hugo and the boo-boo blues

hugo lost his footing and took a nose dive on the stone steps at bunker hill monument. he stood there, head hung, stunned. i saw that he was scraped, bleeding from his chin, a gash mixed in with his freckles.

we sat in the grass for a while. i told him what a good boy he is, his hound eyes especially devastating with confusion from the fall.

after some hugs, and plenty of reassurance, we finished our walk and headed home.

hound dogs don't wear band-aids. all i could do was wash his cuts with cold water and dote. droopy and little pathetic for his mending, hugo curled up. a few especially deep sighs and those heavy lids fell...