This is when--if not long before--she would die in the wild. (Not that the tiniest poodles were designed to survive out there anyway.)
When I toss her a treat, she knows it's there, but this knowing is disconnected from the seeing, smelling, and hearing that she used to rely on to snap up treats with competitive rapidity. Now, she stands there a little dazed--she turns her head to look, but she can't see so small a treat. She sniffs, but she's too many inches away to pick up its scent. And the sound of where it landed was never so much a sound to her, as a gentle vibration that she felt, amplified by memory.
I tap my foot next to the treat. And feeling her way to the rhythm, she gets in range and sniffs her way to victory.
- ► 2010 (11)
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- ▼ June (9)