Punchy is wounded.
There is an evil-looking swelling on his cheek – like something bit him but there’s no trace of the biter. No engorged tick to pluck off following directions we Googled. Just a swollen, weeping piece of cheek. I studied the wound, wiped it with several alcohol wipes, all the while Punchy stood as still as a marble lion at the art museum gate.
When I Google dogs and tick bites, I get the list of instructions about places one’s dog shouldn’t roam. One of them is in tall grass – like the tall grass over our septic tank which Punchy just today decided was a uniquely lovely place to lie in the sun. We watched him. Even took his picture.
Meanwhile, Swirl came running across the beach this morning with a bone in his mouth – a deer bone with a knee or ankle, well-weathered but with the cartilage frayed at the joint. He was wild in love with this bone but once in the house agreed to ‘drop it’ and watch it being picked up and put in the trash. He’s shown no longing for the bone since that time.
But before he dropped the deer bone, he gnawed off pieces. He has been eating grass and throwing up and otherwise laying about like an invalid all day.
There is no deeper meaning here. No juxtaposition of pets and children, neither stands in for the other, like some would like to think. Ah, their children are grown so now they are all about dogs. That might be true but it isn’t the point. There is no point except Punchy got wounded and Swirl ate part of a deer bone.