They tried to make me go to rehab...

On a recommendation from Animal Surgical Clinic of Seattle, I scheduled Pooka for an appointment with Dr. L at Sunset Hill Veterinary & Rehabilition Center, thinking we'd add a few sessions of underwater treadmill running to the three-weeks-and-go schedule Dr. A had prescribed.

I should have known it would be more complicated -- and expensive -- than that.

So far, we've had one evaluation appointment and three treadmill workouts, with five more on the books. Dr. L and her staff have measured Pooka's hind muscles and the degree to which she can flex various joints, and taught me massage, passive range of motion stretches and other little exercises that I do with Miss P twice a day. She, of course, doesn't want anything to do with this, but tolerates my poking and prodding most of the time.

The underwater treadmill is neat -- Pooka steps into a giant fishtank, and we seal the front door shut behind her. It fills with water up to her armpits or so, then the doc switches on the treadmill. So far, she's just tromping along at walking pace because she's reluctant to stretch her hips/extend her back legs out. And since you know exactly how much she loves water when no ducks are in sight (hint: NOT AT ALL), it's a miracle she doesn't fight harder to get out. As it is, she plods along with a sour look on her face, occasionally puffing out her cheeks because she doesn't want to pant with her mouth open and risk getting splashed.

I went hiking last weekend and really missed having her on the trail. And I'm officially as bored at home in the living room as she is. And I'm not giving her enough attention. I keep telling her it will be over soon, but since I don't actually know how soon, I feel my reassurances carry little weight these days. We have another appointment tomorrow, and I'm planning to ask Dr. L what the next steps are, and when.