Silently Judged

Wholeheartedy sick of being such a burden around the house, I look around and decide to help with a simple chore that will reward me with a feeling of accomplishment.  Eagerly, I ditch the crutches to free up my hands and do the one-leg hop to the overflowing laundry basket.  Grabbing the basket so the narrow portion travels freely through doorways, I hop-hop-hop through the house and to the stairs. 

Carefully, I concentrate on balance and drop one stair at a time, make the landing and finish dropping more stairs to the laundry room.

Whew!

I place an empty basket on the floor and roll clothes out of the dryer into it and then fill the dryer with wet clothes from the washing machine.  Lastly, I dump contents from the basket I carried down into the washer and hop around gathering dryer sheets, soap and bleach. I spin dials and punch buttons and get both machines started.  I'm feeling pretty crafty and lift the basket off the floor and prepare for the ascent.

My left hip and thigh muscles are burning as I ascend.  A previous stair climb bloodied my big toe so I'm extra careful not to have a repeat performance.  The weight of my elevated cast taxes my right hamstring as I turn on the landing to look up the final flight of 8 stairs.  It's like a crossfit workout where I'm fatigued, but refuse to quit until I accomplish the WOD.  As I glance up to visualize the finish line, Maggie is at the top of the stairs looking down at me.

"What are you looking at?" I ask her.  She is motionless, looking directly at me with her soft brown eyes.   Her head is slightly lowered and she remains motionless, saying nothing.  She maintains her trance from above and I realize she is in the position of advantage, like the Justice of the Peace sitting on the elevated bench.  I challenge her, "Are you judging me?"

Nothing.  She continues her discriminating stare.

"Great, I'm being judged by a dog," I tell her as I begin my hop up the stairs.  Maggie moves out of view during my climb and upon reaching the top, I secretly admit that I took a risk, but it worked out.

I glance and catch Maggie curled up in a ball, laying on her dog bed.  Her brow is wrinkled as she looks up at me from the top of her head, still judging my actions with a hint of scolding also blended in with "the look." 

"Stop judging me..." I toss her way as I continue to hop through the house.  I enter the bedroom and crash on the bed with the clean laundry and screaming muscles and tendons.

I fold the clothes and feel like I finally made a contribution in the house since the surgery and, when my wife returns home, I tell her how judgemental Maggie had been during my effort.

"Good girl, Mags" she praises and pets Maggie's head while also reminding me how I had voiced that I would be the best patient the surgeon has ever had.

I can't win...the judges around here are too tough.