April 30, 2018

White Dog brushed her paw through my hair. "Yep, I think I see at least twenty more grey hairs," she announced. "Looks good on you, momma." I snorted in reply and cupped Bailey's face with my hand.

My big beautiful lady looked up and licked my knee in an apology she did not owe. I smiled my thanks.

Bailey has the most wonderfully colored furs. She is very wolf-like in the silvers, whites, blacks, greys and tans that she wears as a coat. She is marked on her right hip with a blaze of deep russet.

My Girl is blowing coat and this russet area has been a focus of her licking and chewing at the old furs. Our brushing just never seems to do the job completely; Bai frequently grooms herself there.

She walked past me early this day and I looked twice. And when she laid down at the doorway I gasped.  For all the world it looked like my baby had somehow wounded herself and was smeared with dried blood. Of course, she would not simply come over and let me check. I had to beg and chase her to let me see.

Meanwhile, a million scary thoughts were racing through my mind. Roman was next to me, muzzle firmly in place and calm, so thankfully I did not travel there in my thoughts but there were plenty of other disaster scenarios suggesting themselves.

I caught her by the collar after the old "fine, I am not interested in you, too bad I had treats" ploy. and spun her around. And instantly felt like the biggest fool of all.

What I panicked over being dried blood was her russet blaze licked wet and spiky like a wound would appear.

I don't think Bailey understood my gigantic hug and long sigh. But she accepted my offer of a "just because" treat.