It’s always Banksy Banksy Banksy. Puppy Puppy Puppy. But Gustavo would like you to know his hurt foot isn’t hurt anymore.

It wasn’t broken. At first we thought it was. It wasn’t a mast cell tumor, which was the next thing we thought it was. I use we generously, as if I have a doctor degree. Then we thought it was another kind of tumor that I don’t remember the name of. But the cytology said Nope. It is septic infection.

All along I was holding out hope that it was foxtail and I was soaking, soaking, soaking. Foxtail makes the septic. Foxtail is our enemy. Foxtail lives every single place we walk, along with the enemy of many poison oak. Poison oak, ha ha! Doesn’t touch me. But foxtail touches the dogs all the time, all day long, and you never know when it’s gonna get in.

So sore foot sore foot sore foot. Ouch! No agility! No nothing! No running! Sore foot! Big hot swollen bump on a tendon over a joint. I kept soaking soaking soaking. Gustavo is president of standing quietly with one foot in a tupperware of hot water and stuff in it. Epson salt and domeboro. There were the antiobiotics then there weren’t.

Then one day, during a soak, KAPOW! The rupture! The thing of our dreams, the thing it opened up a crater in it and maybe foxtail fell out. Or a seed or anything. It could have been a splinter. A little thing on a little foot of a little guy who had been so sad with that poor sore foot. I never saw the thing fall out of the crater and disappear to somewhere else. But then one day no more sore foot no more thing on the foot and a regular old foot, almost.

So agility! Running! Just saying no to foxtail, every time we can. Gustavo is back, there is some agility for him, life is good and foxtail is gone.