What a Difference a Week Makes

Often times I have used the phrase "What a difference a week makes," for many of life's little turns. But never has it had so much meaning as it does when it comes to Miss Celeste (who I call Ocho.)

When she came to live with me, she did not leave the doggie pillow I had placed on the closet floor for two days. If I tried to move her out into a room with me, even dragging along her pillow, she would scurry back to the safety of the walk-in closet. From her timid fetal position, she would look up at me with sad brown eyes, her tail barely moving.

Hubby says she has Lab in her, pointing out to me her color, her fur, but most notably, her tail.

She has begun to put on weight so that her hip bones no longer protrude an inch above her body, and her ribs have begun to fade behind a slim covering of fat. She is still lean, but no longer does she have that starving appearance.

By the fourth day she was entering the house without me having to pick her up and carry her in, and by the fifth, she was making attempts to play with Abel, our Border Collie. But even that was slow progress. Hubby was tossing a ball for Abel to fetch and when it would hit the ground, Ocho would bound toward it in a frenzy. Jim pointed out to me that she thought it was food hitting the ground, which makes sense since the majority of what she did get to eat in the past was more than likely scraps or hand outs tossed in her direction.

She now sees the ball as a game and eagerly follows Abel, at times beating him to it. She has yet to figure out how to catch the Frisbee though.

In one of the images, you will see Ocho bounding towards Abel, and in another, she is following behind Grinning Gus. The third image is one I took today. I promised myself I would photograph one thing a day in and around my property.

I will also write everyday. And in a week, I will see what other differences are happening in my life.