Pure Luck has been working very hard at trying to get Molly more functional despite her very arthritic elbow, and this means multiple short, slow walks. She wants to hop and then lie down, keeping all the weight off the sore leg, but using it is the only way to make any improvement, so he takes her out over and over again. This requires more than patience and availability; it requires hope that she will get a little better.
That hope can be hard to come by. It's not something from which she will get well, so we're looking for incremental successes.
We're not getting much.
So Pure Luck steels himself, the only way he knows how.
"Come on, Molly," he says. "It's time for your amble."
He puts on her leash.
"I guess we can call this your pre-amble."