The Wall Eventually Becomes Less Important
Winnie still walks beside it.
She still rests near it occasionally.
But not every approach becomes a rubbing episode.
Sometimes she simply stands there.
Sometimes she sniffs.
Sometimes she turns away.
That flexibility is encouraging.
The wall is beginning to become part of the kennel again instead of something her body repeatedly demands she use.
Then a Difficult Episode Shows How Strong the Old Urge Can Still Be
Winnie is sitting quietly when her head suddenly jerks toward the swollen side.
Her hind foot lifts as if she is going to scratch.
She stops.
For a second, she remains frozen.
Then she walks toward the wall.
Her cheek presses against it.
She starts moving.
The first pass is slow.
Then Winnie increases the pressure.
Her head tilts so the most irritated area makes contact.
She reaches the end.
Turns.
And tries to position herself for another pass.
She has to be stopped before the friction damages the skin further.
Winnie sits down.
Her shoulder remains against the wall.
Her body trembles faintly.
The rubbing has ended.
The sensation apparently has not.
Minutes Later, Her Head Turns Again
That is the part of Winnie's condition that a photograph cannot capture.
The swollen face is visible.
The missing fur is visible.
The irritated skin is visible.
But the relentless sensation underneath it can only be understood by watching what Winnie does.
She has already rubbed until the area became more irritated.
She has already been stopped.
She is tired.
She is trembling.
And still, only a few minutes later, Winnie looks back toward the wall.
Her body rises.
She takes a step closer.
Her sore cheek begins tilting toward the surface again.
The hardest part isn't stopping Winnie from rubbing her face once. It's watching her sit beside the wall afterward, exhausted and trembling, only to feel the itch return strongly enough that minutes later she begins leaning the same swollen, nearly hairless cheek toward it all over again.