The Truth Comes Out

So last week I rushed the pregnant dog to the vet in an emergency visit. She woke up covered in wet and my first thought was "holy freak, she's leaking fluids. She's not due for a week and a half (puppies won't survive that early) and they've all died inside her and she's going toxic. I've lost the entire litter, and it'll be a miracle if the poor mom-dog survives this. WHY DO I RAISE DOGS?!"

So going in with that mindset, and knowing that I was in a hurry, I still made time to stop at Starbucks on the way. Knowing what I did, I needed the extra something to bolster me through the visit.

Once I got there, I realized that a corgi isn't exactly a tuck it under your arm and go kind of dog, and a hugely pregnant one that's oozing wet is even more awkward to carry. I wrapped a blanket around her and hoisted her into my arms, but that left zero hands available for my purse and drink. I'd need that drink. I asked Becky if she could bring my things for me, and we walked into the office. She opened doors for me as best as she could with a coffee in each hand (one for her), my purse hanging from the crook of one elbow, and her bag hanging from the other, and I marched on ahead of her with my dog in my arms.

I sternly reminded myself that no matter what happened, I wasn't going to lose my shiz and cry. And that's when the vet grinned and said, "I just have to say that with you walking in with the dog, and Becky following behind with the coffee, it looks like she's your personal assistant."

Even in a horrid situation, I'm glad that I can see the funny in things. "Yeh, that's actually the reason we kept her home from school this year."

And the day suddenly got a lot better. I wasn't way off in my initial assesment, because that's the first thought the vet had as well. Fortunately, after a panel of tests and probes, it was discovered that, among other things, the puppies were alive and well, and that mama peed in the crate and laid in it.

Stop laughing, it could happen to anyone.