Her eyes were now open and not happy. Then I put the carrier on the front passenger seat of my car and climbed into the driver side. As we pulled out of the garage, she must have decided the angry eyes weren’t working because she switched over to her sad eyes. Those worked better and afforded her some petting through the carrier door.
I dropped her off and didn’t see her again until it was over. When I got her back, she was zonked. We’re talking eyes open, tongue out, passed out cold. It took a few hours but she started moving around. Sitting in her new home for the next 48 hours — my laundry room — the carrier door was open but she stood inside for a moment to think about her exit.
She finally got the gumption to head out. I could tell she was aiming to walk to the right but her butt was pulling her to the left. She toppled over.
I’m not going to lie; I laughed at her. I felt a tinge of guilt, but I laughed nonetheless.
She eventually got control of herself and by the next evening the Susan I know and love was back. The only problem was, during her recovery time in the laundry room, she’d become quite accustomed to living the good life indoors and didn’t want to go back outside.
This time, as I was shooing her out the back door, she tried the sad eyes first. And then when those didn’t work, she went to the angry eyes.
Reach Misty Knisely at email@example.com or 574-732-5155