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bad luck comes in threes I was really surprised this morning. Dark and early, it was the little maskless heeler who wanted to go. Waiting eagerly at the door, darting out to the truck. It was a major bad move on her part. We had to go back inside to drag her sister out of the warm bed with the wife. We were more than fifty miles into the desert when the sun finally came up. Behind the 10,000-foot mountain so far away. Data-wise, it was a good morning. Five leks checked. And the sisters had fun, with numerous dragraces, like this one on the Continental Divide (literally). And wonderful views, like this one, looking from one part of the Divide to another. It wasn't until we were halfway home that the day turned majorly sour. We were about a mile from hitting asphalt. Something the heelers apparently know, because the masked one began shoving her face into mine. "One last race, pleeeease?" I grab the camera, and open the door. And hear a familiar "Yipe!" before I can swing out myself. Yep. The little maskless heeler tore her ACL tendon again. She's a three-legged heeler until her vet appointment tomorrow morning, after which she'll again be a quarter-shaven heeler forbidden to run, jump or climb for at least six weeks. And we'll be many hundreds of dollars poorer. Craaaap. She knew, too. All the drive home, she rested her head on the armrest, staring forelornly into the bland plastic. After being through this twice before, she knows exactly what her future holds. Craaap. |
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