It really was déjà vu all over again. Baseball legend and unwitting humorist Yogi Berra’s statement came true again last night.
Reference a previous post (scroll on down) to my big, black Lab-mix Manny’s bark marathon about a month ago. He barked and barked. I banged on the window. He barked and barked. I raised the window and yelled. He barked and barked. I brought him in. It happened again last night, in the same three steps. Add in, this time, I have a cold and needed all the sleep I could get. Turns out that was nearly none.
My grandson, Daniel, turns three this week. He is bright, intelligent and smart too. (nod to Yogi, here). He does everything busy, inquisitive, truck-loving little boys do. He just doesn’t talk. He is autistic.
By coincidence, Manny’s birthday is somewhere about this time too. He is also three. He should be more mature. He digs holes. He chews things…garden hoses, (déjà vu), dishtowels, my crochet projects. And he barks.
I expect you are thinking that I wish they’d trade. That Daniel would talk, and Manny wouldn’t. Not so. The right combination of therapies will unlock Daniel, and he’ll let us know what’s on his mind. I am absolutely certain he understands everything we say. He just isn’t ready to comment. And for Manny too. He barks in the daytime at things he sees, and people don’t bother me much. He barks in the nighttime at things he sees or thinks he sees. And I feel safe. Sleepy, yes, but safe.
Happy birthdays, boys.
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