The Ruby Rose Report: Failure to Launch

 

Every dog will someday get an injury, as will people. A human might bang their elbow, grab it, take a second to recover, and move on. And, when we get slightly injured, our parents act and watch out for every move. If our parents didn't react like that, we would recover as quickly as them.

The Horrible Incident of the Mistimed Leap happened on Friday, July 21, 2023, at approximately 2100 hours. I had been sleeping on my Mommy's lap when I got the urge for a drink of water, jumped down, partook from the old watering dish, and walked back into the living room to do something I had done hundreds of times before.

When it comes to tiny dog jumping, when you start to take flight for granted, you are fracked. I either jumped too early or too late, the NTSB had yet to release their findings, and I shorted my jump, crashing into the leg rest and falling to the floor with a big bang. I immediately stood up and ran into the kitchen, taking shelter under the kitchen table.

My parents moved faster than they had during the great "What is that smell?" debate in 2014. I was gathered from under the table, put on the couch, and then played the popular game: "You don't need to go to the vet; I have seen three seasons of All Creatures Great and Small." I was sure I was going to get diagnosed with flop bottom.

They played "move the legs," "rub the back," then "feel along the rib cage," and finally followed the finger until they decided I was not injured.

Immediately after the injury, I was not sure what had happened, and I thought the chair had attacked me and that I could no longer trust the furniture, so when I entered a room, I suffered a failure to launch and stayed on the ground.

That weekend I didn't jump or even stand on my back legs. My parents kept checking me over, eager to prove the other had broken me. I lost confidence in my flying ability, like the Wright brothers when they crashed into a barn; my parents were worried but noticed if I didn't think about it, I could jump. It seems I had the yips.

My parents were 99 percent sure nothing was wrong with me, but that one percent was a bugger, never straying far from their thoughts.

Slowly I regained my confidence, starting by walking on my back legs, then jumping on the couch, and finally submitting Mommy's recliner, where I announced to the world, "I'm back, baby!'

With each launch, the memory of my failed attempt fades, but hopefully, not so much that I lose my confidence again.

Flying is a tricky business for a woo like me.