Nope, not the kind of physical therapy that has you stretched on a rack, with half-assed promises to heal your messed up vertebrae or cure the hitch in your get-along. Nor the type where you tug on rubber bands, sit on plastic balls, or use myriad other torture devices to heal various broken body parts.
I'm talking about REAL physical therapy. One on one where the only energy spent is tucking yourself under a blanket with someone you love. The kind of physical therapy that tugs on your heart strings good and hard and causes healing tears to fall freely down your cheeks. This kind of physical therapy:
Or maybe it's the release of tension and stress that happens as the result of viewing the innocence, love and sweetness shared between a boy and his dog.
I only know that no doctor could have given me any pill, exercise or magic potion to heal my broken heart like my Buster boy did over this past weekend. I love you Gavin.
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