Sharing

Last year, we'd been worrying about Moby, patchy fur that seemed to be from over-grooming, he'd largely stopped playing, seemed bored, perhaps lonely. So, we found Eleanor. They did not bond instantly. Far from it. We second guessed ourself a lot. What had we done to our dear friend?

As anyone who, as a child, was thrown with other children, and told they had new friends, knows, it usually doesn't work. Despite my awareness of the potential for mere co-existance, I'm enough of a closet romantic to hope they would be cuddle buddies, and just lurrve each other. Yeah. No. These are the experiences that keep that foolish side of me in check.

Eleanor bopped Moby, which he did not like, still causes him to sigh and walk away, and she largely still does not understand. But they chase around, she annoys him, and gives him something to watch, a presence when we are not around. So, his fur is all filled in, and he is more alert (if disgusted.) He hadn't been eating well, now he lets her taste* the food, then he goes back and eats the rest. He's had to negotiate space and favorite spots, ceding to her the bed - on us at night. She walks through, but does not lounge in the music room, where he often hangs out with D.

And Eleanor does not bop him as much, even when they are chasing each other. She's never been afraid of him, but she's letting him have his space more. She's gotten less skittish, I can pick her up more easily now. She's become more balanced, both less intrusive and less easily startled.

They're growing accustomed to each other. If not quite friends. That's ok. It really is. Sometimes, it's not about best buddies, or like minds, but kind cooperation and contented sharing of space. Ideals and dreams are fine to move one forward, but what we get is usually a compromise, a botch, that winds up being better, bringing out unimagined subtleties, filling out our whole souls.


A bit later...



*Sure looks like a Machiavellian move.