White Dog looked at her sister, Storm, wrapped in an afghan and quietly sleeping in my arms. "So much progress! For a Tiny Girl who ran from being touch to this."
"It IS wonderful and I hope she stays for awhile," I agreed. But she soon stirred and made her gentle little huffing sounds that she would like to be set on the ground. She did not dash off, instead stood for a moment between my feet, shook herself thoroughly, and then moved to get a drink of water.
Mind you, it is not as though Storm is yet at the point of coming to me and asking to be held. But neither did she squirm or indicate unhappiness over being where she was...
DESPITE have just had her upteenth bath this week. Our poor gentle girl has been dealing with a horrible setback in her colitis. So bad we took her to see Dr. Julia and put her back on meds. Her little system is a digestive mess and so is her very sore bottom.
But cleaned and warm and able to enjoy breakfast because of the medication, our Teensy Weensy White Dog relaxed in my arms. It was exciting to see her eyes get heavy and to watch her surrender to sleep without fear or concern about being held. I nearly held my breath so as not to disturb her.
"Momma," White Dog whispered next to me, "I love seeing that look on your face. You make Storm, and me too when you hold me, feel like we are cradled by an Angel and nothing else exists in the world." I kissed my girl, both of them, on the nose. "Stop! You are going to make me cry." "I mean it!"