Lily's sobs echoed in the cramped room. Charlie, bewildered by the crying, shifted cautiously on the skateboard. His paws slipped; the board lurched forward, his weight teetering as the banner wobbled. His liquid brown eyes fixed on me pleadingly, a soft whimper escaping as if to say, "See? I learned to hold the banner! Surprise?" Then he gently, solemnly deposited the roll at my feet. With his furry head, he nudged my leg insistently, tail wagging hesitantly but earnestly, desperate to console.
The Truth of the Props
Surveying the chaos, understanding dawned. The plastic rings were hurdles for agility drills; the cardboard ramp a jump obstacle; my old skateboard a balance trainer; the paper rings targets for leaps. Lily had used premium treats as rewards, spending nightly sessions teaching Charlie these complex feats. No wonder he emerged exhausted—he was clumsily mastering tricks through sheer effort. His awkwardness, Lily's impatience, the neighbor's "thwacks" and harsh commands... all pointed toward one end: a clumsy yet profoundly earnest endeavor.
Origin of the Bruises
Charlie nuzzled my leg, purring contentedly. Kneeling, I inspected him closely. The faint bumps and scabs I once feared were now visible under the light—mostly on his sparsely furred inner legs and collision-prone flanks. Now I knew: these weren't abuse marks but clumsy falls from skateboard practice and bumps against obstacles. Shame flooded me at my earlier suspicions. Her brush-excuse was a shield to preserve the birthday surprise. My heart swelled with warmth, tinged with bittersweet remorse.
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