"Honey, why is there blood all over the porch?" said Sweet Husband, in greeting this evening.
"Huh?" I looked up from my book. "Oh that's not blood that just...wow, that is blood, isn't it?"
I'm working on teaching Moe to play fetch with less activity on my part. Yes, it's lazy, but--as he gets to play more fetch when I can sit on the porch reading a book with a fan blowing while we do it--he doesn't seem to care. The rule is that in order for the ball to get re-thrown, Moe must put it in my hand (not on the floor or my lap) with no tugging when I try to take it from him. When played thusly, I can keep up a rousing game of fetch without looking up from my book.
We were doing just that when Sweet Husband came home and noticed the blood. An inspection revealed that Moe had torn his pad just a bit in his (removed) dew claw area. And did he whine or do anything to let me know he was in pain? Of course not! That might have ended the fetch game, after all!
He was quite disgruntled as we bandaged him up, but I explained that, tough as he may be about pain, I couldn't allow him to bleed on the house anymore.
