Javier: Wounded in the walkie wars

Our fourteen-year-old Chihuahua, Javier, cuts an intrepid figure for a dog standing barely one hand high and weighing no more than six pounds with a brick in his back pocket.

As previously established, he is most enamored of walkies. 

Erica generally goes barefoot around the house so when she puts shoes on?

Shall we say Javier's demeanor takes on particularly avid characteristics.

A great deal of hopping and wagging and snorting and turning around in circles may be involved.

Since the weather has turned so fine, we take him out nearly every evening just before the gloaming.

For one thing, Javier is nearly blind by day but completely blind at night, in the dark.

Then there is the owl, which none of us have the desire to meet again.

So it was that last evening before settling in and starting supper, Erica and I took Javier on a jaunt.

It started out so well. He sauntered down our street attached to his little red harness, stopping to check messages all along the way.

Usually when we turn the corner, Erica picks him up and carries him for less than a block.

At the next corner, she puts him down. For some reason unknown to us as his humans, Javier seems to adore moseying down this street.

Name of Stamford Bridge.

It is the street on which the owl attacked me.

Shall I simply say that now, even in broad daylight, on that particular avenue we keep a sharp eye.

We were well past the place where the owl attack occurred when it happened.

I was up ahead of Erica and Javier when I heard her exclaim.

"What's wrong, Javier?" she might have said. I don't remember exactly.

It was enough to make me turn back and ask Erica what was wrong, since Javier did not answer.

For all his expressiveness, Javier can be maddeningly inscrutable.

Erica said she wasn't sure what the deal was, but that Javier had applied the brakes and was suddenly disinclined to budge.

In fact, he was sitting on the side of Stamford Bridge with his right paw raised in the air, parallel to his face, as though he were politely seeking permission to ask a question.

We were like, what?

Then Erica saw it: A bee crawling near where Javier had just walked.

He'd been stung. Javier, that is. By the bee.

The toe of my gel ASICS was on that varmint in a heartbeat, applying the sort of pressure from which an insect does not return healthy. Hasta la vista, baby.

Erica scooped up poor Javier and began cooing and fawning like she does whenever he acts all cute and vulnerable.

He had that wounded, startled look in his eyes. His paw was still up, right beside his face, pointing to the sky.

Every few seconds he bent his head to lick it.

Oh don't worry; he's okay. In fact, within ten minutes (in which he was toted by Erica), his pads were once more on the asphalt and he was scrapping with a neighborhood Corgi.

Today we took him out before lunch, the shade all dappled under the trees, bright sunshine firing up certain autumn leaves.

When we turned onto Stamford Bridge, Javier hesitated and showed signs of post-traumatic stress syndrome.

Particularly keen in diminutive bee-stung toy breeds, I am told.

Or maybe I just made that up.

In any event we completed walkies and returned home without incident.

Be careful out there.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Friday ~ Happy Weekend

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Comments

[Donna M.]

First, you have PTSD for owls and now Javier has it for bees! He sure is a cutie!

[Mari]

Poor Javier! Glad he's doing ok though. And obviously it's a street to be avoided.

[Donna (Texas)]

Hahahahaaaa.....omWORD Girl!!! This post was TOO cute!!!
POOR Javier! PTSS?? More than likely!
He is a DOLL!!!
Glad the pain didn't linger!
Hugs to Javier!!
hughugs

[irene]

Ahh poor Javier. So glad he has re cooped.