Lizzie's Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

 

This is our sweet little Lizzie.

 

She's such a faithful companion.

 

And if you had told me 2 years ago that I would have a dog inside the house, and that she would capture a part of my heart, I would have laughed at you.

I've never really been a dog person. It's not that I don't like dogs. I do. But I've always liked them from a distance. And we've always had dogs, but they have always been outside dogs. So, I'm still not sure how we wound up with me giving my consent to our acquisition of this little girl.

 

I've also always said I'd never be one of those people. You know who I'm talking about. The ones who think their dog is their child. And although I do treat my dog humanely and I make sure she visits the vet for her yearly shots, I have scoffed at friends who have spent more money on veterinary expenses for their dog than doctor expenses for their child.

 

Until Saturday night.

 

All that has changed and I've had to eat my words.

 

I watched my dog begin to act abnormally and slowly watched her worsen until I was truly frightened, and thought she was surely going to die. I wasn't sure what was happening; I wondered if maybe she had eaten something poisonous.

 

Mike wasn't at home because he is in the yearly outage schedule at work, and this year he is working the night shift, 10 hours five nights and 12 hours on the sixth night.

 

So, it was up to Ryan and me... watch our dog die, or rush her to the vet if there is a chance to save her. Lizzie is lying on my bed, unresponsive. And at 4 a.m., Ryan and I, both with tears flowing down our faces, opt for the emergency vet visit.

 

I wonder if anyone's children, like mine when they were little, arrive at the doctor's office and suddenly you'd never know they were sick.

 

Well, that's exactly what happened with our dog. By the time we met the vet at his office, Lizzie was walking around, wagging her tail, acting normal. *SMH*

 

The vet did some blood work and a few tests. Nothing conclusive. Of course. But based on our description of what happened, he feels pretty sure Lizzie had a seizure. He said it is not uncommon for dogs between the ages of 2 and 5 to develop epilepsy. And it may not even be epilepsy. It could just be a one time thing. She won't require any treatment unless she begins to have seizures regularly. And I am praying that she does not. Not because I don't want to spend money on monthly epilepsy medication. But because I don't want to see her have a seizure again.

 

Yes, I know she is just a dog. She is not one of my children. But honestly, that is a scary thing to see. Maybe I'm just too tender-hearted, but I really cannot bear to see anyone or anything suffer. I feel terrible if I accidentally hit an animal with my car. I am just one of those people who will slam on brakes, sending everyone inside the car hurtling forward, all to avoid hitting an animal that has strayed onto the road. 

 

Once, I ran over a small beagle we had as I was backing out of the garage. My kids and I had to sit there on the driveway, my oldest cradling Copper in his lap as we watched our dear doggy friend draw his last breath. That was hard. And I had much anxiety about it for a long time. I couldn't even get in my car for months without looking underneath it first. And it took even longer before I could actually back out of the garage without feeling some anxiety. Silly, I know.

 

So now I feel very fortunate that Lizzie is still here with us.

 

And I suppose I have now become one of those people. And I'm ok with that.