White Dog looked at me and raised an eyebrow. I tilted my head and shrugged an "I agree but what can we do?" We had both been blindsided.
Steve had just announced to the White Dog Army that his sprained ankle felt good enough that there were going to be bedtime walks. The room had exploded in joyful yips and howls as the Army rushed to the door and whirled in circles in their excitement. Clearly, there was no stuffing this genie back into the bottle.
"Please take it easy. I know dad is feeling better but he is NOT healed. Overdoing could set him back and cause pain," I tried to explain but neither the WDA nor Steve wanted a safety lecture. They had all terribly missed the four days of walks and their normal bedtime routine. Steve was no better. "I really need to get out and stretch a bit," he explained. "You and White Dog worry too much."
Five walks with pairs of the WDA wound up and raring to go, plus then carrying Puff and Ferguson out to the yard seemed like he was tempting fate. WD and I knew in our hearts he was rushing his recovery; our only recourse was to ask the Universe to protect him...and for White Dog to promise to slow YoYoMa and Steve down on THEIR walk.
When we got into bed at the very end of the night, Steve flexed his foot and made a grimace. I said nothing but my stoic wife look gave me away. "OK, it DOES twinge a little" he admitted.