She’s been walking around like a three-legged stool for a month — all because I slammed a door on her back foot.
It was an accident, alright?
She was standing behind the door when I walked in and somehow her back foot became jarred under the door sending her into a complete frenzy.
She shook for days. She hid in the corner.
She walked around as if the leg somehow had died. After a while, it started looking like a flipper.
Every time she drank or ate anything, she fell over. She couldn’t poop without collapsing onto her side.
She had everyone in tears.
I spent two days sleeping in the guest room nursing her, hoping this wouldn’t be the end. The vet had told me she wouldn’t survive an operation, so I prayed I hadn’t, in fact, broken the leg. Scott assured me that Ming’s leg was fine, all in working order but not according to Ming.
She reminded me of Danny Kaye, in White Christmas who was always blackmailing Bing Crosby over a war injury.
Ming refused to eat unless she was given a nib of hot dog. I was expecting her to shun her water bowl in favor of Evian.
She still won’t walk up the stairs.
I was thinking of asking my elevator man, Ray, to install a rail chair for her.
Princess Ming won’t take the stairs.
Today, I caught her galloping around the yard; as soon as she saw me, the leg turned into a flipper again.
The jig is up.
No more hot dogs, no more Evian, no more free rides on my hip.
Tough love, Ming, tough love.
You need your nails done?
Just a minute; I’ll get the clippers.