and down it a lot during the day. She has to supervise all my doings in the upper floor because of the secret door. You know, the one hidden behind the bath that allows me an escape to a wonderful dogless existence for all eternity if she's not watching me carefully.
So last night I dreaded going to bed thinking: I can't bear crying, if she cries, I'll try and carry her upstairs or sleep on the couch downstairs. But she didn't cry. She paced. And paced. And paced, her paws clicking on the wood floors. I left all the doors open (thank you Spring!)but didn't call down to her as we would both break down.
This morning I awoke to her pacing and a very lackadaisical greeting, completely unlike her. I get it. She thinks she's being punished. I don't know how long it'll be until she gets used to this new order of business.
I wish she'd understand it's for her own safety, the poor wee darling.
