Not a leg to stand on

Or only three, anyway.
Since the runty dog lost his leg, walking into town has become a series of little stops while people peer at him in anguish and gently ask the question, 'so what happened to his leg?' Or they mutter to each other: 'mais, il marche sur trois pattes!'
Yes it is he who walks but only on three legs. It happens. Usually with one of the back legs I seem to recall, thinking back to various hopping specimens I've noticed before - sometimes even the two legs gone and a wheeled apparatus in place.
The description of how the cat hit him is becoming boring to recount now; Ezra and I spend happy time walking back from college inventing more and more ludicrous stories we can tell people when they ask the inevitable question.

Seeing two elderly ladies approaching us this morning, I steeled myself for the pitiful expressions and furrowed brows, but was startled to hear the dame who looked as if she was off to a crochet workshop, utter the equivalent to: 'Holy shit! that dog, it has but only three legs!'. As she herself was not in A1 state I felt slightly put out on behalf of the runty one and treated him to buttered toast when we got home.