Sophie gives me a scare

 

Sophie and Christian in happier days. 
Last night, writing about three-o’clock-in-the-morningthoughts, I confessed to my superstitious nature. Now, here’s anothersuperstition: bad things come in threes. I’m holding my breath, waiting for thethird.

Actually, the first wasn’tbad, except it was medical confusion for all but me—Jordan with her rash, Jacobwith his swollen hand, and me with a sore arm from a flu shot and, during the night,a headache. But last night, a major bad thing: Sophie gave us a bad scare.

Now that she’s older andcalmer, she mostly spends her evenings sleeping by the couch while I’m at mydesk. But last night, when I was ready to lock up for the night, I checked onher—and she wasn’t there. I searched the cottage, but she was nowhere—the cottageis small enough I was not likely to miss a small black dog. Convinced she wasoutside, I armed myself with a piece of cheese and went to the door—she neverfails to respond to the bribe of cheese. But this time she did, and I could notsee her anywhere in the dark. I called Christian (my solution to so manyproblems).

He came out and wisely checkedthe cottage again. Nothing, so he started out the door, but said, “Here shecomes.” Sophie came in, tripped over the threshold she’s crossed a hundredtimes a day, and went down flat. Her back legs were not holding her up, and shewas stumbling. This had happened once before, and I thought I remembered theimmediate solution was food. So we fed her a cup of kibble, some of that cheeseI’d promised, and a lot of water, all of which she consumed. By the time I wentto bed, she seemed better if not perfect. During the night I checked and wasreassured that, as usual, she moved from favorite spot to favorite spot.

This morning, she let me sleepunbelievably late, but she did eat her breakfast and seemed fine. I called thevet nonetheless to report. About noon, she began to stumble, and I called in anupdate to the vet. They called back promptly, thought she was getting too muchinsulin, and advised me to feed her right away. I did, and once again sheseemed to improve.

The culprit? The wrong size needles.Somehow, the vet had prescribed some needles I didn’t need (I usually orderthem online) and they were different from what we’d been using. The vet techasked to see a picture of the box of new (isn’t email wonderful?)  and said “Yep, they’re wrong.” So tonight we’reskipping the shot and tomorrow beginning a reduced dosage.

But it’s never easy. Sophie,who is always ravenous, is not interested at all in her dinner. Maybe she’sfull from having a dinner-size serving at lunch. I am leaving the food out, butI am also uneasy.

This world consists of dogpeople, cat people, and non-pet people. The former two, to me, lump together inone category. They understand that our pets have feelings and fears and achesand pains, that they are part of family, precious and beloved. Non-pet peopleprobably can’t fathom the depth of my concern for Sophie. But for twelve yearsnow, she’s been my best friend, my companion, my goofy pal who makes me feelloved and appreciated and often makes me laugh—and I try my best to return thatfeeling. She has taught me a lot about compassion and patience and love, notthat I hadn’t learned from a string of probably more than twenty special dogsduring my life. (I keep thinking I’ll write a book titled Dogs I Have Loved—somany books, so little time.)

So tonight I’m walking thatthin line between being a hysterical dog parent and a responsible, concernedpet owner. I am playing the wait-and-see game, but I am worried. I would loveit if she would pop up from the spot on the floor near me where she is lyingand go eat her supper. And for her, the evening will only get worse—thunderstormspredicted.

Prayers appreciated.