You know that Frankie has to be responsible for my latest injuries, right? He is now so remarkable large and heavy that simple tortoise maintenance like washing his shell or throwing out hay for him is bound to be a dangerous task, right? Well, this time Frankie is not the direct or indirect cause of my back injury.
I hurt my back raking leaves off the drive way and washing my car. Welcome, Leann, to your mid-fifties.
Remember back when you could pick up Frankie? Remember when you used to pick 50 pound bales of hay off the ground and throw them in the back of a pick-up truck? Remember when you could crawl over a chain link fence or climb your way over an eight foot picket fence? Yeah, I remember those days. I'm missing those days.
These days, or the last few days, strength and mobility are not part of my life.
Yesterday I was laid out on the living room recliner, heating pad under my lower back, a pain killer finely kicking in, and I am not going anywhere for nothing because it could cause my back to spasm again. I'm sitting there trying not to move, breathing shallow when suddenly I notice out of the corner of my eye the lawn chair walking by the back door.
The chair walked the entire length of door and came to an abrupt stop as it collided with Frankie's outdoor shed. I couldn't have turned my head to see the fate of chair or shed even if I thought I should. To my relief the chair did a very slow bumpy like turn and headed the other way. Just as the chair exited my view it suddenly reappeared as it tipped over and fell on its side.
The chair laid on it's side for a while with no more animation. That was good. Then the blue folding ladder that was set up against the fence about ten feet from the back door started to move to a new location. The ladder did fairly well moving for about fifteen second when it started to wobble. The front section lifted and the heavier top section stole away the forward momentum causing the whole ladder to topple over on the grass.
Still, I couldn't do much but watch from my peripheral view the moving objects in the yard and hope no real harm was coming of it. I am also very sure that in-animate things ARE moving in the yard. It's not the muscle relaxer I took four hours earlier nor is it the non-narcotic pain pill I took 30 minutes ago causing me to hallucinate.
I can be perfectly sure that all this IS happening because the 105 pound Frankie lives in my backyard. In fact, I believe if I am going to sit in that recliner for another day I WILL see the bird feeder topple over because Frankie loves the grass that grows around it.
This is my life. Ten years ago I probably would be out back there chasing all these moving objects and setting them back up and putting them away. I would want to make the yard safe for Frankie.
Today I know Frankie is perfectly safe. Now I worry about those objects. Actually, I've just given them up as Frankie toys. It's too late to save them.
I did manage to get outside to see Frankie today. He was in his cave so I had to "request" that he come out and see me. He wanted to see me, for the carrot.
Frankie got himself sorta jammed up in his getting-too-small-for-Frankie shelter. He got his back chute and front chute perfectly caught up on the front and back wall. Poor Frankie. He was stuck.
I stood there with the carrot in my hand and all I could do was urge the beast to use his massive strength to force his way out of his jam.
"Come on, Frankie! Push! You can do it! You want the carrot, right? Do it for the carrot! Push!"
Yeah, I am reduced to Frankie's cheerleader.
Tomorrow, laid up again with massive back pain, I'm gonna look forward to that bird feeder coming down.
"Get that bird feeder! Get it, Frankie!" It's gonna come down.
|Frankie toy still sitting there. I'll pick it up when my back is better.|
(Comments are always welcome!)