The ingratitude of the springing dog

So previous post has been waiting some days to be completed.

Did I mention we've had three grandchildren and a puppy staying?

Life was different. It's not like when you have your own children. Then you have a routine and life built around it. Plus you're younger. Plus you're aware children may be missing parents so are especially nice to them and try not to shout when GrandDaughter2 takes fifteen minutes to put on her shoes.

Obviously it doesn't take her that time to put them on. It takes that time for her to register the request, to first put on her roller skates, to be told to take off her roller skates, to be asked if she's cleaned her teeth, to ask if I like the picture she did, to sit and think, and to decide she needs a poo first.

But they were very good. After a first night of over-excitement they slept well and were lovely. Puppy Louie - well, Louie had his moments. He was good sometimes, and really if we didn't put absolutely everything out of his leap before he came you could say it was our fault if he tried to chew it. (He's a sprocker - cross springer and cocker - and takes the springer part of his heritage seriously.)

But what really hurt is that he didn't say goodbye to us. 

When his mummy and daddy came to collect him (and the children), he was gone; he didn't even give us a backward glance. How ungrateful is that? After all we'd done for him. 

* * * * * *

After school on Friday Elder Son played in a mini parents teachers football tournament. I hung around with two grandchildren to watch. 

In the first game we noticed he began limping. At the end he explained he'd been kicked just below his knee. ("Who did it? Let me at them!")

He went back on and played the next game but when he tried head the ball, something went, he dropped to the fall and didn't get up. He had to be helped off the pitch and it was suggested it was cramp.

After some persuasion he agreed that Husband could take him to A&E. He said after that the highlight was "when the triage nurse was checking my leg for pain, and felt (what we later realised was) the bone move and said, and quoting verbatim oh my god, that's weird isn't it?"

That's the sort of reassuring comment you want!

Anyway, it turned out that his leg was broken. The fibula, the thinner of the two bones in the shin, was fractured probably by the kick but didn't break properly until he jumped up.

Fortunately he doesn't seem to be in too much pain - either that or he's dosed up on painkillers - and is grumbling about having to sit still. He is in one of those black boot things. To help him get to hospital Husband dug out the crutches we still had from when he broke his ankle in his young teens. They'd been in the corner of the garden for some reason and had been bent even before that. Don't think the hospital was very impressed. They have loaned him new crutches.