Wednesday, July 22, 2015

The Best Laid Plans

I just got the dog insurance. This is all happening before his illness coverage kicks in. I’m going to London in 7 days. And, all of it, all of it, the looming visit to another vet, all of it screams only one thing for me.

My dog is dying.

The vet recommends an emergency room “This is the one I’d go to if it was my dog. I’d really go.”

And so, choice made, I walk the dog home where I call my love desperate and ask him to call me back, and then I promptly begin to completely lose my shit.

I’m tired, I’m crying, I need a shower, my dog is dying.

I try to convey everything on the phone when I get the call back, but it doesn’t really come out. Mostly the decision is calm down, go to the emergency room, get a second opinion. I take a shower, I send Hellion a text, even though he is out getting ready for a play.

H: Is he okay.

S: It’s not great. We are going to the emergency room.

H: Send me the address I’ll meet you there.

S: You don’t have to do that.

H: Are you fucking kidding me. I love your dog. Give me the address. I’ll head there when I finish.

I send the address, part of me feels guilty for telling the demon-child, but the rest of me doesn’t want to go through the day alone.

After the shower I pack up the dog and we head out to the emergency room.


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