Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.
Day Fifty-Eight: Troy Tulowitzki, Colorado Rockies
It looks like our dog got into a tussle with a lampshade, and came out on the losing end.
Some call it an Elizabethan collar, others call it a space collar, and still others label it the “cone of shame.” For Daisy, this upside-down, plastic lampshade is meant to keep her from chewing open the stitches that are part and parcel of the spaying she underwent this week.
Daisy is a 6-month-old golden retriever who’s normally teeming with energy. With the collar, though, she seems a bit depressed. She keeps bumping into doorways, and has trouble sleeping in her favorite spot beneath our bed. We have to fill up the water bowl higher than normal so she can actually reach the water and drink. And, to be honest, it’s also kind of hard for her to lick her butt these days. The dog wants her life back.
But for now, she must adjust. There are times in our lives when recovery is the name of the game, whether we like it or not. Troy Tulowitzki is the best player on the Colorado Rockies, a team viewed by many in April as a sure-fire playoff team. Thursday night, Tulowitzki was batting against Minnesota Twins reliever Alex Burnett in the later innings of a Rockies win. The pitch came inside, struck Tulowitzki’s left wrist, and changed his season completely.
Doctors found a fracture in the shortstop’s wrist yesterday. It won’t require surgery, but Tulowitzki is not going to be playing any baseball until August. Whether he likes it or not, he’s wearing a cast instead of a baseball glove. The ground balls that Tulowitzki typically scoops up so smoothly will be fielded by someone else. When the All-Star Game rolls around in a few weeks, Tulowitzki will be watching the game on TV, rather than suiting up for the game with his peers.
It’s not fun, this recovery thing. It’s easy to wallow in self-pity and stare blankly at the TV. But this too shall pass, as they say. And Troy, you can take comfort in the fact that however uncomfortable that cast feels, it is no lampshade. You really don’t want that; take it from Daisy.
Showing posts with label Golden Retriever. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Golden Retriever. Show all posts
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Saturday, February 20, 2010
A Rookie in the House
The rookie walked into the room the other day, and everyone was there to greet her. Pats on the head, big hugs, a ball to play with. She grabbed a sip of water and a bite to eat, then promptly pooped on the floor.
Her name is Daisy, and she is a golden retriever. She was born two months ago, and we purchased her from a breeder earlier this week. She’s a little fur-ball right now, but she is the bold-faced headline in the news of our household. For the girls, this is their first time with a puppy, and they can’t get enough of her. They want to hold her, walk her, wake her up from her naps, and show her off to their friends. Katie, who is 8, is at a perfect age for helping take care of a new dog. She’ll usher Daisy outside, then play with her in the yard for an hour. Chelsea, at 5, is still a bit spooked by the idea of an animal in the house, so she alternates between trying to pet the dog and trying to run away from her.
For Amy and me, Daisy was an easy sell. She brings back fond memories of our previous golden’s puppy days, yet also brings her own, frisky personality. Daisy will lick your hand and wag her tail at you, but then when you’re on the floor with her she’ll gnaw at your hands, and even your hair. We’re trying to explain that she doesn’t need to retrieve parts of our body; she’s starting to get it.
The new kid on our block has helped us emerge from some of the darker days of winter, and she seems to love her new home. But somewhere in between that poop on the floor and the 4:30 a.m. whines from her crate, Daisy has helped Amy and I clear up a very important piece to our marriage: We are absolutely finished having children.
Amy’s been sure of it for a long time, while I’ve been slower to come around. But as I walk around my house this weekend in a fog of dog-induced fatigue, I am finally and fully on board. Two kids is a blessing; two is enough. Committing months to waking in the night, cleaning the messes and shushing the cries? That’s just more than this 39-year-old body is willing to take on. The little fur-ball is getting better, sleeping longer each night and leading us toward the door when nature calls. In a week, we hope she’ll be fully house-trained. But this past week has brought more than enough extra parenting for the two of us.
The rookie is a pretty fast learner, and Coach Katie has been a champ. But waking us up before dawn, as Daisy did today, just so she could go outside and eat snow? That’s enough to make Mom and Dad a tad cranky during the day.
There’s more I could tell you about Daisy – her white, almost polar bear-like fur; the clumsy way she tries to jump over the puppy gate, only to bounce off of it and land on her back in the water bowl; the trips she’s made down our backyard hill on Katie’s flying saucer. I could keep going, but honestly I’m pooped. Figuratively speaking, of course.
The rookie is being taken to her locker. Mom and Dad need some sleep.
Her name is Daisy, and she is a golden retriever. She was born two months ago, and we purchased her from a breeder earlier this week. She’s a little fur-ball right now, but she is the bold-faced headline in the news of our household. For the girls, this is their first time with a puppy, and they can’t get enough of her. They want to hold her, walk her, wake her up from her naps, and show her off to their friends. Katie, who is 8, is at a perfect age for helping take care of a new dog. She’ll usher Daisy outside, then play with her in the yard for an hour. Chelsea, at 5, is still a bit spooked by the idea of an animal in the house, so she alternates between trying to pet the dog and trying to run away from her.
For Amy and me, Daisy was an easy sell. She brings back fond memories of our previous golden’s puppy days, yet also brings her own, frisky personality. Daisy will lick your hand and wag her tail at you, but then when you’re on the floor with her she’ll gnaw at your hands, and even your hair. We’re trying to explain that she doesn’t need to retrieve parts of our body; she’s starting to get it.
The new kid on our block has helped us emerge from some of the darker days of winter, and she seems to love her new home. But somewhere in between that poop on the floor and the 4:30 a.m. whines from her crate, Daisy has helped Amy and I clear up a very important piece to our marriage: We are absolutely finished having children.
Amy’s been sure of it for a long time, while I’ve been slower to come around. But as I walk around my house this weekend in a fog of dog-induced fatigue, I am finally and fully on board. Two kids is a blessing; two is enough. Committing months to waking in the night, cleaning the messes and shushing the cries? That’s just more than this 39-year-old body is willing to take on. The little fur-ball is getting better, sleeping longer each night and leading us toward the door when nature calls. In a week, we hope she’ll be fully house-trained. But this past week has brought more than enough extra parenting for the two of us.
The rookie is a pretty fast learner, and Coach Katie has been a champ. But waking us up before dawn, as Daisy did today, just so she could go outside and eat snow? That’s enough to make Mom and Dad a tad cranky during the day.
There’s more I could tell you about Daisy – her white, almost polar bear-like fur; the clumsy way she tries to jump over the puppy gate, only to bounce off of it and land on her back in the water bowl; the trips she’s made down our backyard hill on Katie’s flying saucer. I could keep going, but honestly I’m pooped. Figuratively speaking, of course.
The rookie is being taken to her locker. Mom and Dad need some sleep.
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