So this is Buddy.
He’s three and a half years old, about seventy pounds. A friend of mine had a student who’s dog had puppies and adopted one. (A puppy, not a student. Never mind!) Her puppy was so cute I grabbed one too; our family got the runt.
A runt who weighed forty pounds before he was two months old!
Now he greets the kids with sloppy kisses every time he sees them. He’ll even let both girls lay on him while they read a story. The youngest one has him in the palm of her hand. She’ll park herself right next to him and pull his paws over her legs. “Buddy trapped me!”
Fast forward to tonight. I was reading upstairs in bed when I heard a ruckus downstairs. Eh, probably Buddy chasing one of the cats.
Still too loud.
Probably Buddy knocking down the tree?
No, too loud and taking too long.
I ran downstairs and there he was, all seventy pounds, having a seizure.
Now I’ve never seen one in real life, only what’s portrayed on TV and certainly never an animal. I did what you’re not supposed to do.
I freaked out.
Then I shut up and watched, making sure he didn’t bonk his head on the couch. I ran upstairs to call my brother to come over and watch the kids while I took the pooch to the vet.
I heard movement downstairs. Buddy was growling, foaming at the mouth, disoriented, running into walls.
I called my mom to get my brother. What if the dog attacked me? What if he tried to attack the kids?
Luckily, we keep a child safety gate at the bottom of the stairs to keep the dogs from going up. Nothing real sturdy or anything, just to show the dogs that upstairs was off-limits. I used it to shield Buddy from coming up and for myself in case he attacked. Pretty sure I looked like a dork, all trying to look like She-Ra and shit.
After about ten minutes, Buddy went back to his old self. He made a huge mess and I’m sure he was quite confused. I took him to the vet as soon as my mom arrived.
An hour and three hunded dollars later, if we rule out poison (that’s happened in our town before, people intentionally poisoning other people’s dogs!) and metabolic diseases (test results come back tomorrow night), then Buddy might be epileptic.
Excuse my following rant. I am extremely tired.
WTF?! The last two days have been pretty emotional for me. My husband has surgery on December 5th which means he won’t be able to fly home for two weeks after that so basically it’s
all most of December without him.
And I know I should be thankful. I am thankful that he’s alive. I am so thankful we are having yet another Christmas together. I am so very thankful for all of it.
Yet I’m still harboring anxiety over having told our kids that Daddy won’t be here for another twenty-something days, that I utterly failed NaNoWriMo, that I stopped running, that I feel absolutely sick to my stomach some nights that I can’t sleep, that I feel so insecure about so many freaking Christmas presents I truly feel obligated to buy, that I’ve had it with animals getting sick.
Why the dog? Okay, I get it. Humans get sick and/or injured. Humans get surgery, therapy, and yell at you if you just happen to buy the wrong donuts but at least there is a dialogue.
Normal human-to-human convo:
Human 1: How ya feeling today?
Human 2: Pretty shitty. Thank you for asking.
Human 1: And thank you for replying.
Normal human-to-canine convo:
Human: Who’s a good boy? Want a treat? What the fuck? Are you having a seizure?
Dog: *doesn’t say anything but pretty sure is thinking that his human is a dumbass and duh, of course, he was having a seizure!
Look, I am usually an easy-going person. If I’m having a rough day, I suck it up because i choose to. If it’s truly really truly a shitty day, I try to avoid people and social media and blogging altogether because I know I’ll get over it.
But oh man. Today was pretty fucking shitty.