Another foot.
Then another.
When we reached the small tree near the center of the yard, he stopped and looked around.
The moonlight caught his eyes.
I wondered whether he remembered sleeping outside.
Whether darkness frightened him.
Whether grass reminded him of the park.
We would never know.
I knelt beside him.
“You’re inside now.”
He leaned against my leg.
“You don’t have to find food.”Try New Foods
His ears moved.
“You don’t have to find water.”
I scratched his neck.
“And you don’t have to hide.”
For the first time since bringing him home, his body relaxed completely.
Rehabilitation became our routine.
Three small meals.
Medication.
Short supported walks.
Range-of-motion exercises.
Rest.
Repeat.
Some days he improved.
Some days nothing changed.
On bad days I questioned every decision.
Was rehabilitation enough?
Were we waiting too long?
Was I asking him to fight because I wanted a happy ending more than he did?
