Yesterday a certain little Wolf received a scolding. If I could turn back time, I would know now to react differently, but when I heard his little whimper yelps from a room away, my heart sank. The little kielbasa had been doing fine all morning. Now off the Gabapentin he was prescribed for pain at the emergency hospital, he was happier, skippier, and his tail much more waggy. And he was surprisingly content to lie in the cradle of his little red bun crate, sunning by an open window in an xpen contained space that allowed me to work nearby, yet also sit with him on occasion to enjoy each other's company. Orders were filled, emails answered. Noon arrived quickly.
"Stay here, my little friend," I told him as I caressed the warm soft fur of his sun warmed face. "It's time for lunchy lunch. I will be right back with both our lunches and they will be very delicious and we can eat them together right here! Do not go anywhere. Stay right here and I will be back very shortly." A kiss on his forehead sealed our deal, and I climbed out of Tiny chumley's little jail.
Thankfully, tiny chumley seems physically and emotionally no worse for wear. But I remain scarred by the experience, feeling careless and stupid for not having checked for the weakness in his cell, feeling frustrated for being able to comfort tiny chumley in familiar ways, and most of all, feeling awful for having scolded a sweet little wolf who was only trying to make way to his mom.
I had been gone for two and a half minutes when I heard his painful squeaks over the hum of our microwave. Feelings of dread and worry and wonder fueled my fears as I made my way back to the living room. Did he turn too fast in bed? Did something fall? How bad will it -
The distance I had expected to dash was halved when I found the little kielbasa on the opposite side of his golden prison, shaken and still on the rebound from his painful event, with sad little droopy ears and a furrowed forehead and tail now no longer happy as it had been only moments ago. My little wolf had found a weakness in his makeshift prison cell, and successfully shimmied his way to freedom by way of a low lying pathway under my cutting table.
The giant gasp I let out foreshadowed for tiny chumley an imminent shower of disapproval. "Naughty!" I scolded him, "So naughty!" tiny chumley's body shrank under the weight of the words that flowed, his brown eyes seemingly getting moister and sorrier, and little head melting into floor with each word I uttered. After my brief scolding, I swiftly but carefully returned him to the safety of his improved gilded cage.
Thankfully, tiny chumley seems physically and emotionally no worse for wear. But I remain scarred by the experience, feeling careless and stupid for not having checked for the weakness in his cell, feeling frustrated for being able to comfort tiny chumley in familiar ways, and most of all, feeling awful for having scolded a sweet little wolf who was only trying to make way to his mom.
Scars of this nature are an unusual thing. They can forever burden us and lock us in a world of insecurity and isolation. Or we can become stronger for having earned them, and use them as lessons to guide us into becoming better, more compassionate souls. I have learned a lot from having a sweet little wolf in the house. And I promise I will learn some more. :)
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